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arminsumi · 8 months

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SAKURA.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 ⋅ fem reader

NOTE: i really liked this idea and merged it with my little daydream of Gojo being in his clan and meeting you in a small village (like before he moved to the city or something) and tweaked it just a lil bit if that's ok!! i hope i delivered, and mwa ty for your request lovely anon i hope i got it all right, enjoyyy 💐

REQUEST: Can you pls write gojo who gets the Hanahaki disease cause of reader and gojos condition worsens so to keep the strongest alive the higher ups set up an arranged marriage with reader (her mission is to love gojo so he doesn’t die but she is defensive and uncooperative at first) but then she warms up to gojo (he does everything to make her happy) and they both live happily ever after 😭💕

SUMMARY — you meet a boy on a Taiko-bashi as a child. Little did you know, he was the prodigal son of the Gojo clan, and you would be married into that family to save his life.

WARNINGS — heavy angst to fluffy fluff, he steals ur first kiss, domestic life with ur kid Megumi at the end <3 😭, unrequited -> requited love, arranged marriage, quite a lot of blood/bloody flower mentions, disease/afflicted with coughing spells (see about the fictional Hanahaki disease here. Basically u cough up flowers and/or throw up full flowers if it gets life-threatening), poor boy almost dies, there’s a scene where it’s insinuated that he throws up a full flower, some teasing/playfulness yk the usual you'd expect from gojo, lmk if i have missed a warning thank u

WORDCOUNT ≈ 4.3k

PLAY ME ♪ bouquet — Ichiko Aoba

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

When you were seven, a boy a few years older than you – perhaps two or three – passed you by on a Taiko-bashi in a small village. You remember him as the boy with peculiar eyes and white hair who looked back at you on the bridge. In your eyes, it was a very ordinary encounter with a very extraordinary looking stranger.

But in his infinitely blue eyes, there was ingrained a more meaningful and vivid memory of that encounter. He held it very close to his heart. When you and he made that brief eye contact as he looked behind his shoulder, slowing at his mother’s side, he felt a windswept, lovestruck feeling come over him. He batted his pretty lashes at you and stopped walking for a fleeting moment, as if captivated, and then went his separate way with the image of your face burned into the forefront of his mind. His kimono fluttered as he tended to walk in a gliding manner.

When you were fourteen, the same encounter happened again. A familiarly pale face with barely grown-in features looked back at you – his whole body felt a twinge of excitement. He only took one small moment to look at you and yet knew you were the same girl he saw as a child on this very same bridge.

Years went by, and the two of you kept encountering each other at peculiar times in your lives at that same bridge. Neither of you spoke to each other once, well, you didn’t say a word – but he uttered a few boyishly desperate greetings and even bowed as he glided past you to try and get your attention. If only you would have stopped for a chat, the poor boy would have given anything for that.

In some way, it felt like the two of you knew each other, though it was only your eyes that ever talked.

Come your eighteenth birthday, you were burdened with awful news. You were to be married to a man you had never met – someone from the Gojo clan. That person was apparently fatally sick with a disease you had scarce knowledge on. You asked your friend at the time, her name you’ve long forgotten by now, about Hanahaki and all she said was;

“Your lover is going to spit flowers in your face.”

You scrunched your nose up in disgust and confusion at this. A very silly image formed in your mind about the disease ever since your old friend had said that – all you could imagine was your future husband spitting saliva-wettened, half-destroyed flowers at your face.

The Gojo family and your family had always distantly known each other, hence all the visits to the village that they resided in. Your marriage to Gojo was long-debated throughout the years – yet neither you nor him knew anything about it. Neither of you prospected marriage, you were just the two strangers that passed each other on the Taiko-bashi every time the Sakura was in bloom.

The first time you and the son of the Gojo clan were introduced, it had already begun with a rocky start. You walked in when he had been overwhelmed with a coughing fit, and you were hushed back outside. The shoji door smacked shut behind you, and you heard sickly coughs piercing through the translucent sheets. When your future husband stopped coughing, and the blood and petals were cleaned up, you were brought back into the room. There were both your families and some important-looking officials in the large room, all formally sat on the tatami mats with mixed expressions. His mother seemed delighted at the sight of your face – but not more than her son.

Gojo Satoru, an eighteen-year-old at the time, with usually such a loud mouth and good joke up his sleeve, was rendered speechless when you had walked into the room. He analysed and absorbed every feature that made up the image of what he thought was the most charming and alluring creature ever to exist. Definitely a creature, he thought as you formally bowed with him, because no human could possess such an ethereal beauty.

Satoru was intrigued by you from your encounter on the Taiko-bashi, but when he was finally introduced to you he was utterly captivated.

The reasons and conditions for your marriage with the Gojo clan’s prodigal son conflicted with your strong beliefs in love and romance. You had rather aggressively told the poor boy your opinions in the days leading up to your wedding.

“I always thought,” you emphasized with a snotty tone, yet he listened to you like one would listen to the tranquil flow of the river under the Taiko-bashi, “that I would marry someone I loved, and not be forced to love…” you seemed so disappointed with how your life was turning out, that he couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for you.

“I’m a positive person, I have faith that you’ll fall in love with me in no time.” He said cheekily and winked at you. You felt very taken aback by such straight-forward flirting – you must understand, no boys in your village ever did that. They were very proper, even reserved.

He was almost charming in that instant, but then he added; “Who wouldn’t fall in love with me?”

At the time he was so full of himself that you could hardly believe there was space for any petals in his body. But there certainly was – when you left him alone in that room and stormed off, appalled by his conceit, he clutched the side of the door frame and coughed up little pink petals – enough to comprise three whole flowers.

It started worrying him, a few days before the wedding, when he started coughing more often. And not just that, but he started coughing up more petals than he had ever in his life. The peculiar disease had started during a time in his childhood that was coincidentally very close to the time he first passed you by on the bridge.

The night before the wedding, he laid in bed and brooded. And he was never the type to brood – he let life happen and moved on relatively easily. But he brooded, and brooded until it felt like he sunk so deep into his futon that he became one with it. The ceiling blurred.

What was going to happen if you didn’t fall in love?

That thought scared him so much that he violently drove it out of his mind and replaced it with an ideal daydream; he envisioned you and him cuddled up, bracing each other’s bodies, and melting into each other like real lovers do. He imagined you would be warmer than him, with that cool touch he had, and you would also stroke his hair. It was very fluffy, he made sure to point that out to you several times – but you never took a hint.

On the day of your wedding, he snuck to meet you just before the ceremony. He was crouched in the garden outside the room that you were preparing in. It’s then when he heard you voice your feelings to whoever it was helping you get ready.

“How can I love a stranger? And anyways, he is so full of himself, I can hardly believe there’s space for any flowers in there. There’s nothing I like about him.”

“Oh, Y/n, you have yet to learn about him. I’m sure you will find he’s rather charming. He is the pride of the Gojo clan, after all – he has the Six Eyes and Limitless. He’s the strongest, he’ll always be able to protect you – ”

It sounded like the woman talking about him was your mother, with how she praised him so much. She was right, Gojo thought; he could protect you from anything.

His expression was grave after hearing your thoughts. But he put on a lightened smile and masked his slight heartbrokenness when the rituals and main ceremony commenced.

It was a very formal, rigid ceremony. Gojo looked up at you sadly a few times, wishing you would spare a glance. He brooded on the idea that you’ll never love him like he loves you, and then a sickening, ticklish feeling spread in his throat and just as the closing ritual ended, he burst into a coughing fit – one of his worst yet. A bit of blood dribbled out his flushed lips, contrasting against his pale skin. Of course you were concerned – and of course you felt the urge to help and comfort him. But those feelings were purely out of the goodness of your heart.

Friends share love. But even when you and Gojo developed something resembling a friendship, it didn’t alleviate his disease. It was embarrassing sometimes, to realize that you were failing at the one thing you had to do; and that was keep him alive.

He was quite genuinely dying for you to love him.

Yet you refused to be in the same room as him for too long. Your mother had to encourage you. Eventually, both his family and your family worked together to make sure you and Gojo spent adequate time with each other. They organized meetups ranging from fancy nights-out to long voyages to weekend sleepovers. It was comical, how your families got along more smoothly than you and Gojo.

It’s the spring of his nineteenth birthday when the thought of kissing you becomes a reality. Well, it doesn’t go as he planned it. See, Gojo envisioned that kissing you would solve all his problems – he thought he could infect you with his love, somehow worm into your heart through a passionate kiss.

So when you and him sat for tea in a spacious room, kneeled side by side on the tatami mats, he went in for a kiss. You were distractedly straightening out your kimono when suddenly a pair of inexperienced, boyish lips crashed onto yours.

“Mmf!” you reacted with sheer shock – why on earth was he kissing you? The audacity, he had just insulted and made a mockery of you with a cheeky, playful attitude.

“Satoru!” you whined into his mouth.

He cupped the back of your neck and partly entangled his hands in your hair. White lashes sat pretty as he closed his eyes and glided his wettened lips over yours. For the briefest moment, you let yourself enjoy his kiss. But suddenly, as if your principles of love kicked back in and stomped on the moment, you shoved him away.

And a hard shove that was, he fell out of balance and landed on the mats with his elbows, a look of shock and surprise twisting into comedy.

“Playing hard to get?” he joked. His heart sunk ever so slightly at your rejection.

“You can’t just kiss a girl!”

“Come on, I’m your husband – if I can’t kiss you, then who is allowed to?” he asked.

You looked furious, like you were about to bite him, so he slowly started backtracking.

“I just wanted to see if kissing you would – ”

“How dare you, that was my first kiss! I thought I would have a cute first kiss, not a hasty one shared over… over a cup of tea!” you complained.

His expression changed and he started sputtering apologies. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know – I – ahuh!” he started lightly coughing.

And now it was your turn to feel apologetic, because all the bad tension between you and him brought on another violent coughing fit for him.

“I’m okay.” He choked out, eyes water and face reddened – some blood pooled at the corners of his lips, he instinctually brought his hand up to his mouth to catch any that dripped.

You rushed and kneeled over him, placing a much-needed soothing hand on his shoulder. “Satoru, I’m sorry.”

He tried to muster up a joke to lighten your worry, “H-hey, since when d’you call me S-Satoru? I thought it was strictly Go-jo.” he was interrupted by more coughing.

You comforted him, until his parents came into the room. They seemed disappointed with you, but masked it.

The night fell heavy all around the Gojo home. The barren Sakura trees’ branches subtly shook in the wind. A storm was approaching.

“Hey, sweetlips.” Gojo slipped into your room as you were in the middle of preparing for bed. “There’s a big storm comin’, if you get scared you can sleep with me.”

“Are you out of your mi-” you shut up when a sudden, extraordinary crack of lightning sounded and shocked you right out of your skin.

Gojo had a little laughing fit at your overreaction. He was completely calm at such a loud noise. Of course he was.

“I’m not sleeping with you!” you muttered angrily, but then you saw the dejection on his face – no, rather, you saw the way he tried to conceal it, and you felt bad.

Maybe tonight is the night you’ll try harder, you thought.

“Okay, well, don’t cry like a wimp if the thunder scares you ‘cause I won’t come running to soothe you.” He said and left you alone.

When he walked down the hall, his fingers grazed over his lips. All he could think about was how blissful it felt to kiss you, even if you did reject him. And he was your first kiss – maybe it was wrong to smile over that, but he couldn’t help himself as he climbed into the comforts of his bed.

A violent rainstorm engulfed the village.

As the lightning got more frequent and more terrifying, Gojo scrunched up his shoulders and half-hid his face under his blanket. He felt like a boy again, as scared of the thunderstorms as he was when he was seven years old. His pretty upturned nose peaked over the blanket, eyes glistening with tears as he recalled the fateful day you and him encountered each other at the Taiko-bashi.

He held onto that memory with a death grip. No one else ever had the honor of being so close to his heart, not even his best friend who he had made at Jujutsu high when he was seventeen. No, that heart of his he kept reserved for you. He thought to himself that night, while curling up on his side in pain, that even if he dies, at least he would die having been able to love you – albeit without reciprocation.

And then it happened. He shot up and let out a violent cough, and began spluttering over his white blanket. The thunderstorm was so violent that it muffled even the violent coughing in his room. His head felt like a dense ball of tension.

Unrequited love for many boys his age was heartbreaking, but not deadly. He morbidly laughed at that fact, observing the flower that he had thrown up onto his blanket, soaked in his blood.

He was dying.

He defeatedly closed his eyes, breathing through his blood-glistening mouth. His chest lightly heaved. “Y/n, you’re really gonna be the death of me… ah, oh well. That’s okay.” He muttered madly to himself and fell back onto his bed, too weak to stay awake any longer.

It was probably the work of the universe, but you floated down the unlit hall and tapped at Gojo’s doorframe. “Are you awake? Satoru?” you called his name in a gentle murmur.

There was an eerie silence. You slid open the door and caught a glimpse of bloodied sheets and a mangled-looking flower.

“Satoru!” you rushed over to him, stirring him awake with a harsh shake on his arm. “Satoru? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

He groaned weakly – you felt a small relief. He wasn’t dead, though he really looked pale enough to be. His cheeks were flushed, his lips cracked and dry with residual blood.

Not a word you spoke sounded coherent to him though it was, all he heard was the soothing qualities in your voice. Though his vision was blurred, he knew it was you, because he felt the familiar air and scent of you.

He felt a strange sort of alleviation when you cupped his cheeks, murmuring something. Oh, when did he end up in a doctor’s room, laid on a patient’s cot? Weren’t you and him just in his bedroom at night, during a loud thunderstorm?

All he recalled was that you held his hand and squeezed it for a long time, while you were travelling somewhere. He remembered feeling your comforting presence each time his consciousness stirred.

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” he chuckled jokingly, feeling your lips press to his forehead.

“Huh?”

“Probably dreaming…” he muttered to himself.

“Satoru, you’re not in heaven you’re at Doctor Tanaka’s home.” You told him.

He pinched his eyes shut, overwhelmed by his afflicting sickness and Six Eyes.

“I’m so sorry…” he heard you speaking in a more tender voice to him than you ever had before. He felt the pressure in his chest lessen as you spoke, “… I was going to come to you because the thunderstorm scared me… no, actually, because I wanted to be with you. I felt this overwhelming urge to be at your side, and I don’t know why. Satoru, I’ve been such a fool. I’ve been such a scared fool, fearful of loving a stranger. Or, no, I guess I’ve feared loving someone I’m not supposed to be loving. You’re so special I feel driven away by it. But I promise I won’t flee from your love anymore, Satoru – I love you, and I’ll express it as much as I can in this feeble human form. The rest of our love will happen in the stars, after we die, I guess.”

He opened his eyes. It felt like the burdening fog that had been plaguing him since he was a little boy on the Taiko-bashi finally cleared. Everything felt fresh and sharp, and good and properly comforting. It felt like he had woken up from a long dream or arrived home from a harrowing journey through the landscapes of his mind.

“So you can be good with your words.” Was the first thing he said, and that was such a Gojo response that you knew he was okay.

“How do you feel?” you asked him, peering down at him.

He groaned and stretched and shifted around, fussing dramatically.

“I feel…” he began, and looked over at your lips. “Like I deserve to be kissed.”

“Oh, shut up you…”

He pouted. “Okay, ‘guess the kissing can wai- mmf!”

You kissed him very quickly and recoiled from shyness. His lips were divine.

He shot up out of the bed like he couldn’t just believe what happened.

“Wow.” He blinked at you. “So gutsy, you know you’re not allowed to kiss your husband!” he joked.

“You are such a – ”

“ – good kisser?”

“An idiot!” you giggled, genuinely enjoying his company.

The two of you bantered, basking in the newfound feeling of shared love. When the doctor came back in, he was preparing to witness the worst – but he was utterly surprised and at a loss for words when he walked in on you two smiling and laughing.

And it was the talk of the village. Neighbors gossiped, “Did you hear that Gojo Satoru is cured?” they spoke amongst themselves, “I heard! Apparently it’s a very romantic love story, did you read the newspaper article?”

You and Gojo drifted down the Taiko-bashi, together. He squeezed your hand when you set foot on the bridge, the cool skin of his wrist tickling your inner wrist as they pressed together.

“What are we doing here?” you asked him confusedly.

“Don’t you know this place? It’s the place we met.”

“Ooh, you’re romantic, huh?” you smirked.

A small blush crowned his cheeks.

“I’ve been romantic since the start.” He defended.

“What d’you mean! You were so cheeky!” you kicked his leg.

“I was quite a menace, I’m sorry – not sorry – kidding, kidding, I am sorry.”

He looked at you with a cheeky smirk, knowing damn well what you were talking about.

“You know…” he began, looking over the bridge at the river flowing beneath and admiring how the stream carried the Sakura blossoms. “Whenever I used to get coughing fits – bad ones – I would soothe myself with the memory of when we first met here. I can still recall the kimono you wore, and the Sakura that got tangled in your hair – and I thought about…” he came closer to you, speaking with a charming allure, “How badly I wanted to pluck that flower from your hair.”

You blinked up at him. How could such romantic words come out of him? You didn’t know how to respond.

“Ooh, did I make you shy?” he teased.

“No…”

“I totally made you shy. That’s so sweet. Are you blushing?” he giggled, putting his cool palm up to your cheek to feel the heat, “Oh, you’re blushing blushing. You could burn my hand right off.”

“Satoru!” you giggled.

“Ah!” he clutched his chest dramatically when you said his name, “Don’t say my name like that! I have a wife.” He joked.

“You are ridiculous!”

He gave you a big, toothy smile. “But you love me for it.”

“I do.” You tell him, and though he’s heard it many times after that day, each time feels like the first time you’re saying you love him.

“Gimme a kiss.” He asks.

“Come get it.” You tease, slowly backing away off the bridge.

“Seriously? You’re gonna make me chase you for a kiss? I’ve coughed up petals because of you, ‘n you’re gonna do me like this – heyyy! Get back here!”

Running into the petal-littered streets like carefree kids felt so freeing and exhilarating. He felt like he was catching up on all the fun he missed, if only you would have lived in his village as a child or visited more often.

“Got you!”

“Ah! Jesus, you scared – mmmf!”

He didn’t hesitate to take a much-needed kiss from your quivering lips. He kissed you so hard that you felt dizzied, lost for breath, rendered speechless. And he relished the love pouring out from you.

You stood there being kissed by your husband in a quaint alley, standing tiptoed on the Sakura blossom-littered ground to meet him halfway. Gojo’s heart thumped at the smallest things, like the fact you were standing on your tiptoes – that was the cutest thing in the world to him.

The two of you took a break for breath, and silently admired the Sakura blossoms as they drifted, being swept away by the wind.

Gojo looked at them, and looked at you, and thought of everything that had happened up until now. He was about to say something lovey-dovey but blurted out a dumb joke instead just to hear your laugh.

“Damn, I used to cough up those things.”

You laughed, “Your jokes aren’t good, Satoru.”

“But you laughed.” He said cockily.

“Shut up or I will never kiss you again.” You playfully threatened.

“You don’t mean it.” He tilted his head at you. You cracked a smile.

On the walk home, he kept calling you various nicknames – all flowers.

That day became a cherished memory of the past as the two of you weaved your way into proper adulthood. And the nicknames followed; he went through the whole flower alphabet, even the bizarrely named ones, even the Latin root names. When he wanted to annoy you, he’d call you prunus subgenus cerasus.

Now Gojo fusses around the living room of his tiny Tokyo apartment, preparing food for a little boy of the name Megumi. The day is full and busy, but any second he can get with you, he relishes.

“My tulip, 'gimme a kiss.” He asks.

“Come get it.” You tease.

“Ew.” Megumi grimaces, hearing this exchange right as he walks into the kitchen. He walks right back out.

“Gumi, get back here, food is almost ready.” Gojo calls after him, then leans down to try and kiss you but you playfully dodge him.

It always happens like that – he asks for a kiss, you refuse jokingly, he chases after you for a kiss and you scamper away. Like a running joke that’s a callback to your past.

“C’mere, you – ” he finally snatches you up, too needy for a kiss to play around anymore. “Stay right there and let me kiss you.”

He enjoys every second of kissing you, embracing you tight like he’s never letting go. Just like when he first kissed you, Gojo cups the back of your neck and tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It has you breathless, gasping – he’s so alluring that you shudder.

“Satoru!” you scold, “The food will get cold…” you excuse.

“Okay, okay. But you owe me extra kisses tonight.” He winks.

“You’ll have to get them out of me yourself.” You tease.

“Oh, I will, don’t you worry. I’ll take every little kiss I can.” He says determinedly.

He pecks at your lips, savoring the sound and feeling of the act.

“Ew!” Megumi grimaces, and walks out the kitchen just as he walks in like earlier.

“Gumi! Food! Sit-your-silly-butt-and-eat! You rascal you.” Gojo lifts him by the armpits, and tickles him like a real dad.

Megumi is poker-faced at the tickling.

“Y/n, tell Gojo he’s being annoying.”

“Husband, you’re being annoying.” You murmur up at Gojo.

“Am I?” he smiles down at you, giving you another cheeky peck.

Megumi sighs.

“Stop spyin’ and start eating, little lotus.” Gojo threatens playfully.

“Dad. Save the flower nicknames for Y/n.” Megumi scrunches his nose up.

Gojo's face lit up. “Okay, okay. Enjoy eating, I'm gonna go see where she went off to.”

He hurried into the bedroom where you had wandered into and excitedly whisper-shouted “He called me dad!” he gushed like he was the happiest man alive.

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love-bitesx · 11 months

Note

May I request a hobie x fem reader

Reader is also a spider person and dating hobie. she gets in a fight with other spider people that been talking about hobie behind his back, And he just comfort her and help with her injuries.

: ̗̀➛ HONOUR. hobie brown x fem!reader

summary: after hearing fellow spider-people talking rudely about hobie, y/n defends him, taking a couples punches in the process. words: 1.6k warnings: fem reader, she/her pronouns used, mentions of blood & injury, miguels pissy like always, general mentions of fighting/violence

thank you sm for the request!! i hope i did it justice. im getting through all the asks, so pls be patient! ily all sm

"he's just a bit freaky, you know."

shoulders tensing, you eavesdropped on a pair of haphazard spider-people, their snark voices carrying through the reverberant room. you were sitting by the 'go-home machine' – aptly named – waiting for miguel to arrive and dish out orders, listening to them tattle about hobie brown.

"literally," a second voice tagged themselves in, jumping on the wagon of comments, "just turns up, acts like a prick and somehow everyone puts up with him."

chest burning, you tried to grasp your composure, gripping onto it with white knuckles – similar treatment given to the metallic desk you sat on.

first hand, you saw how hard hobie worked – having been dating him for a while now. though he lived to deny it, saying he was only in the spider society to look after you, gwen and pavitr - you constantly experienced his passion for keeping you all safe. even if its unconventional, he deserved his place here more than anyone.

"don't know what miguel was thinking bringing him here," the first spider snarled, a hint of a smirk lacing his tone, "he's useless."

stomach twisting, you physically bit down on your tongue - miguel would kill you in broad daylight if you started a fight in the headquarters (ironic, you thought, but you didn't want to bite the hand that fed you).

"freakshow, honestly," the other muttered, followed by a cold-hearted guffaw that made your blood spurt past the boiling point, "he doesn't even belong here."

as though someone had physically flipped your restraint, severing your ties, you turned to the duo, taking them by surprise when you shot a web in their direction, sticking the second man's mouth shut.

"what the hell?" the free one spun to you, stance ready.

you kept your posture strong, enraged eyes trained on him, "don’t be such a prick,” you spat through a clenched jaw. wrist aching at the urge to web him to the wall, your fingers itched.

he scoffed, stepping up to you, “i don’t think it’s any of your business, sweetheart.”

in your peripheral, your eyes caught the sight of the second spider clawing at the webs smothering his face, and you shot again – his hands now clasped together against his chest like a prayer.

a second audacious scoff sounded from the man in front of you, and a threatening tingle vibrated each and every bone of your spine – your spidey-senses alive with caution. it quickly became apparent why, when a fist flew towards the side of your head – an aggressive muttering of “oi, what do you think you’re doing?” accompanying it.

an inch before it connected, you ducked your head, crouching to the floor and kicking at the man’s knees. he buckled, falling to the ground and your fist collided with his jaw. your rage clouded your vision, adrenaline pumping through your veins like a poison. knuckles aching, pulled back, you webbed him to the concrete.

“y/n?” margo called from behind you, and you turned to see her. eyes wide like saucers, she looked at you with confusion.

“they start—” you couldn’t even finish your sentence when a powerful blow hit the side of your cheek, knocking you to the side, hip smashing into the corner of a desk.

shielding yourself with your arms, you caught vision of your attacker; the first man you webbed had freed himself, pouncing to you in defence. yelling something ending in “bitch”, he swung again, crashing into your ribs and you groaned in pain, connecting your web to a beam just behind him, pulling yourself away from his towering stance. with your new advantage, though winded, you raised your wrist to web him once more, when the huge, mechanical doors swung open.

“what the hell is going on in here?” miguel’s booming voice thundered across each vibrating wall, and you both froze, your arm gripped around your aching ribcage.

accompanying him was a cluster of spider-people, excluding your boyfriend. they took a second to adjust to the darkness of the room, before they halted at the scene in front of him.

“she went crazy, miguel!” the man on the floor shouted in defence, and your chest was heaving so heavily, you were at a loss for words.

“y/n, what happened?” gwen’s tone was soft, you could feel them approaching, your adrenaline draining through your body – taking any comprehensible inhibition with it.

“he swung at me!” you barked back, and the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you made your chest swell in anger, “don’t spin this on me when they’re the ones who started it.”

“we didn’t do anything!” unwebbing themselves from the floor, you stared at them, your eyes alive with rage, “she just came at us for no reason. she’s crazy, man.”

“i’m not—”

“enough! all of you!” miguel’s voice was heavy with anger, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t send a shot of fear to pierce your chest, breaking through the bone.

“i don’t care what happened,” he spat, looking at you like you were dirt on his shoe, “you two,” he pointed at your attackers, “get out.”

without a word of complaint, they filtered out behind your petrifying boss, and his enraged eyes fell on you.

"you," he paused, stepping until his lofty stature towered you, "you're one of our best, and you're picking stupid fights?"

"you don't understand, they–" you tried, grasping desperately at your side.

"i don't care what happened," he repeated his earlier quip, "it's not happening again, got it?"

reluctantly, you nodded, and he could practically see the flames in your iris, it burnt you to give over.

"go home, y/n."

"miguel–" gwen tried to intervene, but miguel wasn't paying attention.

"go home."

sitting on your bathroom counter, you struggled with the first-aid kit, hands trembling in pain as you attempted to patch up the skin that sat split open on your cheekbone. frustrated, you slammed the bandages and compact mirror down on the hard surface, chest burning with annoyance.

spine fuzzing, you felt the empty space change in your apartment, the tingling of static air putting you on edge.

"darlin'? you in 'ere?" hobie's rich voice carried through the walls, and you sighed in relief.

"hobie?" the bathroom door creaked open and he was standing there, dark eyes taking in your wounded appearance.

"fucking 'ell," he muttered, booted feet taking him to you, calloused hands gentle against your cheeks.

"you should see the other guy," a half-hearted smile played at your lips and you were melting into him, your anger subsiding, "well, guys."

"i heard," his expression didn't change, but his eyes scanned your open wound, "gwen wanted me to tell you she thinks you're badass."

a chuckle resonated in your throat, and you immediately regretted it as the vibration shot a bullet of pain through your bruised ribs. that's what hobie's mood shifted, his brows furrowed in worry and lifting your chin to him.

"what 'appened, pretty?" he reached for the first-aid kit, pushing your legs open to step between them – he tended to your wound softly, "can you tell me?"

hesitation brung you to a halt and you bit your lip. you had fought over him, defending him when he couldn't, but part of you wasn't sure how he would react. he saw this, sensing the tension in your chest, and longed to catch a glimpse inside your mind.

"look, i can't 'ave my girl get done up and not tell me what 'appened," a flash of his teeth as he smiled, and you reflected this, a tired grin on your lips.

"it was just," you sighed, wincing as he pressed a cloth to your cut, "they were being so rude."

"about you, darlin'? good on ya, defending yourself," he muttered affirmingly, dabbing the blood away.

"about you."

he stopped then. your eyes darted across his face for any signs of a reaction, nerves building in your throat. seconds of silence followed, and the air between you both almost dissipated as the tension grew. hobie squashed it, though.

pulling your face to his, he kissed you. lips warm with passion and respect, they melted together. hand falling to your waist, you were flush against him, the heat of his body overwhelming any of the pain pulsing in your skin. relief washed over you instantly. stress from the day just withering away at the power of his adoration.

breaking the kiss, hobie rested his forehead against yours, both chests heaving in tandem.

"you didn't 'ave to do that, darlin'," he muttered, and his brain was so conflicted. whilst his heart raced at the thought of you putting yourself in harms way to defend him, he felt guilty at how much pain it put you in to do so.

"you know i'd do anything for you, hobie." and his heart settled at that statement, nuzzling itself in the all-encompassing feeling of love overcoming him.

not feeling the need to do anything else, he kissed you again, this time with such a force you leaned back under the weight of him, shoulders pressed into the mirror. he was gripping your thighs, as to not tamper with the swelling bruise on your hip, and you succumbed to your boyfriend, lost in his touch, pouting when he pulled away.

"miguel's well pissed at you, by the way," he chuckled, cheeks flushed, massaging the skin of your thigh.

"i'm surprised it didn't happen earlier," you giggled, not excited to return to hq and see him again when needed.

placing a trail of kisses from your forehead to your lips, hobie's eyes softened.

"so proud of you, pretty."

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cheolhub · 1 year

Text

FIRST DATE — KIM MINGYU ࿐

summary. mingyu doesn’t usually fuck on the first date. emphasis on usually.

wc. 3.5k

warnings. MINGYU W/ A MASSIVE DICK, size kink, oral (m. receiving), deep throating/face fucking, shy baby!gyu (at first ;)), tears ofc, pet names (baby, angel), unprotected sex, mating press, gyu is a needy, pussydrunk boy(but reader is worse lol), slight dumbification, kinda romantic but it’s literally just needy sex— MINORS DNI 18+

note. THIS WASNT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS LONG…. um anyway!! happy birthday mingoo <3 — also @ hyuk4ngel ily dedicating this to u n gyu & thank u to my lovely lu ( @ bowmonde ) for beta reading this!! happy gyu birth to you all <3 (pls excuse typos)

“i-i don’t usually do this on the first date,” mingyu stutters as you kiss down his neck, nipping and biting at his skin. he lets out a shuddered breath because he can feel the marks you’re leaving. he swears you’re trying to spell your name and it’s making his cock throb in his already tight jeans.

you mumble into his skin, “i don’t either, but, fuck gyu… you’re so sexy, i couldn’t hold back..” your hands find their way under his shirt, feeling him up and moaning when he whimpers at the not-so-subtle touch.

gyu. you’ve called him by his nickname and you barely know him and, for some reason, it really turns him on.

he wanted to be a gentleman– wanted to walk you to your door, peck your cheek, and whisper goodnight– but your mutual attraction got the best of you. one thing led to another and you were kissing him outside of your door as soon as he’d agreed to your invitation to come inside.

you parted from his neck briefly to get inside so none of your neighbors would come outside to see the two of you eating each other alive. as soon as he’d stepped inside and closed the door, though, you pressed him right against it.

“we should move to–” he tries, but he’s interrupted by your lips. you slot them into his and your hands wander down his torso, down his abdomen, down till they reach his belt.

“what do you wanna do, mingyu~” you seductively whisper against his lips.

he shudders again, “anything. we can do whatever you want.”

you smirk, “you’re such a gentleman, gyu… you were so sweet at dinner. you picked me up, paid for my meal, walked me all the way to my door… i just wanna make you feel good.” you tell him, unbuckling his belt, but before you move to unbutton his jeans, you ask permission. “can i do that, gyu? can i make you feel good?”

you can’t be real.

“fuck, y-you don’t have to, i want you to feel good, too.” he replies, words breathy as he finds himself chasing your lips.

you moan just at his words, leaning in to give him what he wants.

you must’ve done something redeemable in your past life to have accidentally met mingyu in a cafe. he may or may not have been on his phone while walking out and you may or may not have bumped into him while he was leaving. needless to say, his piping hot coffee ended up all over you and him, staining his white button up and your cute new top in the process.

he’d asked if you were okay— if you were hurt or burned— profusely apologizing with a nervous stutter. when you finally noticed how beautiful the man before you was, you couldn’t even care about the irrevocable stain made on your shirt.

you ultimately ended the conversation with, “it’s okay, you can pay me back with a date maybe?” to which he gave you an incredulous look. when he realized you were serious, he nodded shyly and exchanged numbers with you.

and the date went swimmingly, truth be told. probably the best date you’d ever been on. he made you laugh like no other and you made him blush with your playful teasing and easygoing aura. the chemistry was undeniable.

which brings you back to the now— his tongue shoved in your mouth and your fingers still fumbling to unbutton his jeans.

when you finally get them undone, you break from the kiss again and mingyu hates that you keep doing that, letting out a whine every time it happens.

“wanna suck you off.” you tell him bluntly and his eyes widen in shock, puffy lips parting a bit. “can i?”

“are you sure?” he asks, meekly– a bit too shy for a man of his caliber. “i can eat you out instead…”

your core pulses at the words because, fuck, that sounds good too. you have no doubt in your mind that mingyu is a god at eating pussy if it’s anything like the way he kisses you.

but, no, you’re adamant on getting his dick in your mouth, so you shake your head. “you can do that for me another time… i really wanna do this. you’ll let me, won’t you?”

and how the fuck could he say no to that? he nods his head letting out a shaky, “ok.”

you nearly squeal, excitedly dropping to your knees and as you hit the ground, your eyes are leveled with his alarmingly large bulge. you unzip his jeans, pulling the denim and cotton boxers down his thick thighs till his cock pops out, slapping against his clothed abdomen. mingyu hisses as his length is free from the confinement and met with the cool air circulating in your home.

and, honestly, you think you start drooling because holy. fucking. shit. he’s intimidatingly big.

no, big is an understatement. he’s huge. massive. likely to split your body right in half if he tried to put it inside of you. but, really, what did you expect? mingyu himself is big. you’ve dated many men who were bigger than you, some even bigger than him— but none of their dicks compared to the one currently twitching in front of you.

his leaky tip was flushed red and the veins running through his length were prominent. you could nearly feel the weight on your tongue and you hadn’t even touched him.

“you’re so big,” you whisper looking up at him and he swears he’s gone bright red at the comment.

“‘m not that big…” he mumbles, eyes averting from yours. if he looks at you on your knees any longer, he may cum untouched. “is it too much? i really don’t mind taking—“

you shake your head vigorously . if anything, you wanna take him down your throat even more. “it’s not… it’s not too much— i can take it.” you tell him and he inhales sharply because he’s fucking sure you could take it. “do girls not tell you you're big, though? why are you so humble about it?” you ask, hands slowly coming to wrap around his girth.

he gasps at the unexpected contact, eyes finally coming back to you to find what may be a faux pout etched into your lips.“t-they do… i just- i don’t think it’s that big.” he reiterates.

“well it is. you probably wouldn’t even fit inside me,” you admit, voice hushed. your mouth hovers over his tip, letting a trail of spit out to lubricate him.

he curses, cock twitching in your light grip. “fuck, really?” the thought of not fitting in your cunt because he’s just that big has his mind reeling– has him excited. he wants to see if what you’re saying is any true (it is).

you hum, nodding your head, slick hand effectively moving up and down his cock. “mmh, might break me without any prep– but you’ll make it fit, right, gyu? you’ll fuck me well?”

he lets out a gaspy moan, throwing his head back. “yeah, baby, i’ll make it fit– i’ll fuck you so well. shit, i’ll do anything you want.” his parroted words come out breathy once again.

you exhale sharply, cunt clenching around nothing at his words and the thought of taking his cock. your hands quicken their pace before you move to wrap your lips around his blushing tip.

this man will give you anything you want and you’re willing to do the same for him. men like mingyu are nearly impossible to come by and you want to keep him all to yourself, so if that means choking on his dick till you can’t breathe, so be it.

you move your mouth down his cock and before you can reach the base, he’s already hitting the back of your throat.

right above you, mingyu is losing it. he feels the way you constrict around him and it’s already taking him out. he hadn’t expected to be so sensitive, but he just can’t handle how warm and wet your mouth is and he definitely can’t handle how tight your throat is. he can only imagine how much tighter your cunt must be.

“fuuuck,” he groans, hands flying to your head, tangling his fingers into your hair. “you’re so good.”

the subtle praise heads straight to your core and you can’t stop the moan that vibrates his entirety. a pitchy whine rips from his throat and he fortuitously thrusts into yours causing tears to prick at your eyes as you let out a strident gag.

he gasps out an apology, “‘m sorry.” he panting relentlessly and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was about to release into your mouth. when you look up at him with your mouth full and tears clouding your vision, you see that he isn’t really sorry. “‘m so sorry, angel, fuck, ‘m sorry.” he echos over and over with his face pinched in pleasure, yet his hips won’t stop bucking into your mouth.

you try your best to breathe, but his massive cock makes it hard as it fills your mouth and throat completely. his hands holding your head in place makes it impossible to move, but he sounds so pretty whining and desperately moaning out your name– you don’t even want to back off of him.

your hands find his bare thighs and you grip them for dear life, fingernails digging into the flesh, sure to draw blood if he doesn't ease up any second now. he hisses at the feeling, ripping you off him with a tug on your locks.

“need to fuck you now,” he groans, his cock throbbing angrily at the loss of contact. “can’t cum like that, ‘s too embarrassing.” he picks you up, making you stand on your feet. he notices how your mascara runs and your lipstick is smudged, but somehow, you’re still the prettiest thing in the world.

your ego naturally inflates at the comment and you smile cheekily. “i would’ve been flattered if you came that quick.” the words come out raspy thanks to the way his cock bruised your throat.

he chuckles breathily while pulling up his pants, “i‘m sure you get guys that cum too fast a lot. especially with a mouth like that. ”

you shrug, taking his hand and dragging him to your bedroom on the opposite side of the main entrance. “sometimes, but none are as pretty as you.” you tell him truthfully as you guide him inside quickly, shutting the door behind you. “or as big.”

your face to face with him and he whispers, “yeah?”

you tug him close to you by his sweater. “yeah,” you whisper against his lips. “dunno how you haven’t been locked down yet, you’re so attractive ‘n sweet– and… y’know, you’re huge.”

“just waiting for the right person to come along, i guess.” he whispers back, hands finding purchase on your waist. “think i’ve found them, though.”

your heart skips a beat and your breathing picks up, “yeah?” you echo breathily back at him.

“fuck yes,” his grip tightens, pulling your body flush to his. you feel his cock pressing into your abdomen and you let out a whimper at both the coded confession and the way your pussy throbs at his touch. “c’mere, baby.”

you melt at the pet name, closing the gap between the two of you. you count back to how many times you’ve kissed him tonight and you’re almost scared that you’re addicted to the feeling of his lips on yours. the thought quickly dissipates when mingyu begins to pull your dress up by the hem, though. the two of you walk towards the bed, mouths still attached till you fall on the plush comforter, mingyu toppling over you.

you giggle into his mouth at his body crushing yours. “gyu.”

“sorry.” he scrambles, standing up so you can get your dress over your head. you throw the fabric to the ground, leaving your body adorned in a pretty, white set. typically, you wouldn’t dare pull out one of your favorite sets for anyone– especially not for a first date– but you think mingyu is the most beautiful– most deserving– man to exist. he should get to see the set.

and he does see it. he can’t stop the way his eyes ogle your lace covered body. “you’re so beautiful.” he pants out much like he’s in heat.

and he just might be. he quickly and clumsily kicks off his shoes and pulls his pants back down, revealing his aching cock to you again. you curse to yourself when his shirt comes off shortly after, his big chest and toned abdomen on full display.

god really took his time with kim mingyu.

he doesn’t waste any time, practically lunging at you and hovering over you with blown out pupils. “look like an angel– fuck, you’re so pretty.”

you pout, feeling your brain turn to mush at the endless compliments that seem to flow past his swollen lips. the dull ache and sporadic pulse in your cunt remind you how needy you are, though, so you express that to him by bucking your hips up.

“gyu…” you whimper. “want it so bad.”

he groans, hands pinning your hips down and grounding you to the bed, “i have to prep you, baby– you said it yourself, ‘m not gonna fit.”

you shake your head ceaselessly while squirming in his grip, “no, i don’t care, just give it to me or else i might die.”

“but you said–”

you interrupt him before he can say anymore. “give it to me… please.” the plea comes out hushed and your words are laced with the utmost desire. so much so that it’s almost impossible for mingyu to deny you. you can see some doubt lingering on his face so you tell him exactly what he needs to hear. “‘m so fucking wet for you, mingyu… i’m sure it’ll just slip in– it’s okay. you won’t hurt me.”

he shakily exhales before nodding. “o-okay…” his fingers nimbly tug at the soaked panties, signaling you to raise your hips so he can roll them off your legs.

mingyu’s pulse thumps erratically in his ears as soon as he sees just how wet you are. your pussy glistens under the soft lamp light and he wants a taste– to drown in your pussy– because he just knows you’re fucking delicious.

“wanna taste you…” he moans and your walls clench around nothing, a fresh wave of arousal trickling out of you.

you teeth catch your bottom lip to stop the whine bubbling in the back of your throat.“next time…” you croak. “just need your cock inside of me right now.”

he nods his head at the promise of a next time– he’ll hold you to that. “condom?”

“iud and ‘m clean,” you confirm, knees knocking against your chest as you pull them up.

“same.” he says mindlessly as he grips the back of your thighs and spreads you open. “well, i don’t have an iud, but i’m clean, too.”

he’s cute, you think before you remind yourself that this cute, big man is about to absolutely wreck you.

you smile, “good,”

one of his hand wraps around his throbbing length, running his flushed tip between your soaked folds to collect wetness. you whine at the contact, praying that he finally stops this unintentional teasing.

when he drags his cock to your drooling hole, he asks, “are you sure?”

your eyes squeeze shut and nod, “uh-huh, please.”

he lets out a wobbly sigh before pushing his fat tip into you, biting his lip as he watches the way your cunt stretches open to swallow him up. you gasp, back arching at the burning sensation in your core. you really have never taken anyone so big.

he stops only half way when he’s met with strong resistance. “talk to me, angel,” he whispers to mask his wavering voice. “are you okay?”

you mewl, “g-gyu…”

“baby, do you need me to pull out? you’re so fucking tight,” he grunts, his cock twitching between the gummy walls that suffocate him.

your hands grip the sheets under you and you shake your head, letting out the most incoherent sentence ever. “n-no, just– slow, go slow.”

but you’re completely coherent to mingyu. “relax, pretty. ease up for me– i want it to feel good.” he coaxes, voice soft.

his attempt in helping you relax proves to be futile when you clamp tighter around him. the action elicits a moan from the both of you.

“j-just fuck me– please, just move.”

he gives you a weary look, but does what you ask for anyway. he pushes past the resistance, sheathing himself further inside of you. and, fuck, you swear you’re just about to cum when he’s finally bottomed out, both of your hips flushed against each other. you’re impaled on his fat cock, stretched open and completely full of him.

he’s very hyper-aware of how you're squeezing him while he’s balls deep inside of you and his mind can’t stop reeling. he moans out your name and a few curses, holding himself there till you adjust to his size.

and you’ve gone dumb at this point, unable to make a comprehensible thought about anything other than the cock you’re split open on. “s-so big. oh my, god, mingyu– you’re so big.” you almost sound like you’re overexaggerating, but it’s true. you can feel him everywhere.

he can’t stop the way he jolts at the comment, inadvertently driving himself into you. you sob at the doing, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“shit, sorry. still good?”

“mhm, ‘s good– ‘m good.” you tell him as the uncomfortable burn slowly melts to pleasure. “you can move, baby.”

mingyu groans, hands coming back to grip the backs of your knees pushing them against your chest before he slowly pulls out and pushes back in.

you let out the prettiest moan, his name tumbling past your pouty lip and, now, he thinks he’s lost it.

no, he’s definitely lost it because his speed quickens without a second thought. he drives his cock in and out of you, listening to the way you cry and mewl mixed with the sound of his balls slapping against your wet cunt.

“Y/N, you’re so fucking good. pussy’s so fucking good– takin’ me so well,” he nearly cries, gripping your flesh tighter. “god, you’re mine now.”

his?

it shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, but the way your stomach flips and walls tighten verifies that it does.

“and you’re mine.” you moan in response.

and the reassurance that you want him to be yours has him lurching in to sloppily kiss you, moaning into your mouth while he keeps a rapid tempo. you let him swallow your whines and your arms envelope him, pulling him closer.

his cock finds your sweet spot and when you gasp, he knows to keep hitting it with precision.

“gyu! gyu, i’m gonna cum.” you warn against his lips.

he growls, thrusts increasing in pace as he’s adamant on getting you to your high. “cum for me, baby– cum all over my fucking cock.”

his words and impressive speed trigger your orgasm. the tightness in your tummy dissolves as you completely unravel under his big, buff body. you seize, back arched and head thrown to the pillow as you cum and clench around him uncontrollably.

“that’s it, fuck,” he moans, continuing his assault on your poor pussy. “you’re gorgeous, angel, so fucking pretty when you cum.”

the onslaught of pleasure is almost too much, body beginning to shake in overstimulation. “w-wan’ you to cum,” you slur, a cry following the words. “please please please, cum on me!” you beg.

and mingyu is at your beck and call. he knows he’s just met you, but he’d do anything you asked of him because the grip you (and your pussy) have him in is nothing short of insane.

that’s why he’s quick to pull out, releasing you from his bruising grip to fist his arousal-drenched cock up and down. he throws his head back and moans out your name again as he releases hot, white ribbons of cum onto your stomach.

after a few minutes of panting and coming down from his high, he chuckles airly. “i’m so glad i spilled my coffee on you, if i’m being completely honest.”

you giggle, hiding your face in your hands, “it was a cute top, though.”

“well, you look cute without it on.” he smiles, leaning down to pepper your face with soft pecks.

“mingyu!” you blush, playfully slapping his bare chest. “be serious!”

“i am!” he laughs. “speaking of being serious… when’s our next date?”

you hum, “well, it depends. when are you free and what do you wanna do?”

there’s a playful glint in his eyes when he looks at you, “i’m free now… and y’know how you said i can eat you out next time?”

your breath gets caught in your throat, but you nod your head remembering the promise you’d made.

“well… what do you say? can i treat you to a second date? say… right now?”

“i’d love nothing more.”

taglist 🔖: @roe-sinning @hyuk4ngel @bowmonde @rckwithyou

#mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu oneshot #svt smut #seventeen smut

2K notes · View notes

ratcash-wasgud · 3 months

Note

CAN WE PLS PLS PLS GET A PT2 TO NEKO OF THE WEST OMG!!!!

mdni :p

ℕ𝕖𝕜𝕠 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕀𝕀.

When Ringo arrives back from the town, he finds Mizu curnsing under her breath and slashing trees in half.

"Master! What's the matter? And where is-" He looks around, rubbing his nibs together nervously.

"Oh, the stray cat is gone. But she left me with everything I need." Lies. She needed you too. "I'm gonna get going tomorrow." She sneers. She now has two goals. Slaying the white men, and showing you your place. You can't just leave like that after she has been so vulnerable with you! Ungrateful little bitch. Mizu is seething. She knows it probably ment nothing to you. It was just a slip up for Mizu too, she just got lost in the moment. It's just that she haven't felt human touch for years now, and you looked so pretty panting, and out of breath, looking at her in suuuch a cocky way with her blade to your throat... Oh, she'll show you.

She'll defeat you, have you at her feet, then beg her to spare you, crawling back to her lap, like a good little domestic kitten would. Yeah. Then she'll let you play with Fowler's head. She'll fucking show you.

She leaves Ringo at an inn, and she follows your instructions to find Fowler's castle. She gets through the tunnel, and starts slashing soldiers left and right. The traps are fucking cruel though and she ends up with a stick through her foot. She gets through everything, even drug monkeys, undead prisoners, and a whole ass giant. In the end though, she is met with...Taigen. Bloody, barely alive, tied to a chair in the middle of a room. She rushes to his side, hurrying to untie him. "Taigen-"

"Mizu..." Taigen croacks out, his eyes fluttering open. "N-no, run it's a-"

"Trap?" She hears a familiar voice from behind her as the door shuts. She turns around, her eyes meet yours in a glare. "Look who the cat dragged in!" She grin into her face. "Glad you could make it." You say, your eyes dripping with that fucking sly mischief.

"Wouldn't miss it." Mizu basically barks at you. "So you did come back to that dickhead? Pathetic." She says, holding up her makeshift sword she got from one of the soldiers.

You shrug, as you spin your gun on your finger. "Hey, what's home's home." You say and shoot her a shiteating grin.

"I pity you if this is home for you." Mizu says right back, glaring through your soul, as if you even have one.

"Ey, atleast I have one." You say, and quickly fire at her, the bullet shooting right next to her head, biting through a single strand of hair.

Mizu reacts quickly, attacking you withouth hesitation. You dodge, making her weaping slice through the wall. You turn, grabbing her wrist for a second, pushing her against the wall, and slamming her head against it. But the determined bitch she is, Mizu ignores the pain, and heabutts you in response. You two keep being at eachother's throats with Taigen barely not passing out in the chair, until Mizu overpowers you, and pins you down, with her sword at your throat.

"What a familiar situation." You grin at her, and she pushes her blade into your collarbone, drawing blood.

"Drop the fucking act already." Mizu barks into your face. "Just tell me which room he's in and I'll spare you."

You scoff. "Yeah, turns out, I kinda don't want you to kill him." You pout, as if it's a light thing. It makes Mizu's blood boil. "I kinda need him for like...a couple weeks more until he kills the shogun." You shrug. Lies, by the way. You don't give a fuck if when he dies, or if the shogun dies, you just don't want her to attemp to murder him.

Why? Simple. He'll kill her, you're sure.

"You don't have a choice." Mizu says, her eyes cold, but insides she's burning with rage. Was this all a damn game to you? Was she a joke? Was her moaning under you, moaning with you meant fucking nothing?

"Yeaaaah," Suddenly she feels the familiar cold of your gun, She turns her head, and see it pointed at Taigen's unmoving form. "I kinda do." You say, your eyes narrowing.

That's the moment Mizu realizes, she can't tame you. She can't make a house kitten out of you. You'll never stick by her side. Or anyone's for the matter. So...she'll need to keep you on a leash. She'll put so much catnip in your mouth you won't be able to bite, she'll cut your nails so you won't scratch, and she'll tear your whiskers out so you won't be able to run straight. Alone, that is. It'll hurt, but it will be worth it.

She then, with one small movement of her wrist, cuts through your shoulder, not deep enough to make you actually bleed out, but enough to make you weak. She gets off you, leaving you there, whimpering. "F-Fuckin' b-bitch...G-Go and d-die then! G-Go and fuckin'...die by his greasy hands...ugh!" You keep moaning in pain, depserately pushing your palm against your bleeding wound.

Mizu looks at you, wanting nothing more than to comfort you, but she knows that'll do her no good in the long run, so she just picks up Taigen, and leaves the room. She'll come back for you when you're unconcious if she's lucky.

It takes her a long while to get to and find Fowler's room all while carrying the deadweight of Taigen, but still, she does. After the fight, she does not have time to go back for you though, since she's fallen into the ice cold river along with that fat bastard.

Ringo rescues her and Taigen, bringing them back to master Eiji. The time she spends there while she recovers can only be described as a storm. She's mad. Her sword is broken, she didn't kill Fowler, and she left you there too. Ugh, what a failiure.

"So," Mizu lazily sits next to Taigen inside the little house, staring at the fire. "How did you...keep Akemi?" She mumbles under her nose, Taigen almost not even hearing it.

"Hm?" Taigen reaises an eyebrow. "Jealous?" He says with a smug smirk and Mizu groans loudly.

"Fuck no." She says, shooting him a glare and then rolling her eyes. "It's just seems...hard, to tie a woman down." She shrugs.

Everyone left Mizu when they had a chance, so this time, she won't take chances. She won't give you one. You left her once already, and to your own shit-luck, she wan't you to stay more that she realizes.

"You can't really tie a woman down, only with marriage." Taigen answers simply. "But before that, you have to convince her that you're worth it. That you can give her a good life."

"Well that's not really an option for me, is it?" Mizu groans. What a useless answer.

"Wait...you wanna catch a wife?" Taigen's eyes widen. "Oh, don't tell me, you already have someone you want? Oh, that's funny!" He snickers.

"You're fucking annoying. I don't even know why I was asking you." She grumbles, ready to stand up, but Taigen stops him. "Wait, no. Okay." Taigen steadies himself, putting on a straight face. "I'm sure if you keep your glasses on, and keep your mouth shut all the time, she'll like you." He finishes with that bitch-ass smirk.

Mizu just yanks her arm away and walks off, grumbling. Taigen is stupid. She'll show him too. She'll show everyone. She'll slay down Flower, then she'll walk away with you, crying for her in her arms. Great plan.

You even accidentaly told her that he's planning on killing the shogun, so she'll know where to go. You're already playing right into her hands. Yeah, maybe she's obsessing over you a little, and yeah, it's probably unhealthy, but do you really expect any healthy emotions from that woman? No, the answer should be no.

So, on the day when she meets Fowler again, she marches into the room he's in with the Shogun, but when she gets there, the Shogun and his family are already gone, and she's met with Fowler's gun to your forehead, yours to his heart with Heiji Shindo's body still fresh on the ground. She gasps out your name.

Fowler's head turns to her, and Mizu glares. "Hm? Ye two know eachother?" He asks casually, motioning between you two. "So that's why yer betraying me, eh? Foolish little girl." He scoffs.

You just roll your eyes. "I'm not betraying you, dumbass." You say, liglty poking his chest with your gun. "I'm simply dethroning you."

"And you wanted the help of this demon right 'ere?" He nods towards Mizu. "Is that why ya were gone for days? Ya were with the guy tryin' to kill me? Pffft!" He says with mock offense.

"No, he just happens to be here." The banter between you two is amusing to Mizu. You're talking to this piece of shit while holding eachother at gunpoint like you'd talk to an old friend after they stole your lunch.

"Hey, demon," Fowler says to Mizu, getting her attention. "Ya don' wanna team up with this girl right 'ere. See? She's betraying me too, she'd do the same to you."

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes. "First of all, I'm not teaming up with him. Second of all...can you butt out of my personal relatinships?"

"She's not even from 'round here. Found her back in London." Fowler says casually, ligtly poking your head with his gun. "Is' true. Her parents are japanese though, they got captured during the war, but couldn't help but fuck like bunnies in their cell and make this lil' bitch."

"Ugh, that was unnecessary." You say, fireing a shot into the wall to silence him. "Next one's gonna be in your heart, shithead."

"Now now, let daddy handle stuff." He says with a chuckle.

"You're not my fucki-" but before you could protest any further, Fowler's other hand swings up, hitting you in the head, almost crushing your skull, making you lose conciousness.

The next time you wake up, the harsh sun invades your eyeballs, making you groan. When you finally manage to accommodate your inveroment, you look around. You're on a ship, which is definetly moving. You see a siluette in the sun, and as it notices that you're awake, it walks closer. It's Mizu. She looks different though. She looks a lot more...relaxed. She has her bangs down, and she's wearing a simple kimono. She looks...very feminine. And beautiful, if you do say so yourself. You understand why you lost control and slept with her that night.

"Hey," You squint at her. "Can I ask, if it's like, not too much...what the fuck is going on?" You sit up hazily.

"We're leaving. To London." She says casually, sitting down next to you. Your eyes snap wide opening, shining in the bright sun.

"Are fucking serious?" That's wha Mizu wnated to see. You lighting up, eating all of her words up.

"Yeah...Fowler's tied up down there, but he'll help me. He'll help me find the other white men." She says, looking ahead to the seemingly endless water.

"And you're taking me...with you. To London. I can finally leave." Your smile becomes bright, almost more blinding that the sun. It's the first truly genuine smile Mizu saw from you. And fuck, it does things to her.

"Mhm...you're not leaving my side after this." Mizu breathes out, leaning back on her hands, turning her attention to the cloud.

Your eyebrows knot together. "What? I'm not gonna stick around to watch your boring ass quest. I wanna find my own path."

"Yeah, no...you're not doing that. You're gonna stay by my side, and you're gonna love it." She says like it's a well known fact. And to her, it is. She's not letting you leave her, and wander off again. Not on her watch.

"What the fuck do you think I am? Your pet?" You scoff.

"You could be. But no, I'm being nice right now." She says with a small smile, still staying completely calm about the subject. "And when I'm done, you will come back to Japan with me. And then we'll live peacefully, and you'll help me forget about how much of a terrible person I am." Mizu shrugs, but you just rolls your eyes.

"As if. I'll tell you everyday that you're a shitty person." You can barely finish the sentence before Mizu gets on top of you with one swift motion, straddling your lap.

"Yeah? You're gonna tell me how much you hate me?" Mizu whispers, her breath hitting your face, but the only thing you can do right now is just stare at her, not even blinking. "What? Cat's got your tongue?" She teases you, running a finger along your lower lip.

You gulp. "What...are you even doing? What we had was just...a one time thing." You say, averting your gaze finally.

"You think that?" Mizu says as she harshly grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at her. "You must be confused then." She says, her voice now lower with more edge. "Because that day, whether you like it or not, you tied yourself down. You became mine. You can try to run though, but I'll find you eventually." She slowly leans down, breathing right against your lips. "Take your little fuckface of a man, Fowler for example. He couldn't hide, so why could you?"

You can't even respond as she firmly kisses you, pushing her tongue down your thoat, one hand gripping your jaw, the other harhsly undoing your clothes.

"F-fuck, Mizu, wait a second-" You try to croak out, but her hands are already all over you, and you love it. It's just...so damn sudden. And it feels different from last time. It's as if this time, her touches have more emotion. More want, more need.

"No. I waited enough." Mizu murmurs into the kiss, her hands kneading your breasts. The last time, you fought for and kinda even won dominance, but now you can't even try and enter the competition for some reason, and to Mizu's liking.

"Ugh...you're an asshole, you know that?" You back arches into her touch as you feel her start pinching your nipples. "I...I'm still mad at you though...for cutting my shoulder. That hurt...like a bitch." You mumble, feeling your whole body heat up under her touch.

Mizu can feel her head reeling. She finally done it. She has you under her fingertips again, and she won't let go ever again. And this time, you look different too. You look more vulnerable, your eyes narrowing and becoming hazy, you cheeks flushing as you lips part. You look vulnerable, and very fucking cute. The fact that she knows what you're capable of, and still managing to have you in this position is...enthralling. She loves it. If she'd feel this everyday, her sould would be at peace.

"Not my fault you only respond to violence." Mizu says, pulling away from your mouth to place her lips in your nipple, which you reward with a small moan, which makes Mizu's nerves dart to all one place between her legs.

Her tounge swirls around your sensitive little bud, all while her hand sneeks between your thighs, feeling around your underwear, which is now slowly turning wet.

"You want more?" Mizu whispers as she switches to the other nipple. "Tell me you want more...say it. Use your pretty little voice, and ask me nicely."

"Fuck...fuck why are you like this?" You croak out, your thighs closing around her hand, letting out another moan as she starts rubbing you through the thin cloth. "O-Okay, fine fuck, I want more...p-please, just...do more." You say, covering your face with your arm in shame. "Mizu..."

And she fucking snaps. How could she hold back after that? She rips down your last remaining clothing, which happens to be your underwear, and her lips latch around your clit. Oh, it tastes so good. She didn't have the chance to taste it last time, what a shame. But knows she knows how your slick tastes, and it's honestly perfect. She makes sure her tongue hits every spot it can reach atleast once before she plunges her fingers deep inside you.

"Fuck...I missed you fucking much...come on, show me you missed me too. Grind on my lips and fingers." Mizu demands against your clit which you reward in a drawn out moan. You slowly obey, grinding weakly against her. "Take it...take all of me." She pushes knuckle deep. "Your pussy loves me...it fucking wants me. It's...fuck, it's sucking me in." Mizu slurs between slurps, getting lost in the moment and just mindlessly rambling. She loves this. She loves feeling you at two points on herself: her fingertips and her tongue. She wants you to moan louder, to squirm and beg more, to arch your back and grind harder...

"Gonna cum...f-fuck, I can't...slow the fuck down..." You whimper out,hands feeling around on the floor, looking for anything to grab for support, but meeting nothing but Mizu.

"Yeah? Cum then. Do it...doitdoitdoit, I want it, come on..." Mizu doesn't even notice that she begs, but she doesn't even fucking care. As she feels you spill your climax into her mouth, her mind flashes white, eagerly driking everything up. After you come down from your high and lay in the afterglow, Mizu stays in pleace, cleaning your innerthighs while softly humming.

"You did so good...you're so pretty when you cum. I wanna see it again." She murmurs, fingers trailing back to your folds, but you groan and push her away.

"F-Fuck off..." You say weakly, eyes slowly fluttering closed. Mizu smirks and climbs up to cuddle you, her arms thighly around you, and her legs keeping you in a lock.

"I love you." She says casually. "You'll stay with me forever, okay? I'll hunt you down if you don't. You're my sepcial girl...you'll see me succeed."

#bes mizu #blue eye samurai #bes x reader #blue eye samurai mizu #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu fanfic #fanfiction #bes smut #smut #enemies to lovers #toxic behavior

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wren-dy-flowergarden · 2 months

Text

TWST (Mafia!AU + Bodyguard!AU)

If you realize the characters have no relatability to each other (other than the twins), you are correct. Because I just used a "spin the wheel" to pick characters to write lollllll.

Since I am trying to get back into writing, requests are OPEN. No limit. Pls fill it with what you like, no promises I will write everything though :D

I also wanted to write something more dark...pls read tags just in case!

TW: !yandere content, possessive behavior, mentions of slight blood, dark underlying themes, reader is a jewelry heiress, not be'tad

Mafia!AU Floyd Leech

Mafia!Floyd Is a little too good at his job. Frankly, his boss gets quite frustrated with the amount of bodies brought home. It says dead or alive doesn’t it? Why should it matter what happens to these small frys.

So when he sees your pretty face on the next hit, he licks his lips in delight. What a treat. Though, the boss did say to keep this one fresh. Little blood is not bad, too much, and it causes some problems.

So when Floyd sees you on a park bench across the street. You’re…normal compared to the others. They are greasy, bastards flaunting around their beer bellies with women cradled in their arms compared to the pen in your hand tapping against white paper.

Floyd wants to see where this will go. His boss said to handle you with ‘care’. The moment you see him, you freeze almost like a fish out of water, or maybe like those small shrimps he sees in the fish tank run for cover as a predator approaches. Nothing like those pompous asses who wanted all fight, no talk.

You are so much fun! As Floyd smiles, holding out an eraser.

“You dropped this little shrimpy.”

Mafia!AU Idia Shroud

Mafia!Idia never, ever, ever works in front of the house! No! Never! He rather stayed in the operating room filled with the comfort of blue light from his multiple monitors. Never missing an angle, never missing a moment, eyes glued onto the screen, because that is what he is good at.

Not when he has to escort you into their headquarters. Also, why the hell are you here? You are just the rich, tiny, heiress of a multi billion xx company; couldn’t you be placed with someone more- energetic (not chronically online person who never sees the sun).

How the hell is he supposed to start a conversation with you? Boss said to be an excellent host–why is he the one hosting the hostage!? You walk with more poise than him, your heels clicking on the floor as he shuffles.

You are pretty though… Small lips, big doe eyes with furrowed eyebrows taking in your surroundings. Even your bare shoulders, exposed thin collar bone with dazzling gems draped across your neck, are shivering whether because of the cold?

Be a good host…be a decent host, Idia repeats in his head. The next thing he knows he is throwing his long jacket at your head where you make a noise similar to an ‘ump’.

“W-w-wear that till we m-meet the boss! Hostages can’t get s-s–sick.”

Bodyguard!AU Jade Leech

Bodyguard!Jade where his smile leaves goosebumps on your skin. It's the way his eyes glimmer, his teeth a bit too sharp to be normal, the way his body lurks over you like a second shadow waiting to swallow you whole.

But…he is good at his job– ridiculously good for a man your father found off the street on a whim. The way he is diligent in his motions, gently offering his hand as you exit the limo his gaze piercing through every paparazzi, a gloved hand guides you by the small of your back through the entrance.

Your bodyguard Jade who lowers himself to the ground before you to place designer heels on your feet. It would be a lovely gesture if it weren’t for the small red marks underneath the sole…

Jade is good at his job. He keeps you protected, prudent of your lifestyle and satisfied; but, there is this feeling where you feel almost…smothered? No–submerged by his attentiveness as if you are barely keeping your head above water before a predator pulls you down.

He is right in front of your face as you wake up from your daze. His off set eyes shine in amusement as he offers his gloved hand which you take in habit. It feels damp.

“It’s almost time for your debut. Shall we?”

Bodyguard!AU Silver

Bodyguard!Silver makes you realize you are more of a bodyguard than him. At least you can stay awake. When you find him huddled against a corner of your workplace for the nth time in the last week, you break down and buy a blanket. His porcelain face makes no change as you carefully drape the plush wool over his back. Long eyelashes and smooth snow hair cradles his features.

You're about to brush a stray hair from his cheek but before even a finger graces him, your back hits the concrete floor. Wrists tightly pinned over your head. Your heart is beating in your chest, maybe from the surprise, maybe from the way silver eyes pierce into yours as he asses you with sleep in his eyes. It’s over in an instance as your bodyguard's face filled with shock and embarrassment as he releases you, apologies spilling out of his mouth.

You rub your wrists. Usually that will be an immediate fire for you. Hurting clients, sleeping on the job; but, Silver is unusually fast. Faster than any of the previous bodyguards your father had hired for you. And his eyes…iridescent opal, it is as beautiful as the jewels you collect.

Your hand to cradle his face, there would be some bruises forming across your wrists but nothing a pair oIn a soft voice y lace gloves could fix. You tell him it's alright, accidents happen, that one miniscule mistake isn’t enough for you to eget rid of him. He breaths out, anxiety still shakesungs as he gulps, nodding his head pure opals staring right at you,

“I’m sorry, it will never happen again my lady”

#.wwrenwrites #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst x reader #yandere #floyd x reader #twst floyd #twst idia #idia x reader #twst jade #jade x reader #twst silver #silver x reader #not usually what I write #I write re2 content if I actually beat the game but I am a wimp

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phonydiaries · 7 months

Text

Worse for The Wear, P X Reader

Disclaimer: I've barely progressed past the first miniboss in Lies of P and I don't want to spoil the story for myself so I'm going off of information pretty much exclusively based on gifsets and screenshots,,, so if some of this isn't lore-accurate pls forgive me! it's indulgent fluff. Also if you enjoy this short piece and want to read more from me please tell me! I'd love to interact with this fandom more. Thanks, hope you enjoy!

---

As you kneel under the dank and decrepit streetlights, your knees are dirty, damp, and freezing cold against the pavement of Krat Station. Couldn’t this stranger have chosen a more convenient place to lose consciousness, you wonder. Perhaps he could’ve collapsed in a setting just slightly less dramatic than a torrential downpour? You’ll be sure to ask him as soon as he awakes. If he awakes. God, you hope he does.

You came upon him by accident really. Weaving your way through alleyways, dimly lit and speckled with decaying automatons. Miraculously you were able to avoid being detected, though the boy now lying in front of you wasn’t so lucky. The sight of him made your heart sink; limbs strewn about on the ground, his face equally obscured by dark soaked locks over his eyes and the wet pavement pressed against his cheek. The poor thing’s once-white shirt was discolored to a near black, smeared with slick tarry oil. Against your better judgment, you stopped to make sure he was alright.

With one arm you reach around the man’s torso and ungracefully heave him into a face-up position. As gently as you can, you adjust so his head is allowed to rest in your lap. The stranger's face, like his clothes, is marred with automaton grease; streaked across the bridge of his nose, caught in his dark angular brows, blotting his delicate mouth. He looks elegant somehow, even in his current state. His lips are slightly parted as he breathes in, shallow. Breath! He is alive! Curious, you ever so slowly bring two fingers to the man’s mouth and carefully wipe away a smear of oil. As you go to inspect the material closer, something closes, steely and cold, around your wrist. Startled, you yelp and your eyes dart to whatever is now clutching your arm. A masterfully crafted hand of pure steel curls its fingers around your wrist. The metal chills you to the bone. Monetarily frozen, you catch a glimpse of brilliant blue glinting in the eyes of the stranger, like sunlight diffused through seaglass.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” You say, your voice a bit more shrill than you would like. The stranger's eyes narrow momentarily, but quickly soften. His energy is clearly limited, without much to be spent on anything other than remaining conscious. This is clearly evidenced by the immediate loosening of his grip as his head lolls back into your lap.

“Oh…” You murmur, watching him with some concern. It’s difficult somehow to work up the courage to ask for more details on his injuries. You find yourself somewhat distracted by the beauty radiating from his waifish face. Your hand slides into place, cupping his pale cheek against your palm. His skin is soft, but cold. He can’t stay out in this storm much longer if he’s to have any chance at recovery. He seems to have momentarily slipped back into sleep, and so you take the opportunity to swipe away a lock of dark hair covering one eye.

“Sir,” you say softly “Can you stand? I’ll help you out of this rain if you’re able.”

He stirs then. His lids flutter, heavy, as if each time he blinks it becomes harder to keep his eyes open. Your heart jumps a bit at the sight of it.

“Please,” You trace the line of his sharp cheekbone “I’d be happy to get us both out of this mess.”

The stranger says nothing, but nods, and leans forward in an attempt at becoming upright once again. You preemptively hold your arms open, and he falls somewhat awkwardly into your chest. He’s heavier than you expected for someone with such a slight build! Although the mechanized arm probably accounts for most of it. With a bit of strain on your knees, you’re able to hoist him up into a standing -albeit hunched- position, his arm slung haphazardly around your shoulders. You swear a whimper escapes his lips as his chin dips into the nape of your neck. You try to focus on the task at hand, but have to admit to yourself that the feeling of his breath on your skin is electrifying.

“Where -um- which way did you come from?”

The stranger lifts his head just barely and looks around, obviously dazed. His gaze settles ahead and he raises his mechanical arm in a weak gesture towards a structure in the distance. You recognize it as Hotel Krat, a place you know of, but have never actually been.

“There?” You ask, and the weary boy nods. In preparation for the journey ahead, you adjust your stance slightly. “Onwards and upwards then…” You mutter; and the two of you stumble forward stepping on each other's toes occasionally. Slowly but surely, you head towards shelter.

The interior of the hotel is lit warmly, inviting and decorated beautifully. Under better circumstances you would’ve taken ample time to admire the whole place, but as soon as you step through the doors your companion collapses against the wall. He sucks in a sharp breath of air at his shoulders collision with the wall. Quickly you come to his aid, holding him steady at the waist and offering up your shoulder once again for him to lean on. Through a thick curtain of thoroughly drenched dark hair he looks at you, appreciative.

“Thank you.”

And the words are so soft, so melodic, you have to wonder if you only imagined it. Stunned, you respond simply,

“You’re welcome.”

You feel those striking blue eyes dance across your face, making it wildly difficult to think straight, much less speak. A sudden realization comes upon you; that in this moment you want nothing more in the world than to stay here, even freezing cold and soaked to the bone, taking in the sight of this man.

You notice just above his brow there’s still remnants of that black liquid. Absent-mindedly, you move your hand from your companion’s waist to wipe it away, leaning in ever so slightly to get a closer look. The boy catches your hand halfway. At first you think he’s swatting it away, but instead he stares at it with undivided attention, as if it were some rare treasure. Silently he intertwines his fingers with yours. For a moment, you’re frozen again, a jolt of blue lightning shooting up your spine at the quiet intimacy of the gesture. The mysterious boy inches closer, his nose grazing yours as he places a tender, appreciative kiss on your lips. You feel your face flush and reflexively tighten your grip on his hand. This seems to startle him and he stumbles out of the kiss. Your hand, however, is still holding tight to his, and so the two of you take a short sweet tumble onto the glossy floor.

Quickly you attempt to readjust, but you’ve landed conveniently head first against the boy's chest, so close you can hear a mechanical whirring beneath his skin. Your companion lifts your face with his human hand and inspects it carefully for injury. He squints, but seems satisfied that the only thing bruised by the fall is your ego. Carefully, the boy stands, pulling you up with him. His mouth curls into a kind smile, which becomes a melodic laugh gracefully escaping his lips.

We’re even now, you think to yourself.

Now we’ve both helped each other up.

---

#hurt/comfort #p x reader #pinocchio x reader #lies of p #GN reader

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ilguna · 3 months

Note

Can I please get number 2 and 8 from aisle 3 with sejanus, it could be her finding out about his plans to leave panem together and her trying to get him out of the jabberjay situation with snow to keep him safe? Thank you 💛

(ps. I know you love angst but pls don’t have him die I don’t think I can take it 😭)

☼ birds and stones (Sejanus Plinth) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention, gun mention, rebel plans, bird death.

wc; 5.4k

notes; 2. "How much of this did you hear?" AND 8. "Were you ever going to tell me the truth?"

The Center.

A place that you never thought that you’d semi-willingly step foot inside of in your entire life. In fairness, you don’t think the few hundred people wandering around the building had planned to turn to becoming a Peacekeeper, either. At least they have somewhat of a choice, though.

You weren't given one, courtesy of your actions while you were mentoring a single tribute for the Tenth Hunger Games. You’d like to say it’s not your fault you ended up here, because it truly would be so easy to pawn it off on Coriolanus, or even your own boyfriend, Sejanus. The truth is that you deserve every minute of the next twenty years as much as they do.

Although, your crimes against the Academy aren’t as severe. With your mother being part of the Committee, you were able to hear their charges and they were about what you had expected. Sejanus was pretty simple, the only real questionable thing he’d done was entering the arena without permission, thereby putting himself in danger.

As for Coriolanus—he was a desperate man. It didn’t take a genius to know that there was something more going on between him and Lucy Gray. Which did shock you, considering the opinions he’d aired about district people to you in the past. He never really struck you as the type of person to switch sides at the drop of a hat, but you’ve done some pretty interesting things yourself, these past couple weeks.

Anyway, Coriolanus had illegally smuggled Academy food into the arena. They picked up a napkin after the arena had been bombed, and found his DNA all over it. Which in of itself wouldn’t have been enough to expel him. Then, they found out that he was behind the compact that Lucy Gray had, which held rat poison inside of it.

Your mother explained to you that she knew the Snow’s when they were alive. She knew that the compact couldn’t have belonged to the Twelve tribute, because Coriolanus’s mother had been seen with it. She never went anywhere without it. And your mother wasn’t the only one who noticed this, Dean Highbottom already had it down on his list.

The final nail on the coffin was when they’d found Coriolanus’s handkerchief in a snake tank—the mutt tank that they’d used to take out the remaining tributes inside of the arena. In the corner, the initials ‘CXS’ was stitched with the same white thread at the border. Coriolanus might have been able to deny it, if it wasn’t so glaringly obvious that it belonged to him.

This proves that he tampered with the neon snakes. You didn’t understand right away, but your mother explained that Dr. Gaul had engineered the snakes to become comfortable with familiar scents and violent with smells they didn’t have in their system. The theory your mother shared was that Lucy Gray had touched it at some point in time, and Coriolanus never washed it.

And when he heard that the snakes would be going inside of the arena, he paid a visit to Dr. Gaul’s laboratory to drop off the handkerchief in the tank. It was a smart move, no one would have been able to trace it back to him. If the initials weren’t in the corner. Even one of the lab assistants was convinced it’d belonged to them until they inspected it further.

Just like that, he’d been expelled.

As well as you and Sejanus. Unfortunately, you haven’t heard information on either of them beyond that. The last time you talked to your boyfriend was about two nights ago, when he kissed you goodbye at your doorstep after you’d watched Lucy Gray win the Games. He promised to see you the following day, but he never came.

Since then, you received the news of your own expulsion, which has been an incredibly slow process as your mother and father have fought against it. They were pissed at the idea of you losing your honor status and your diploma. It’s a disgrace that they consider you a dropout, not even making it to your graduation.

This means that higher schooling is completely out of the question. They’ve trapped you into the next twenty years, whether you like it or not. If you were anyone else, you’d say you’ve shed some tears, but after being friends with Coriolanus and Sejanus, your skin has grown thick and your emotions rare.

“Form?” The woman asks, holding out her hand.

You pass over the paper the Recruitment Office handed to you after you enlisted yesterday afternoon. They told you that they’d need it when you got to the Center today, as there was information they had to fill out before you could officially get sent off to one of the districts.

She takes the paper from your fingers, eyes searching for your name at the top, printed in your neat handwriting. Her face twitches briefly, eyebrows raising. “(Y/n) (L/n)?” When she locks eyes with you, the bewilderment is prominent.

You give her a small smile. “That’s me.”

You were expecting this, it’s not everyday you get the daughters of one of the most infamous families in the Capitol. You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re important by any means, but if someone were to mention your last name, they would be able to recognize it. You come from a family that’s been successful for generations without sharing their secrets.

She hums, “They’ll start with your physical.” She places the paper on the table. “If you were a boy, they’d cut your hair, but you should be fine.”

“Thank you.” You murmur, walking around the table to head behind the curtains.

“Thank you.” She echoes.

The physical is pretty simple, you pass without any problems being brought up. After they fully vaccinate you against the sicknesses going around in the districts, you’re then led through a row of chairs, occupied by men getting their hair shaved into a buzz cut. You’re ordered to change into fatigues, your previous clothes being promptly discarded.

They hand you a duffel bag with a change of clothing, a hygiene kit, a water bottle, and a packet of meat sandwiches for the trip on the train. Your final stop in the Center is at the table, where you take care to read through the stack of papers they hand you, knowing better than to blindly sign.

When you’re done completely, you hand in the papers, watching as the man staples it all together. “Before I stamp your slip, do you have a district you’d prefer to go to?”

You open your mouth to tell him ‘no preference’, but a voice behind you cuts you off entirely. “District Twelve.”

Your face twists at the very thought of going to such a dirty district. There will undoubtedly be a layer of coal dust on everything you touch. It’ll be impossible to escape.

As you turn to look at who spoke over you, you try to drop the disgusted look. The moment your eyes land on him, a flood of relief hits your body like a truck. You throw out your hands. “Sejanus!”

Dressed in the same colored fatigues, with his brown curls shaved away, stands your boyfriend. His signature smile spreads across his face while he opens his arms for you to hug him.

You squeeze him tightly, letting out a laugh. “I thought you’d already gone.”

“No, I would never have gone without saying goodbye to you, first.” He says, you pull back to look into his eyes. He takes this as an opportunity to kiss you, holding you in place for several long seconds until he’s satisfied.

You quickly remember the recruitment officer sitting at the table. You keep one hand wrapped around Sejanus, turning to look at the man. “District Twelve.”

He writes it in on your slip, stamps it, and then slides it over. You hold the paper, watching as Sejanus turns in his papers and requests District Twelve, too. He holds his hand out for you, which you take gratefully, squeezing his palm. Together, you take a bus to the train station, where you wait for the next hour.

Sejanus has so much to tell you in this short span of time, most of which you already know. You know about the expulsion of the three of you, and how Lucy Gray was sent back to District Twelve without being paraded. He then goes on to surprise you by saying his father went before the board to promise them a new gymnasium for the Academy if they let him graduate and sign up for Peacekeepers. However, Sejanus refused to take the deal until both Coriolanus and you were allowed to graduate, too. And since Professor Sickle really wanted a new gym…

“I graduated?” You ask, eyebrows twitching in.

Sejanus opens his box of belongings, pulling out a small leather folder with the school’s emblem and your name engraved on the front. You take it from him carefully, flipping it open to see the diploma inside, crediting you with High Honors, like you’d wanted.

“Sejanus.” You pout.

“Don’t act like it’s a great deal.” Sejanus laughs, pushing your shoulder away. “It’s the least I could do for getting you in trouble.”

“It still means a lot to me.” You tell him. “And you know that.”

“That’s why I did it.”

–

Lately, Sejanus hasn’t been acting like himself.

It started happening a couple weeks back, right around the time he and Coriolanus were asked by the base commander to attend the hanging of Arlo Chance. Well, it wasn’t much of an option, they were instructed to go because Commander wanted more bodies there for show, and he was looking for recruits.

While they were given the opportunity to go, you were told to stay on base and continue with the schedule that you were given for the day. At the time, you weren’t upset by this in any way. In fact, you were thankful that you wouldn’t have to put on the full Peacekeeper uniform to stand out in the heat while they hung rebels. It wasn’t an afternoon that you’d been picturing all day.

Now that you’re looking back on it, maybe it would have been better if you’d offered. At least then you would’ve been with Sejanus. You saw the looks on both of their faces when they came back later that evening. Whatever had happened obviously upset Sejanus enough for him to barely kiss your cheek before disappearing to his room to write to Ma.

When you saw him for supper that night, he was overwhelmingly quiet. Despite the amount of times you tried to start up a conversation with him, he wouldn’t respond. He barely offered you more than a smile, but he did hold onto one of your hands with both of his, needing the comfort.

It wasn’t until you, Coriolanus and Sejanus were mopping the mess hall did he finally speak.

“What’s bothering you? And don’t say nothing.” Coriolanus said, eyes set on your boyfriend. His silence must’ve been poking at him, too.

Sejanus stuck his mop into the bucket of dirty water. “I don’t know. I keep wondering what would’ve happened today if the crowd had gotten physical. Would we have had to shoot them?”

“Oh, probably not.” Coriolanus told him almost immediately. You paused where you were several feet away, hands beginning to tighten around the wooden pole. “Probably just fired a few rounds in the air.”

“If I’m helping to kill people in the districts, how is it any better than helping to kill them in the Hunger Games?” Sejanus asked.

The silence that took over the room only lasted a few seconds, but a hundred thoughts passed through your head in that short span of time. The first was concern for your boyfriend, because there’s nothing more than he hates than unnecessary violence. And the second was concern for you and Coriolanus, because this exact train of thought is what had gotten you here, in District Twelve, in the first place.

Coriolanus hesitated. “What did you think it was going to be? I mean, what did you think you’d signed up for?”

“I thought I could be a medic.” Sejanus murmured, looking up from the floor to you.

You locked eyes with him, forced a smile, and went back to mopping. You’ll admit that when you signed up for Peacekeepers, you had a handful of unrealistic expectations, yourself. It’s taken you twice as long to adjust to this lifestyle than it has for them. Sejanus fit in with the district almost immediately because he used to live in District Two, and it’s like Coriolanus was meant for a military life.

On the other hand, you’d never pictured yourself leaving the Capitol, never really had to lift your finger for a single thing. Regardless, you knew that it would be more gloomy skies than sunshine days here. There’s going to be a lot of grimy memories that will follow you for the rest of your life, even after you make it back to the Capitol someday.

“A medic.” Coriolanus repeated. “Like a doctor?”

“No, that would require university training.” Sejanus continued. “Something more basic. Something where I could help anyone who’d been injured, Capitol or district, when violence breaks out. At least I wouldn’t do any harm. I just don’t know if I could ever kill anyone, Coryo.”

That’s all it took for you and Coriolanus to share a worried look. Sejanus was beginning to fall right back into his Capitol habits. This time, his actions would have worse consequences than just being banished. They could get him killed.

“What about in war?” You asked, causing them to look over. “We’re soldiers, you know.”

“I know. A war would be different, I guess. But I would have to be fighting for something I believed in. I would have to believe it would make the world a better place. I’d still rather be a medic, but there isn’t much demand for them at the moment, it turns out. Without a war. They’ve got a long waiting list of people who’d like to be trained to work at the clinic. But even for that, you need a recommendation, and the sergeant doesn’t want to give me one.”

“Why not? Sounds like a perfect fit.”

“Because I’m too good with a gun.” Sejanus paused, lips pulling down at the corners. “It’s true. I’m a crack shot. My father taught me from when I was tiny, and every week I had mandatory target practice. He considers it part of the family business.”

“Why didn’t you hide it?”

“I thought I was. In reality, I shoot much better than I do in training. I tried not to stand out, but the rest of the squad is terrible.” Sejanus’s eyes widened, looking between you and Coriolanus. “Not you two.”

“Yes, me.” Coriolanus laughed. “Look, I think you’re making too much of this. It’s not like we have a hanging every day. And if it ever did come to it, just shoot to miss.”

Sejanus let out a heavy sigh. “And what if that means (Y/n), or you, or Beanpole, or Smiley, end up dead? Because I didn’t protect you?”

“Oh, Sejanus.” You shook your head.

“You have to stop overthinking everything! Imagining every worst-case scenario. That isn’t going to happen. We’re all going to die right here, of old age or excessive mopping, whatever takes us first. In the meantime, quit hitting the target! Or invent a problem with your eyes! Or smash your hand in the door!”

“Stop being so self-indulgent, in other words.”

“Well, so dramatic anyway.” You mused, dragging your mop back to the bucket.

“That’s how you ended up in the arena, remember?” Coriolanus asked.

Sejanus blinked as if Coriolanus had reached over and slapped him. “That’s how I almost got us both killed. You’re right. Thanks. I’m going to think over what you said.”

It seems like he’s taken Coriolanus’s words to heart after that night, genuinely considering them and the consequences his actions could have. You know that the last thing Sejanus wants is to put the three of you back into danger, getting you into trouble, to find yourselves in worse work than Peacekeepers.

Sejanus has good intentions, you know he does. They’ve shown through several times, despite the mistakes he continues to make. In the past, before you’d been asked to mentor for the Tenth Hunger Games, they weren’t as frequent. And if they were, you never noticed them because they weren’t life-altering.

The truth is that you can never fully blame Sejanus for what he’s done, mostly because you feel as if the Hunger Games brought out the worst in a lot of people. The moment it was suggested, it started a domino effect that none of you had foreseen. And it ended with half of your classmates dead, and you being banished from the Capitol.

Still, this doesn’t mean that you excuse Sejanus’s flaws entirely. He would never let you.

“(L/n).” A voice snaps. You straighten where you stand, turning sharply to face the voice. You’re met with the face of your Commander, his eyebrows raised. “Go help with the birds, I want them labeled and on the hovercraft by the end of the hour.”

“Yes, sir.” You nod, waiting for him to take his eyes off of you before you walk away.

A part of you feels guilty, though. Sejanus’s train of thoughts progressively got worse in the Capitol when he confided in you. When he told you that he wanted to leave the bread crumbs on Marcus’s body, you said that he should find a way how. Granted, you were picturing him doing it after the Games had been finished and the bodies were extracted.

Really, you expected him to pull some strings with his father to get it to happen, too. Sometimes you forget that he doesn’t like to use his wealth and name the same way that you do. He doesn’t like taking the advantage. What he doesn’t realize is that if he does it in moderation—especially for something as simple as bread crumbs—no one will think he’s trying to get a step up.

If you hadn’t encouraged Sejanus to find a way to Marcus, then he wouldn’t have gone into the arena. Ma would not have gone to the Snow’s looking for her son. Coriolanus would not have gotten the call from Dr. Gaul regarding your boyfriend being in danger. There wouldn’t have been a reason to send Coriolanus in there to save him. And Coryo wouldn’t have had to kill one of the tributes.

You believe you’re a good portion of the reason why you’re here, in District Twelve, now.

Of course, there were other factors that contributed to it, but that was the start of it.

As you go to walk around the corner of the building to where half of your bunkmates should be, Sejanus’s voice cuts through the silence. “Listen, we’ve only got a few minutes. I know you won’t approve of what I’m going to do, but I need you to at least understand it. After what you said the other day, about us being like brothers, well, I feel I owe you an explanation. Please, just hear me out.”

Your boots freeze in the mud, eyebrows draw in. The quiet chirping of a nearby jabberjay fills the silence, while Coriolanus thinks of a response. Then, it falls quiet too. As if it wants to hear what your boyfriend has to say.

“It’s like this,” Sejanus starts. “Some of the rebels are leaving District twelve for good. Heading north to start a life away from Panem. They said if I help them with Lil, (Y/n) and I can go, too.”

You blink, face twisting deeper at the new knowledge. Sejanus is talking to rebels. He isn’t learning from his mistakes. Why hasn’t he talked to you about this? What does he think Coriolanus is going to do? If either of them get into trouble, it’ll be you who pulls them out this time. With Coriolanus wrapped up in Lucy Gray again and Sejanus talking district rebels…

As if reading your thoughts, Sejanus begins to speak quickly. “I know, I know, but they need me. The thing is, they’re determined to free Lil and take her with them. If they don’t, the Capitol will hang her with the next lot of rebels they bring in. The plan is simple, really. The prison guards work in four-hour shifts. I’m going to drug a couple of my ma’s treats and give them to the outside guards. The medicine they gave me in the Capitol, it knocks you out like that—” Sejanus snaps his fingers.

“I’ll take one of their guns. The inside guards are unarmed, so I can force them into the interrogation room at gunpoint. It’s soundproof, so no one can hear them yell. Then I’ll get Lil. Her brother can get us through the fence. We’ll head north immediately. We should have hours before they discover the guards. SInce we’re not going through the gate, they’ll assume we’re hiding on base, so they’ll lock it down and search here first. By the time they figure it out, we’ll be long gone. No one hurt. And no one the wiser.”

You’re gonna be sick.

You reach out to steady yourself on the wall, taking in deep breaths through your nose to calm the rising nausea. Sejanus has lost his goddamn mind if he thinks that he’s going to get away with all of this. He’s going to get himself hurt. He’s going to get himself caught. Or, he’s going to get himself killed.

“I couldn’t go without telling you.” Sejanus says to Coryo. You raise your head, face screwing in, because apparently telling his girlfriend doesn’t matter. But the person he considers a brother is more important, even though he’s not a part of this plan? “You’re as good to me as any brother could be. I’ll never forget what you did for me in the arena. I’ll try to figure out some way to let Ma know what happened to me. And my father, I suppose. Let him know the Plinth name lives on, if only in obscurity.”

It’s quiet for a couple of seconds, and then the jabberjay they must have nearby, begins to sing the song it had been before you walked up to the corner. Your eyebrows twitch together, suspicious.

“Here comes Bug.” Coriolanus says.

“Here comes Bug.” The bird repeats in Coryo’s voice.

Now it’s repeating what’s been said?

“Hush, you silly thing.” Coriolanus murmurs.

“We need another water bottle. One broke.” Bug says.

“One broke.” The bird echoes in Bug’s voice, before switching to imitate a nearby crow.

It dawns on you suddenly, as the blood seems to run from your face to your toes. You remember the crash course they gave everyone on jabberjays and mockingjays just a few weeks back. How mockingjays only replicated notes, while the jabberjays could repeat back whole sentences if instructed to.

Usually, they’re quite talkative. The jabberjay should’ve been repeating little parts of that conversation the entire time. The only time they fall silent is when they’re listening…

Your feet move before you tell them to, eyes searching for the jabberjay that holds Sejanus’s rebel secrets that will get him killed if they’re heard by the wrong person. Your presence immediately draws three pairs of eyes, but you’re locked on the cage that Bug is carrying toward the hovercraft.

“(Y/n), what are you doing over here?” Coriolanus asks.

Your eyes slide over to him, and they must not exactly be kind looking, because the happy look on his face vanishes completely. You take in a breath, forcing a smile despite the many things you’d like to accuse him of.

Not now, you think. “Commander told me to come here to make sure that the work gets done by the end of the hour.”

As you glance over at Bug, you find that the cage is marked with J1.

“Oh, well we don’t really need help.” Coriolanus shakes his head, looking between Sejanus and Bug. “We’re almost finished.”

“Let me organize the hovercraft, while the three of you focus on getting the birds covered.” You tell them, leaving no room for discussion. You have to get your hands on that bird, and you need to get it out of this area.

“Sure.” Sejanus nods, face twisting slightly. “Are you alright?”

He catches your arm, holding you in place for a moment. You give him a smile, reaching up to touch his face, even though you want to be everything but tender right now. He’s been lying to you about what he’s been up to. He made the wrong assumption of thinking that you’d be fine with going along with what he wanted. And out of all the people he chose to tell, he picked Coriolanus.

“I’m good.” You nod. “I just don’t want to get in trouble.”

Sejanus lets you go, smoothing the wrinkles out of your sleeve. You follow after Bug, allowing them to resume their conversation. You hesitate, waiting at the bottom of the ramp, wanting to hear what Coriolanus has to say to your boyfriend, if he’ll try to talk him out of it. But if he actually cared about Sejanus, he never would have recorded the first part, the most criminating part.

Bug peeks his head out of the hovercraft. “Are you coming inside?”

“Yes.” You start up the ramp, sparing a single glance back at the two boys.

It’s dark inside of the hovercraft, half of the lights overhead are covered by the cages and tarps to hide the birds. Bug quickly explains what he’s been doing with the birds and how they had been instructed to organize them. You feign interest, you’re not planning on staying for long.

In fact, as soon as Bug announces that he’s going to grab the next bird and disappears, you sweep J1 off of the shelf, heading down the ramp and straight into the street. A singular remote clutched in your free hand. You walk for a couple minutes, unconcerned about being missing. When the hovercraft is entirely out of sight, you step behind a tree, placing the bird cage on the ground, and pulling off the cover.

You stare down at the bird, shaking your head. You do the easiest task first, which is erasing the conversation. You press play, then put it on neutral so that you can press record, putting the bird back on neutral when you’re done. Now, it has nothing but the sound of birds chirping in the trees in its memory.

This should be good enough, but that means you could’ve just done it inside of the hovercraft, it would’ve been easier. A pit in your stomach tells you that you can’t just pick up the cage and walk back to the ship. You know that you’ve gotten rid of the conversation correctly—what if you didn’t? What if it’s still able to play it back? If it were up to you, you’d get rid of the bird, but they’re going to notice one is missing.

You guess you could come up with an excuse, take the punishment and move on.

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, trying to come up with ways to get rid of the creature. You’re only drawing up one solution, though. You’re not entirely sure how you feel about killing the thing with your bare hands, but do you have much of a choice? This is the only way to ensure that he stays safe…

And after all the time you’ve been together, and what he did to make sure you graduated, the least you could do is get rid of it.

Begrudgingly, you kill the bird, dig a shallow grave, and bury it. You cover the cage back up with the tarp, and head back to the hovercraft, where Bug is nowhere to be seen. You set the cage by the ramp, and when you peer inside of the ship, you can see that he’s brought two more cages since you walked away.

It isn’t long before Bug comes back, holding two more cages. “There you are. Where’d you go?”

“The bird died.” You tap the cage with the tip of your shoe. “I went out and buried it.”

His face twists, eyeing the cage. “We just put that one in there.”

You half-shrug. “I was checking on the ones in there and this one had stopped moving.”

There’s a brief moment of silence that passes. “I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to report it and hand them off to the scientists to be looked at.”

“Oh, well I didn’t know that.”

Bug still looks skeptical, but he doesn’t push it. He hands the two cages off to you, and then leaves to grab the next two. In the span of the next thirty minutes, the hovercraft is loaded and the Commander comes with a small portion of the scientists to check to make sure that they’ll be safely transported.

As expected, your dead bird doesn’t go unnoticed. However, you aren’t given as harsh of a punishment as you’re expecting. You’re simply taken off bird duty because you don’t know the rules as well as Bug, Sejanus and Coriolanus. And you’re met with a disappointed remark from the Commander, something along the lines of, “This is why we didn’t put you there to begin with.”

You’re free for the rest of the day, as long as you make it back to base before dark. You watch as Sejanus and Coriolanus walk side by side, talking animatedly. When Coriolanus reaches out to touch your boyfriend, you squeeze between them, wrapping your arm around the elbow of Sejanus.

“You know, Coryo, as much as we love to be with you all the time, I’d like some time with my boyfriend.” You raise your eyebrows.

Coriolanus doesn’t seem bothered, nodding. “You haven’t been able to. I’ll go back to base.”

“We’ll see you there.” You smile, Sejanus offers him a wave.

You come to a slow stop in the dirt, watching as Coriolanus walks down the path, further into the trees. Once you’re alone, you turn to look at Sejanus, lips pressing together.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Is there anything you might want to tell me?” You ask.

A crease appears between his eyebrows, as he reaches to touch the side of your face. You grab his wrist, pulling your head away. “No, (Y/n).”

“You’re lying to me.” You tell him. “I heard what you said to Coriolanus about the rebels.”

Sejanus’s face drops, he swallows. “How much of this did you hear?”

“All of it.” You tilt your head. “Actually, I heard the first part, until Bug came to get that bird, then I had to show myself. Were you ever going to tell me the truth?”

“Yes, I was, I just wanted to figure it out first.”

“It sounded pretty figured out to me. You were going to do that all on your own? You could’ve gotten into trouble, especially with Coriolanus.”

“With Coryo?” Sejanus repeats. “He’s our friend, (Y/n). There’s nothing to worry about.”

“He was recording you on that jabberjay.” You emphasize. “I bet he was planning on sending it to Dr. Gaul. You know they listen back to what they have to say, right? Just in case they’ve heard anything incriminating? You’re lucky I caught it.”

“You killed the bird?” Sejanus asks, eyes wide. “Coriolanus was recording me?”

“I had to kill it, because erasing the conversation never would’ve been enough.” You shake your head.

“He’s my brother.” He breathes.

“He’s a fucking snake.” You grab onto his sleeve, shaking him to try and pull him to reality. “We need to get out of here. You need to get yourself out of that plan with Lil without pissing off the rebels. I’m gonna call my mom tonight, she’ll come up with an excuse to get us home.”

Sejanus cups your face. “I am so, so sorry, (Y/n). I’ve done it again. I’ve gotten us into trouble.”

“I’m going to get us out of it.” You grab his wrists, squeezing.

this was part of my 3k celebration!! will i ever be done celebrating? hopefully before the end of 2024!!

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loquaciousferret · 1 year

Text

The Moon and Me

Summary: The team-up between you and tough-guy Joel Miller is causing a rift with his brother and partner, Tommy. Given the choice between losing you to keep the peace or choosing you once and for all, there’s only one decision Joel is going to make.

Pairing: Joel Miller X Female Reader

Content Warnings: Angst!! mentions of death, alcohol, age-gap!!, SMUT 18+ mdni, kind of somno. Maybe more. Read at own risk.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Not written in so long but I’ve been in Pedro Pascal thots for days now and can’t finish my Din Djarin fic so instead I wrote this. Not proof-read in any way.

Not canon timeline or events. Probably not even canon Joel character, just need to satisfy my thots.

NSFW under the cut do not press keep reading if you are a minor pls thx!

“What have you turned into? Huh?” He spat. “Playing house with some little thing half your age.”

“That’s enough. Don’t bring her into this.” Joel responded gruffly, a warning in his tone.

“No, really,” Tommy persisted. “What’s it all about, anyway, Joel? Burying your sorrows in some 25 year olds pussy? It isn’t gonna turn back time.”

“Stop. Don’t you dare talk about her like that.” Joel didn’t raise his voice, calm but forceful.

“I have to. This is all about her. You’ve gone all soft over that girl and she’s probably only here with you because her daddy got himself killed and she needs a replacem-“

“I said, enough.” He practically yelled this time, anger and venom in his tone in response to his brother’s words. “Get out.” He spat.

Angry footsteps approached the door where you had been listening and you slipped down the hall to avoid being seen. You got to the kitchen and opened and closed the back door loudly in front of you, feigning that you had just returned and making enough noise to be sure to alert the men to your presence.

As you turned round you just caught the back of Tommy’s head and the front door slamming.

You breathed a sigh of relief that he was gone, leaving you and Joel alone, but tensed up again at the thought of how Joel might act around you now. Would his brothers words be playing on his mind? Things could change quickly in this world if there was any erosion of the trust that you had been carefully constructing between the two of you.

A door opened and Joel came towards you, you smiled, desperately trying to act natural and avoid any hint that you might have heard his and Tommy’s exchange.

“How has your day been?” You asked cheerfully.

He huffed with his typical response. “Well, I’m alive, so.”

You pursed your lips, but smiled again, turning his words into something positive. “So, good, then.”

He scoffed, and you noted that he still hadn’t met your eye throughout the short exchange.

“What did you get?” He asked, bringing your mind back to the reality of the situation.

“Oh.” You fumbled, reaching over and grabbing the pack you had come back with. “Um, it wasn’t too bad actually. Got the basics and a little more.”

He gave no verbal response but nodded approvingly. He finished what he was doing- topping up a glass of whiskey, and left the room, tending to the front door, locking every bolt and chain.

“What about Tommy?” You asked, even though you knew the answer “Is he here?”

“No.” Joel replied sharply, “He won’t be coming back tonight.”

His tone made it clear there was to be no more questions about the matter.

This was serious. A possible rift this large between the two brothers and you knew only your presence was to blame.

“You hungry?” You called out to him as he turned the corner away from you.

“Yes.” He responded briefly.

You had been clutching the edge of the counter with all your force and only realised now when you looked down and your knuckles were white from the pressure. You cursed under your breath, and got to working on some kind of dinner with the supplies you had managed to get this morning. Some canned foods that you managed to heat and present in a way that resembled a meal. You made a plate for Joel and a small one for yourself, your appetite depleted with anxiety.

You grabbed the plates and made your way out of the kitchen before turning and gathering the whiskey under your arm for good measure.

Entering what was set up as the living room area, you eyed Joel. He didn’t return the attention, pretending to be busy fiddling with a pocket knife. You set the food in front of him and he grunted in recognition (his idea of giving thanks) and you sat in a chair opposite.

You ate in silence. Usually you chose to fill these gaps and talk at him rather than with him, but you didn’t trust yourself to act natural and hide what you knew about his and Tommy’s confrontation.

“Was good.” He nodded as he finished eating and pushed the plate away from himself. He took the last sip of his whiskey and you offered him the bottle automatically, which he took, still not once having met your eye.

“I was gonna try wash my clothes, tonight.” You said.

He didn’t take the statement as an offer, filling his glass with no response.

“I can do yours, too.” You clarified.

“Don’t have any spares.” He responded gruffly. He was a man of few words at the best of times but 6 words throughout an entire meal was unusual even for him.

“Just your shirt, then.” You said.

He conceded with a nod.

You pushed your plate towards him, less than half eaten. Your stomach churning with uncertainty to the point you couldn’t choke it down.

“You should be eating more.” He said, but took the food anyway.

You watched him intently as he cleared the plate before reaching to take it back along with his previous empty one. You left the room, both failing to acknowledge each other any further.

You got to the kitchen and left the plates in the sink. The water didn’t run in there, but him and Tommy had been working at fixing it.

Tommy. You thought hard again about their conversation and what might have triggered it. What slight had Joel committed that Tommy chose to blame you for. You couldn’t put your finger on a good explanation.

You kept yourself busy for the rest of the day in your room to avoid Joel. Counting, sorting, tidying the small number of possessions you had, then starting again to fill the time. When it got dark out, you started to get ready for bed, stripping off your clothes and putting on some spare socks and underwear and a large oversized shirt. The water did run in the bathroom and you imagined you could wash them somewhat in the bathtub. When you left your room, Joel’s shirt hung on the handrail for the stairs, waiting for you.

You picked it up and walked to the bathroom, as you reached for the door handle it swung open in front of you and you bumped into Joel’s bare chest.

“Oh.” You said, “I’m sorry. Didn’t know you were in here.”

For a split second you got to analyse his body, his broad shoulders and chest, littered with scars that stood out white against tanned skin.

“Gonna let me out?” He said, snapping your gaze towards him, where you found him staring right ahead, dodging your face completely.

You side stepped and he passed you without another word, leaving you with just a hint of the scent of him. Musk, salt, whiskey.

You kneeled in front of the bathtub and ran the tap, the water was clear and clean but nowhere near hot. It would probably work, though. You reached for the rare bar of soap that rested on the edge of the bath, deeming its use a worthwhile sacrifice for the feeling of clean clothes.

You dipped all of yours into the water in a pile, saturating them before removing them one by one, scrubbing the fabric together with a small amount of soap and rinsing. Repeat. Your mind wandered, with the mundane task barely taking up any thinking power.

You imagined how it feel to be close to him. How warm would his chest be if you were pressed up against it. What he would taste like if you were to kiss his skin.

You shook your head and frowned at yourself. It was no use thinking that way. You knew on that one fact that Tommy definitely had the wrong idea. There was no level of intimacy between you and Joel. There never would be. He was right about the fact of you being half his age, a fact you were definitely both astutely aware of. It had to be enough for Joel not to ever think about you in that way. But it didn’t stop you from thinking about him.

Before you knew it his shirt was in your hands, and your face pressed into the fabric. His scent was comforting, despite being mixed with sweat, dirt, and blood. You inhaled it nonetheless. You imagined how your scents would smell mixed together in some kind of moment of intimacy or passion.

For fuck’s sake. Get it together. You tell yourself, and plunged his shirt into the water.

When the washing was complete you drained the tub, the water grey with filth, and began to wring out each item carefully as much as you could. Hopefully they would dry overnight so you both could dress again in the morning.

You draped his damp blue shirt to dry, where he had left it on the rail for you, and retreated into your room in silence.

As you lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take you, you could ever so slightly glimpse the moon and stars watching over you through a small crack in the boarded up window.

The next few days passed slowly. The tension from Joel didn’t let up once. You co-existed in the space whilst barely acknowledging one another. There was no sign of Tommy’s return.

On the third night, as you and Joel ate another meal in painful silence, your thoughts bubbled to the surface and despite your better judgment, your words of confession spilled out before you could stop them.

“I heard you.” You blurted. “You and Tommy. The other day. I know why he’s gone.”

For the first time in days, he met your eyes, shooting you a look you couldn’t decipher the meaning of.

“That’s none of your concern.” He spoke almost through gritted teeth.

“Well, it is, actually. It was about me. It directly concerns me.” You were usually slow to challenge him but the guilt and anxiety of the past few days had turned into some kind of twisted courage.

“You’ve been acting differently ever since.” You accused. “So I know part of you must believe what he said, or at least you have a suspicion he’s right.”

He scowled.

“Just admit it.” You challenged again.

He downed the last few sips of his whiskey and leaned back, running a hand through his hair. He tilted his head to one side.

“I don’t particularly care why you’re here. He could be right. Why would it matter?”

His admission practically knocked the air out of your lungs. You were angry. His words were cruel, even though you know he didn’t mean them to be. He was always matter of fact, always suspicious. You should have known that that would apply to you as well.

You scoff almost in derision, humiliated and almost offended at the accusation that you could just be using him.

“Look, I get it.” He continues. “We all have to do what we must in this world. I’m not saying I blame you.”

If his words were meant to console you, they did the opposite.

“How dare you.” You responded.

He raised an eyebrow. You had never spoken to him like this, even when he deserved it fairly often. You weren’t a hothead and you usually didn’t let his rudeness get under your skin, you were forgiving and sensitive and you knew his front was all about self-protection, letting him get away with most of what should be considered unacceptable.

“You really think I’m here because I need you?” You spat, almost disgusted at the accusation. “I’m here because I choose to be. I’m here because I lo-” You stuttered and you knew he noticed, his eyes twitching. “Because I like you. I like your company. Despite how unpleasant you insist on being most of the time. On a good day you are funny. You can almost be kind, and caring- in your own way. But don’t for one second think I’m using you for my own protection. There was a time before you and there could easily be a time after you.”

His eyes widened at your outburst. He was practically smirking and it enraged you even further.

“You’re only in this situation, having these doubts and suspicions because of your own insistence on not talking about the past. You refuse to let yourself know me. If you knew my story you wouldn’t believe Tommy, or doubt my intentions, for even a second.”

He still didn’t respond, just watching you carefully as you got more and more flustered.

“For the record, I lost my father long before this mess started. I’ve been taking care of myself since the beginning and before that. I was 16. He was a cop. He was killed in the line of duty. Before any virus, anything. And I looked after myself from then on. He was a good cop. He was brave and intelligent and he taught me never to rely on anyone else. And I don’t. Least of all you.”

His lack of response kept your emotions heightened.

“You are so arrogant. And so self-important. I don’t need you. I chose you. You think everyone is driven by selfishness and a need to survive. Well I’m not. I choose to still find happiness, joy, laughter, music. That’s what makes us human, if you remember what that means. You and Tommy and anyone else who thinks I’m soft- well, I just don’t care. If everything you do is just driven by self-preservation then how are you any better than those monsters that we are hiding from. You would be a shell of a person if every choice you made was from a need to survive. But you would know all about that.”

Your words came out more hurtful than you had imagined but you meant every one of them. What was the point of struggling through this just to survive. You were here to live. To remember the past and find whatever scraps of it you could to rebuild something worth living for in the world you now inhabited.

His face was blank, betraying no emotion at your words.

“But I’m not going to come between you and Tommy. I know where I’m not wanted.” You spoke calmly now. “And I get it, blood is thicker than water. I won’t be the reason you lose your family. I know how that feels. And I’ll be fine. I was fine before I met you. I will be again.”

You raised from your seat and walked out of the room, speaking your final words without turning to face him. “I’ll be gone by the morning.”

You climbed the stairs and hot tears spilled from your eyes. At least they hadn’t started while you were yelling at him. That would have really undermined your point.

You slammed your door in frustration and looked around the room you had called home for the last 6 months here with Joel. You thought back to when you first met, bartering in the commune. You offering whiskey and him cigarettes. You remembered how it felt when his hand grazed yours the first time you traded with each other, his warm calloused skin and the way you practically squirmed under his intense gaze. You never would have thought then that you would become somewhat of a team. That you would grow to care for him and to-

You interrupted your own train of thought to consider what you had almost said to him in the heat of the moment. That you had grown to love him.

Part of you wasn’t sure it was true. You were only 20 when the outbreak happened, you had barely dated, barely slept with other people, never developed feelings that you thought might be love.

But you had decided that had to be what you felt towards Joel. A sense of home in wherever he was. The last thought on your mind before falling asleep and the first when you woke up. Knowing you would go hungry so he could be full, thirsty so that he might be satiated. Hurt so that he might be safe.

The tears spilled again, uncontrollable. You had picked the worst possible person to fall for, in the worst possible circumstances.

You gathered what few things you had into your pack and lay down, exhausted. Peeling off your clothes that were stuck to your flushed and tired body, discarding them on the floor and crawling into bed in your underwear. The sheets were cool and provided relief.

You tossed and turned, the house remained silent. You never heard Joel come to bed and guessed he was downstairs finishing the last of his whiskey that you had managed to save for him.

You thought about what you would have to do in the morning. You had to go far from here, somewhere you would never have to come across him again. You couldn’t stay within any proximity that would allow the potential for chance meetings. It would hurt too much to be so close but so far from the man you wanted.

You didn’t know how long you had surrendered to sleep for when you were awoken by the creaking of the floorboards on the landing outside your door and the scratch of your door as it opened. Confused by half-sleep and emotions you were still in your own world until weight on the mattress disturbed you and, next, warm hands on your neck.

“Joel?” You whispered in a groan. You were still confused and unsure, stuck in a space between dream and reality, the only clarity provided to your senses was his distinct scent as you breathed in.

He was rolling you from your side onto your back, one strong hand still on your neck and the other on your waist. As you woke up properly you were startled.

“Joel? Wha-“ Your protests were met by him shushing you.

He had never been in your room before, not even when you were awake. And you had never been in his space. Whilst the rest of the house was shared, you were both very private in your separate bedroom sanctuaries.

“Joel-“ You tried again but were interrupted by words this time.

“Can’t you just be quiet?” He said, but there was no annoyance in his tone. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought he only sounded nervous. “You’ve said your piece tonight. It’s my turn now.”

As your eyes adjusted to the light you took him in, the shadows on his beard, his forehead. He looked as handsome as ever, and where his strong hands touched you, fire radiated.

“What you said about blood. About family. You’re wrong. You’re my family now. I do choose you. Choose you every day. Would neve- Could never choose anyone else.” His words were barely more than a whisper, and you almost couldn’t believe your ears. Tough, hard, cold Joel muttering words of pure adoration.

“I don’t underst-“ Your words were cut off with a gasp as he began to run his hands up and down your body.

“You’re not leavin’ tomorrow.” He breathed, his lips tickling the crook of your neck where he was leaning his head. “Won’t let you.”

You let out almost a laugh at the insinuation. Could it be true? That he wanted you as much as you wanted him? That he would really be willing to keep you practically against your will, just out of a desperate need to be with you?

“What you said, got me realisin’ what a fool I’ve been. Not havin’ the balls to show you what you mean to me. To prove myself to you. ‘n I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You were barely convinced it was reality, these confessions just too shocking to register as true.

You were only convinced by the feeling of his lips on yours, the taste of whiskey and tobacco strong but not unpleasant. Everything about him was exactly what you had imagined, strong but gentle, forceful but cautious.

“I’ve been a fool, baby. Really I have. Never should have let you think you were anything less than the most amazing, beautiful thing that, hell, I don’t know what I’ve ever done right to deserve.” His words were punctuated with kisses, on your lips, neck, and onto your sternum.

You suddenly realised how naked you were compared to him, just your bra and underwear to cover yourself and you became self-conscious, lifting your arms to his chest to push him off slightly. The action made him tense up and you witnessed an expression of fear or embarrassment in his eyes, maybe he thought he had the wrong idea.

You silenced his worry by once again connecting your mouths in a kiss, and you’re not sure what gave you the confidence to reach down and toy with his belt, struggling with the buckle to undo it. It was then you took notice of the erection in his jeans. It almost made your jaw drop, palming it gently and finding it’s size. It was big. Definitely bigger than anything you had had in the past.

His mouth twitched into his signature smirk, breaking the kiss to taunt “You like what you see, baby?”

You felt a blush creep into your cheeks, which he must have seen or felt somehow as he chuckled. He leaned back, his own hands unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans with ease. He pulled them down and his boxers, his hard cock springing out, already leaking from its tip.

You took it into your hand and stroked gently, and he sighed in relief.

“Your hands- so small- so warm. ” He stuttered, his hands wandering once again, this time round your back where he unclipped your bra and pulled it from your body.

“God-“ He muttered, before taking a handful of your breast, kneading it gently and continuing to breathe deeply as you quickened the pace of your hand around his hard cock.

You were pliant and submissive beneath him as his hands roamed your body, he grabbed both your hands with one of his and pinned them above your head before starting to touch your inner thighs with the other.

“Are you sure about this?” You asked, anxiety returning when you thought about your relationship up to this point. You couldn’t think of a time he’d ever indicated he was attracted to you, and a terrible thought was trying to convince you he was only doing this as a way to comfort you or convince you to stay.

“Am I sure?” He responded, incredulous. “I’ve wanted this since the first day I laid eyes on you baby. Never thought in a million years you’d want the same.”

He whispered the words into your skin, his beard tickling you as his mouth moved.

His free hand drifted from your inner thigh to your clothed sex, palming it gently. You squeezed your legs together involuntarily and became aware of how wet you already were. He did too, smirking again as he hooked a finger under the fabric and felt your slick entrance. He slipped one finger in immediately and you gasped, hips keening up towards his touch, your body unable to resist the overwhelming arousal and desire. It had been so long since someone else touched you like this. The fact that it was him, now, was unbelievable. He curled his fingers slowly, eliciting moans from you that must have seemed almost exaggerated.

“You like that, baby?”

You whined in response as he continued, his pace slow, teasing.

“Please,” You whined, no shame and no attempt to hide just how much you were already at his mercy.

He complied, releasing the grip he still maintained on your hands above your head and removing the other from inside you, using both hands to pull down your underwear, leaving you both exposed. He was still wearing his shirt, and you reached up, clumsily attempting to undo each button, simultaneously pulling him towards you for another desperate kiss.

“Wanted this for so long-“ You confessed in a whine as he touched you again, this time circling your clit gently.

“Yeah?” He responded.

“Please Joel-“ Your words were almost begging.

Sooner than you could finish speaking your thoughts, he was guiding his dick towards your entrance, nudging it gently before pushing all the way in. You both gasped simultaneously at the sensation, a perfect fit, stretching you so pleasurably.

You continued without the need for words, the room filled with the sounds of skin, the squeak of the bed, and the passionate, satisfied, desperate moans of two people who did not know how much they both needed each other until they finally took the chance.

His thrusts which had started off slow and gentle had been consistently gathering in pace and force, his hands unable to settle, roaming every inch of your body as if he was mapping you out under his touch. He squeezed your breasts, your hips, your thighs, whilst your hands explored his wide back, shoulders, chest.

You thought your pleasure couldn’t be enhanced any more until he reached one hand down to play with your clit, his thrusts still relentless. Your moans became a string of unintelligible pleading, his name rolling of your tongue like a desperate prayer.

“Yeah, that’s it baby. Say my name baby, god- fuck.”

You thought it was impossible but his thrusts increased in force, and as they did so you felt a knot of heat gathering as an orgasm approached.

“Joel- ah- fuck- I” You couldn’t get a warning out before you came hard, clenching and writhing under him. His pace still didn’t let up, he didn’t stop playing with your sensitive clit, and his volume increased, grunts and moans of elation as you tightened and contracted around him repeatedly.

“Yeah baby, cum on my cock baby. Too good- fuck.” His thrusts grew sloppy as he reached his own climax, “I’m gonna cum.” He groaned.

He pulled out and a few strokes of his fist later, white hot spurts littered your upper thighs and stomach.

He collapsed next to you briefly, pressing wet kisses to your neck and collarbones, his cock twitching, sensitive from the first sex he has had in months.

When he stood, you were still so overwhelmed from your own orgasm that you failed to open your eyes to investigate his movements. As quickly as he had left, he returned, and you felt the cool wet edge of a towel cleaning you off. He tossed it on the floor before resuming his position next to you.

You opened your eyes and took in what you could of his face in the dark. You reached up and wiped sweat from his brow, pressing a kiss to his throat. In a swift motion he grabbed both your arms and turned you to face him fully.

“You still leaving in the morning?” He asked gruffly.

“Not a chance.” You whispered.

That night you slept with the light of the moon and the man you loved, watching you, protecting you.

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francesminos-tt · 3 months

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Victorian era, Daeron is engaged to Lady Baratheon, thus ensuring a strong alliance for his family, but on his return to Kings Lading, he finally meets his nephew Joffrey, a knight so interesting and handsome that he makes Daeron question everything... angst, Interlized homophobia, denying feelings... pls 🥹🫶

I’m not sure if this is angst enough for you, but it’s the best I can do. Enjoy.

Daeron regretted returning to King’s Landing by ship the moment the ship left Old Town Harbor. The weather was unforgiving this time of the year, strong gust sweeping across the sea, with occasional rain, or even hail. Daeron couldn't sleep in his cold chamber, with howling wind and loud noises of rain drops pouring on the deck. The captain kept the ship carefully near the coast, sailing south first and then traced the shoreline of Dorne. However, the ship still almost got wrecked when sailing through the Stepstones in a storm. Daeron was struck by the severest seasickness of his life. He kept vomiting and vomiting, unable to even hold down a glass of wine. He was about to vomit his guts out when the ship finally sailed past the treacherous water of the Stepstones. Three days later, the ship sailed into the Blackwater Bay.

King’s Landing was a strange place for Daeron. He had left the capital at the young age of four, so his memory of the city was unreliable, to say the least. He was more used to the sunny days of Old Town, when the golden sun met the white wall of the Citadel and the black marble of the Starry Sept. Old Town smelled of flowery delicacy, melons, moonbloom, nightshade, peaches and pomegranates. The long summer days were stiflingly hot, but when the night fell, the city came alive with markets, taverns and pleasure houses open well into the night. Old Town was a place where knowledge met religion, where tradition met foreign values, where restriction met decadence. One could find the holiest place as well as the most extravagant pleasure houses in the Southern part of the realm. Daeron was brought up in such a place of conflict. That was why he considered himself a man with strong beliefs in the Seven, but also a sinner of the most unspeakable crime.

Daeron could tell King’s Landing was different before he even set foot on its soil. For start, the smell was different. No flowery delicacy, only the pungent mix of fish, iron, foreign spices and human filth. He could see the Red Keep in the distance, its red walls half veiled by a thick fog, like an ominous eye of the evil. The harbor was even busier than that of Old Town. Workers were unloading the cargo from the trading ships, merchants rushing to the harbor office to get their paperwork gone, oyster girls sliding skillfully in the crowd with their salty snacks, and armed soldiers patrolling the area. This place was bustling with life.

Daeron gathered his suitcase and walked carefully down the deck. He tried his best to make himself presentable, but the result was not so satisfactory. Days of seasickness and sleep deprivation left him exhausted and weak, his skin so dull and his cheeks so sunken that he looked more like a skeleton than a man. He stink, too. Daeron wondered who would be so unlucky to welcome him back to King’s Landing.

Probably some servant. Or maybe Hel, if she insisted. Daeron’s sister was always the most adventurous one among his siblings, though she didn't look the part.

“Excuse me, sir, are you Daeron Targaryen by any chance?” A young man stopped him on his way to the harbor office.

“Yes.” Daeron replied, “And you are?”

“Uncle!” The young man laughed and gave Daeron a big hug before the blonde could realize what was happening, “It’s been so long since we last met! So nice to see you again!”

Daeron was taken aback by the young man’s sudden intimacy. For a second, he worried that the fishy smell on his clothes might disgust the young man. Then his attention was drawn to the word uncle. Was this young man one of his nephews? He was too old to be Jaehaerys or Maelor, obviously, so who did that leave? Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey. Which one could he be?

“I am terribly sorry,” Daeron found his voice again after a long while, but he was still too shocked to hug the man back, “forgive me not for not recognizing you. It seems my memory isn’t as good as I think it is.”

The young man laughed and took half a step back. His arms were still loosely wrapped around Daeron’s torso, their face so close that Daeron could make out the small freckles adorning the man’s cheek. The man was slightly shorter than Daeron, with dark fluffy curls and darker eyes. Unlike Daeron, who was dressed in a formal suit even after a long journey at sea, the young man was wearing only a shirt and matching pants, with the top buttons undone to expose his beautiful collar bone and sun-kissed skin. Daeron’s eyes landed on the man’s lips, rosy and soft like the freshest petals, now curling up into a bright smile.

“No need to apologize, uncle. I won't blame you for not recognizing me. The last time we met, I was still a toddler.” The man chuckled, “Welcome back, uncle Daeron. I am Joffrey.”

Daeron barely reacted to the name because he was too caught up by how close Joffrey was. He could feel the heat from his dark-haired nephew, smell the faint cologne from Joffrey’s neck, and see the small beads of sweat hanging on Joffrey’s smooth forehead. Daeron went stiff all of a sudden, his palms began to sweat and his breathing quickened by nervousness. Joffrey was too close, too close for Daeron to remain sane.

“Uncle?” Joffrey tilted his head and called Daeron’s name again, “Uncle Daeron?”

“Oh! Sorry.” Daeron lowered his gaze immediately and struggled out of Joffrey’s arms, as if burned by the brunette’s skin, “Thank you for seeing me here, nephew. Forgive my rudeness. The sea journey must have messed up my head.”

“No problem.” Joffrey’s smile resumed, “I volunteered to pick you up, since I work at the harbor office, you know.”

Daeron wanted to ask what Joffrey’s job was, because he didn't believe the brunette’s outfit was appropriate for any job, let alone an office one. But he kept his mouth shut eventually. Maybe things were different here in King’s Landing.

“Besides,” Joffrey spoke, reaching out wrap his arm around Daeron’s shoulder again, “I am curious about you, uncle Daeron. I wonder what kind of a man you have become.”

Not as honorable as you might expect, Daeron thought. He let himself be led to the office to process his paperwork, while keeping his eyes on Joffrey’s snatched waist and cute butt.

“When will your betrothed join us, my dear?” Lady Alicent asked after Daeron had followed her into her private parlor for tea.

“Ellyn will stay with her family for the holiday, mother.” Daeron replied, his voice perfectly flat.

“She can join us for the holiday. I am sure King’s Landing has more to offer than Storm’s End.” Alicent said, stirring her tea after putting one scoop of sugar in it. She sat elegantly in her chair, back straight and shoulder squared, as if she was having tea with the royalty rather than her own son. Daeron couldn’t remember a time when his mother broke her perfect posture. No, Lady Alicent was the epitome of self-discipline.

“Her family is at Storm’s End, mother.” Daeron reminded her as gently as possible. Lady Alicent was a proper woman, but sometimes she just lacked the ability to empathize with others.

“I don’t see any sense for her to stay at that gloomy place any longer, since the wedding will take place in spring.” Alicent took a small bite of the jam filled sponge cake and then her tea, “Perhaps you should send her a letter and ask her to come here. I can't wait to meet my daughter-in-law.”

Daeron’s betrothal with Ellyn Baratheon was made solely by his mother. It was somewhat of a compensation for the failed betrothal of Daeron’s brother Aemond and Ellyn’s sister Floris. Lord Baratheon was furious when Aemond broke the marriage pact, but fortunately, Lady Alicent was able to persuade the old lord that their family still had the chance to form an alliance by the marriage of her youngest son and his lordship’s youngest daughter. Daeron only found out about his betrothal by a letter from the capital. He hadn't even met Ellyn Baratheon yet, only exchanged letters with the young lady. Daeron still felt detached to the matter, as if his mother was talking about someone else. He had to detach himself, or the fate would be too cruel to accept.

He always knew he would marry for the benefit of the family. His own feelings did not matter. Daeron had to spend the rest of his life with Ellyn Baratheon, whether he loved her or not.

No. Daeron was sure he would not love her, not in a romantic way, at least. He was incapable of loving a woman. His interest and affection always ended up on the same sex. He liked the angular features of men, the hard feeling of muscle under his hand, the musky breath, the smell of cologne and sweat, the beautiful body sculptured by the God.

Daeron couldn’t help but think of his nephew. Joffrey. Wild, handsome, and so full of life. Joffrey had occupied his dream ever since their meeting at the harbor. Daeron couldn’t stop thinking about how Joffrey’s smile seemed to brighten up the day, how warm Joffrey’s arm felt around his shoulder, and how beautiful Joffrey was.

Seven. He had sinned for having inappropriate thoughts about his nephew.

“Daeron? Are you listening, my dear?” Alicent’s voice snapped Daeron out of his train of thoughts.

“I am sorry, mother.” Daeron smiled awkwardly, “What were you saying?”

“I said, you should send a letter to invite your betrothed to King’s Landing.” Alicent put down her cup and leaned in to take Daeron’s hand into hers, “Are you okay, dear? You seem a little out of it today.”

“Thank you, mother. I am fine.” Daeron squeezed her hand gently, “Just tired.”

“Perhaps you should retire to your room early. I will tell the servants to prepare something for your sleep.” Alicent suggested, reaching her free hand for the bell.

Daeron nodded. He didn’t think some random concoction would help calm his mind, but he was desperate to be alone right now. He would agree to anything if it meant he could get away from his mother. He loved his mother, and he was sure she loved him back, to an acceptable extent at least, but sometimes her attitude was just suffocating. Lady Alicent would go extreme length to make sure all her children live a proper life, which meant accomplish things at appropriate age. Start studying no later than six, get involved in holy practices from eight, secure a proper marriage pact at eighteen, and marry before twenty. Such were the general rules of the society, and Lady Alicent believed an honorable member of the society needed to follow these rules.

Daeron went to the Sept frequently even though he never really understood the core of the Seven. He didn't object when his mother informed him in the letter that she had arranged a desirable marriage pact for him. Daeron guessed it was a show of love from his mother that she ever bothered to send a letter to him. All Daeron did was writing back to tell her that he trusted her wise judgment and thank her for the trouble.

It never mattered what Daeron wanted. He had lived his whole life like a puppet, doing everything his mother considered proper and beneficial to their family, so why stop now?

“Get some rest, my son.” Alicent planted a soft kiss on Daeron’s forehead before resuming her upright position, “Hopefully I will see you tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

“I will. Thank you, mother.” Daeron said, a strained smile on his face. He didn't know if his mother sensed his melancholy, but even if she did, she wouldn't ask about it anyway.

Daeron went straight back to his room located on the other wing of the mansion. The Red Keep was a magcificent place, having more than a dozen of bedrooms, a large ballroom, three lounges, two libraries, and numerous rooms for various entertainment purposes. There was a large kitchen on the ground floor, with spaces for servants and helpers. The Targaryen family had estates in other parts of the realm too, such as the Dragonstone mansion that Daeron’s half-sister and her family currently resided.

Not Joffrey though. Joffrey lived in Red Keep, in one of the guestrooms, since his work required him to stay in the capital. Lady Alicent begrudgingly invited the young man to live under her roof, because, again, it was considered a properly thing for a step grandmother to do.

Daeron was thinking about Joffrey’s bright smile when he bumped into the brunette right in front of his own room.

“Nephew?” Daeron gasped, his light violet eyes widened in surprise, “What are you doing outside my room?”

“Waiting for you, of course.” Joffrey flashed a smile, as bright as how Daeron remembered it, “You disappeared after dinner. I reckon I’d better wait here so I don’t miss you.”

“Do you need to discuss anything with me? Is it important?” Daeron took a step back, trying to stay a safe distance away from the brunette. Joffrey was like a house on fire; Daeron would be engulfed in flame if he stayed too close.

“I do have something I want to ask you.” Joffrey said, eyeing the closed door, “But it is best to discuss in private. Why don’t you ask me in, uncle?”

Daeron bit his lower lip and stayed silent for a long while. He was torn. On one hand, he was thrilled to invite Joffrey into his room, but on the other hand, he was scared to let others invade in his private space. Daeron had always been a private person. He had to, because he had so much to hide. He had to stay behind closed door, because he couldn't afford to expose his dirtiest secret to anyone. He risked losing everything.

Joffrey leaned against the wall and waited patiently for Daeron to give his answer. He still had a faint smile on his face, but his dark eyes contained something Daeron could not decipher. Was it guilt? What was Joffrey guilty of?

“We don't have all night, uncle.” Joffrey reminded him in a whisper.

A maid appeared around the corner with a tray in her hands, interrupting the heavy silence.

“Oh! Good evening, Sirs.” She bowed her head at two young gentlemen, “Lady Alicent sent me to bring you the sleep drop, Lord Daeron.”

“Right.” Daeron murmured under his breath, taking the tray from her, “You can go. I will take it from here.”

“But sir-”

“I said go.” Daeron’s voice came out harsher than he intended, “Please, I can take care of myself.”

The maid curtseyed and fled the scene. Even she could feel the tension between the two young lords, so instinct told her to leave before she witnessed anything she shouldn’t.

“Have trouble sleeping, uncle?” Joffrey asked after making sure the maid had already gone, “Perhaps I should go. Sorry to bother you.”

“NO!” Daeron balanced the tray on his left forearm and used his right hand to grab Joffrey’s shoulder, “Don't go. Don't you have things to discuss with me? Come inside.”

Joffrey half turned and lifted his eyes to observe Daeron closely. Joffrey’s eyes were like a bottomless pool of pure darkness, so glassy and so beautiful that Daeron could see his own reflection on them. Daeron didn't know what Joffrey was looking for, but apparently the brunette found the result he needed.

“Okay.” Joffrey whispered, blinking, “If you insist.”

“I do.” Daeron confirmed. For some reason, he had never been more confident of his decisions like he was now. He had no idea what would happen next, but he was damn sure if he let Joffrey go now, he would regret for the rest of his life.

Daeron’s bedroom was a comfortable suite with a four-post bed and a study desk. The hearth was burning quietly, providing much needed warmth. There were a pair of armchairs and a small table in front of the fire. Daeron put the tray down on the table before gesturing Joffrey to take a seat in one of the armchairs.

“What is that you want to discuss?” Daeron asked after sitting down on the oppose chair.

“How do you find King’s Landing so far, uncle?” Joffrey asked, turning his head from the hearth to look at Daeron, his face painted a lovely yellow by the fire.

“Pleasant. I am glad to be back.” Daeron replied before he could really understand the question. He had practiced the answer in his mind for so many times in case someone asked him about it.

“Honestly, I don't believe you, uncle.” Joffrey said, “If it’s truly the case, you won't need sleep drops to help you rest. So I am going to ask you again. How do you find King’s Landing?”

Daeron’s heart skipped a beat. No one had ever seen through his practiced lie before, not in his face, anyway. How could Joffrey expose his lie to his face so easily?

“…Tolerable.” Daeron answered with a helpless sigh. He hadn’t really thought about his feelings towards the city he was supposed to call home, so tolerable was the best he could come up with right now.

“I won't blame you. According to my knowledge, King’s Landing is quite different from anywhere else in the realm. I feel like an outsider when I am visiting Dragonstone, too, you know. Like, everything is quieter there.” Joffrey shrugged, “The sky is clearer and people are, let’s say, more content with their lives.”

“But you like it more here.” Daeron said.

“Yes.” Joffrey nodded, never one to hide his thoughts, “Hard to believe, isn't it? King’s Landing is like a melting pot of all sorts of people having their own agendas. I am used to reaching for my pocket whenever someone bumps into me on the street. Besides, the city smells like shit too.”

Daeron chuckled. What Joffrey had just described was absolutely true. He was intrigued by how eloquent Joffrey could be, and the way the brunette vividly described the city genuinely impressed him. Joffrey Velaryon was truly an interesting character. His very presence was the reason why the capital was tolerable to Daeron. If not for Joffrey, King’s Landing would just be a filthy place drowned by shit and industrial waste.

“Again, despite all the things you say, you like King’s Landing.” Daeron pointed out, finally relaxing in his chair. He had grown the habit of staying upright like his mother all the time, to keep the family’s honor, but here, in the privacy of his room and with Joffrey, Daeron slowly let his guard down. It was impossible not to be influenced by Joffrey’s easygoing demeanor.

“I do. I find the people interesting. All the different values, ambitions, desires, and culture. Just fascinating.” Joffrey rested his chin in his hand, “I have learned a lot here, but there is so much more to explore still. Currently, my biggest interest is you, uncle.”

Daeron almost choked on his own spit. No, he told himself, Joffrey didn't mean it like that. His nephew was probably curious about his sudden return to the capital. Nothing more. Stop acting like an awkward boy.

“I am afraid you will be disappointed, nephew. I am a simple man, you see. I don't have much to interest you.” Daeron said, clasping his hands together to stop them from fidgeting.

“I understand that you are coming back to get married.” Joffrey spoke, his voice almost drowned out by the crackling fire, “Lady Ellyn from House Baratheon, right? I have met her in a ball once. Pretty lady, the most agreeable among her sisters, I would say.”

“I haven’t met her yet.” Daeron admitted. He probably shouldn't reveal this to Joffrey, but somehow, Joffrey had the ability to dig the honest side out from people.

“Oh,” Joffrey said, a bit surprised, “I see.”

“My mother arranged the marriage for me. Lord Baratheon is a longtime business partner of the family, so marrying will strengthen the bond between our house and House Baratheon.” Daeron said, clasping his hands so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“How can you know your feelings for Lady Ellyn if you haven't met her yet?” Joffrey asked, genuinely confused, “What if you don't like her? What if she doesn't like you? How are you supposed to spend the rest of your lives together if you don't having feelings for each other?”

“Marriage isn't about feelings.” Daeron said, more like a reminder to himself than to Joffrey.

“Fuck that.” Joffrey hissed, “Who makes you believe in such nonsense? Feelings are the foundation of a happy marriage.”

“Is that why you haven't been betrothed yet?” Daeron blurted out before he could stop himself, “Haven’t found anyone you like?”

Joffrey pursed his lips together and went silent. Daeron’s question might sound a bit intruding, but it was not an offensive one. Why did Joffrey choose to stay silent now?

“Joffrey?” Daeron called the brunette’s name, “It’s okay if you don't want to answer. I am sorry. I didn't mean to pry.”

“There is someone I like.” Joffrey interrupted Daeron’s babbling, “But that person is not marriage material.”

“Why? You never know unless you try. Is the lady of low birth?”

Joffrey laughed, before whispering eventually.

“There is no lady to begin with.”

“What do you mean? You did say you have feelings for someone.” Daeron frowned, not quite sure where this conversation was going, “How come there is no lady...”

Daeron trailed off, as realization struck him like lightening. Could it be? But how? What was the odds of Joffrey sharing the same sinful thoughts with him?

“I’ve never liked women, not in a romantic way.” Joffrey spoke, his voice low but firm, “My feelings are always towards the same sex.”

“Stop it,” Daeron hissed, looking down, his voice trembling, “stop it, Joffrey.”

Daeron saw a pair of boots stopping before him, as Joffrey had gotten up from the armchair and walked to Daeron’s side. Joffrey stood so close that their knees almost touched.

“Why?” Joffrey’s voice came from above, “I am just being honest. Honesty is a virtue, uncle.”

Now Daeron could smell Joffrey’s cologne, and the faint trace of brandy.

“You are drunk, nephew. You are not thinking straight.” Daeron said, trying his best to keep his voice flat, “I will let your words slip this time.”

“I can't be more sober than I am now.” Joffrey put his hands on Daeron’s shoulder and pushed gently, forcing the blonde to lean on the chair as he straddled his uncle, “I like men. I’ve always liked men, and I like you.”

“You don't know what you are talking about.” Daeron murmured, but he didn't push Joffrey away. He couldn't. He was paralyzed by the brunette’s closeness.

“You are interested in me as well, aren’t you?�� Joffrey grabbed Daeron’s hand and led it to his own chest, “You couldn’t stop checking me out as soon as we met at the harbor.”

Joffrey’s skin was scorching hot against Daeron’s own, and Daeron could feel the other man’s racing heart against his palm.

“You can feel me if you like.” Joffrey whispered, guiding Daeron’s hand down from his chest to his stomach, then further down to his navel, his lower abdomen, and finally his groin.

Daeron shivered as his hand touched something hard and twitching over Joffrey’s pants. He had never touched another man’s cock before, but he could tell Joffrey was already well aroused from the wetness of the fabric. Daeron swallowed, too fascinated to pull his hand back.

“Admit it, uncle,” Joffrey began to grind on Daeron’s lap, “you want me. Stop lying to yourself.”

“I am getting married,” Daeron managed lamely, “I can't-”

“Then push me away.” Joffrey wrapped his arms around Daeron’s neck to balance himself as he kept grinding, “Push me away and say you don't want me. I will never bother you again.”

Daeron should push him away. He really should, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The Seven always taught him to be tough in face of temptation, but Daeron was weak. Years of attending sept did nothing to help him now, as he was easily led astray by this beautiful young man, who happened to be his nephew.

This was so wrong. Wrong in every level.

“Stop lying to yourself, uncle.” Joffrey whispered in Daeron’s ear before taking the blonde’s earlobe between his teeth and nibbled gently.

Daeron squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He was the one who couldn't think straight now. He had always been standing on the edge of the abyss, and Joffrey was the push he needed to throw himself off the cliff.

“Call my name.” Daeron said, burying his face into Joffrey’s neck and bit down hard.

“Daeron.”

Daeron’s whole body sang at Joffrey’s words. He didn't know what ecstasy was, but this was close enough.

#house of the dragon #hotd #joffron #my asks #joffrey velaryon #daeron x joffrey #daeron the daring #light angst

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snailvibes · 1 year

Text

SPLATOON 3 DLC DIRECT SPOILERS AS WELL AS A FULL ANALYSIS OF MY THOUGHTS AND PREDICTION FOR THE STORY AHEAD/// READ WITH CAUTION AND SCROLL FAST IM NOT PUTTING THIS UNDER A CUT

OK SO AAAUGHRHFHHWHDH SPLATOON ORDER DLC ANALYSIS HERE WR GO MY THOUGHTS IM SO HYPED AND SHAKING AND HAVE A VERY BIG PREDICTION

First and foremost I wanna point out that the area the octoling was in looks a LOT like the square, all the buildings and the shape of the area. But unlike the square there’s a very weird building? The door kinda looks like the door in that one picture shown but I doubt it’s the same thing. The picture of pearl looks like it could be for an opening cutscene, which if so means the whole square being white might not be just for show/some weird dream sequence. I think this is actually what the square looks like right now.

The MOST important thing I want to point out is this weird stuff we’ve been seeing everywhere. The white coral the weird plants and ooze and vines and tentacles. It’s all kinda fungal like, and it seems that wherever we are square or not it’s SPREADING, like a LOT. And whatever it is seems very alive if so.

It’s all also coral looking but still very fungus like with the way it looks like it’s spreading, almost like some kinda of parasite. Going with the coral theme the brain shown is reminiscent of both an actual brain and brain coral. There’s no way a brain would’ve been shown among all this if it wasn’t an ACTUAL brain for this weird new parasite like thing literally taking over everywhere.

I’m very convinced the main story will center around clearing this, kinda like the fuzzy ooze. Both like a parasite they spread, pulse like they’re alive, and possibly both take control of things. Unlike the fuzzy ooze though this fungal stuff spreads FAST if it’s already taken over the square entirely, and we also don’t know who’s made it.

Speaking of paralleling the splat3 storymode, we also have this as a glimpse into the past, only unlike alterna, far FAR into the past. My friend @solsticesailor (you can follow them here, Instagram, and Twitter so pls do) who, who used to study dinosaurs a lot and was there for my live stream reaction, pointed out it seems like the bone structure of an aquatic dinosaur. If true that fits with splatoon, but makes me curious why it of all things was shown. Judd was shown in the first hero mode trailer because he was a mammal, which correlated with the story. Maybe dinosaurs tie in somehow?

Along with paralleling past storymodes this one seems very octo expansion like. A lot of the images do tbh. Wires, abandoned buildings with floating structures (Octarian tech), it’s all very Tartar ish.

I’ve seen some people already jump the gun and say something bad happened to marina but this could easily be maybe a cutscene where she’s just pointing out danger I heavily doubt anything actually bad happened to her tbh, though the glitch in the image has me concerned it’s shown in other pause screens too. Also along with that octoling we keep seeing, there’s someone else standing there.

It’s possible that “someone else” is one of the many other octolings we keep seeing, but that leads me to my next point

I think we’re gonna have two protagonists. This octolings photo was pretty much as clearly shown as Pearl’s and Marina’s in terms of quality, making them suspect to being important. The other octoling also shown in clear pictures looks a LOT like eight, so I think we might be having two protagonists. Agent 8, and someone new who’s also an octoling. Maybe who we saw at the start isn’t eight, as they share more resemblance with the one on the left. Black tentacles instead of eight’s signature red.

with the little info we have so far my storymode predictions are that something is SPREADING. Maybe made by Tartar back in octo expansion, but it’s something alive and dangerous spreading, and it’s up to agent 8 and pearlina to stop it. It kinda seems like we break into a facility of some sort? Could be where it’s being created? They showed clips of the rocket area in the first storymode trailer, it’s not far fetched we’d be seeing the end game point of the lab it was all created at too.

ALSO AUDHEHFHWHD @acid-hues POINTED THIS ONE OUT BUT FOUR??( MAYBE??? DONT WANNA GET MY HOPES UP BUT COULD BE AUEHHHWHXHWH

#ITS ALL AHAHQHSHQHDHQHHXHWHZHWHDHW #splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon 3 #agent 4 #agent 3 #marie #callie #agent 8 #new agent 3 #splatoon 3 dlc #team order #order dlc #Tartar #theory #Nintendo direct spoilers

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purplecatghostposts · 1 year

Note

Pls pls pls more of the lil one off u just wrote. I'm just really curious to see Tim's (and Jay's) full reaction once Brian actually wakes up, all the questions- the feels that could be had.....oh man

Hell fucking yes, let’s continue this bad boy! (Previous Part Here!)

This ended up being a lot more of Tim and Jay talking but Brian is still very important I swear

Tags: Hospitals, Mentions of Blood and Violence, Arguments, Hurt/Comfort, Smoking, Self Deprecation, Very Minor Self Harm Via Pulling On Hair

Word Count: 2k Words.

— —

Tim made his peace with the fact that Brian was probably dead years ago.

No, that wasn’t right…

Tim accepted the fact that Brian, along with Seth and Sarah, were probably dead years ago. There was no peace to knowing this however. It haunted him— looming over him like the very same childhood monster come to life that now was tearing his life as he knew it apart. His first and best friend was probably dead and it might’ve be his fault and there was nothing he could do about it.

Now that Brian very much wasn’t dead (yet, he was losing a lot of blood still) and instead, lying in the backseat of his car unconscious, Tim was… Processing some things. A lot of things. Then when he realized how hard it was to take all of this in and drive at the same time, Tim focused on getting them to a hospital first and figuring out the rest later.

It’s a blur, really. Tim and Jay administer Brian under the claim that he was injured during a hunting accident and they accept it. More common here than most places— it’s a good lie. Tim watches them wheel Brian away with the promise that they’ll be updated as soon as they have new information. Tim and Jay find a place to sit down in the waiting room, in the corner and away from everyone else.

Then Tim can think. He can think about Jay shifting restlessly next to him and about how they fought the last time he saw him. He can think about Brian, being alive and how he’s the Hooded Guy and how that maybe means he hates him. He can think about how Brian isn’t dead but might die anyways and there’s nothing he can do but wait. He can think about trying to say something to Jay but being unable to voice any of it.

There’s a lot to consider. Tim thinks he would have a breakdown if he didn’t feel so numb.

He tries to look around and focus on something else but this time, he feels anxiety creep under his skin. Because the walls are sickeningly white and they’re closing in on him and fucking hell he hates hospitals so much.

Jay startles when he stands up, tensing immediately. Tim hates that Jay doesn’t trust him like he used to and maybe some of that is deserved. Not all of it though. Nonetheless, Tim meets his gaze steadily and says, “I need a smoke, you want to come?”

“Shouldn’t we wait?”

“We don't have to go far.” Tim points out. “And I can’t stand being in here another minute so I’m going with or without you.”

Jay hesitates, then stands with him and follows him out when Tim heads for the nearest exit. They settle by the side of the hospital, away from prying eyes. Tim fumbles for the last remaining cigarette in his pocket and feels a little tension bleed out when he takes a drag from it. It’s not much, but it’s what he has, so Tim clings to the thing that makes sense in front of him and breathes out slowly, pressing his back against the wall.

Jay’s eyes dart around but they keep coming back to him. His lip is tight, shoulders hunched, and after a couple minutes of nothing, Tim sighs. Now or never apparently.

“So,” Tim says, and Jay snaps to attention, “Where do you want to start?”

Jay doesn’t say anything for a while, but Tim can see the gears spinning in his head. He doesn’t need to clarify, Jay has been wound up like a spring the entire time. Full of questions but angry and processing, the same as Tim.

“You lied.” Jay spits out at last, and somehow, Tim knew that this would be where they would always end up. “You said no more secrets but you— you knew. You knew I was still looking for Jessica and you still didn’t say a thing! Is she even still alive?”

“She’s alive. And I didn’t tell you because I was trying to protect her.” Tim tells him, calmer than he feels. Inside it feels like a storm. Crackling full of emotions that make his throat burn but he shuts it down. Not now. If he lets this fight blow out of proportion, it’ll get physical, and that’s the last thing either of them need. He can be angry too but one of them needs to be in control and looking at him now, Tim knows it’s not gonna be Jay.

“Protect her?” Jay repeats, fury flashing in his eyes. “I’m not Alex! I’m not going to try and shoot her!”

“But Alex will and that’s why.” Tim pushes back. “All you did was ask some questions and it almost got her killed.”

“What, so it’s my fault?”

“That’s not what I said.” Tim doesn’t rise to the bait. “But this whole thing we’re doing? It gets people killed. Alex thinks she’s dead and it’s safer for her if it stays that way. Like it or not, if you set foot near her, Alex has a chance of tracking her down.”

“You could’ve told me all this! If you explained then— then I wouldn’t go near her! But you didn’t— you didn’t fucking trust me!”

Jay bares his teeth, hackles raised and waiting to strike. Ironically enough, some of the fight drains out of Tim upon seeing it. When did it become like this? When did all those months of having no one but each other wash away and bleed into bitterness?

They were close. So very close. And now Jay is ready for a fight that he expects to start and Tim still feels angry. For Jay attacking him over a tape— twice— and for the fact that Tim almost wants to punch him. Almost.

But he breathes in deeply, shoving the urge back where it won’t bother him, and he puts out the cigarette. It can’t help him like he needs now. It’s barely ever been able to help him really, but that’s another matter entirely.

Tim stands up straight and Jay shifts, a spring locked and loaded.

Tim says, “I’m sorry.” and watches as Jay visibly falters.

“I’m sorry,” Tim repeats again, just to drill it into his head, “But you’ve made some rash decisions in the past and I made the choice before I began to trust you. By the time I did, I had forgotten about it until I saw it again. I panicked— I knew what it would do to us if you found out so I tried to hide it and… You know the rest.”

Jay’s eyes search his own, squinting hard like he’s trying to find a lie or a trick. When he finds none, his shoulders go slack and Jay lets out a long breath. “Oh.” He says, no longer looking at him. His eyebrows scrunch together, deep in thought.

Tim doesn’t say anything, letting Jay figure out how he feels about that. After a long while, Jay says, “Thanks. For— apologizing.”

Tim nods. Another beat passes before Jay says, “I��m sorry I proved you right.”

Tim lets out a long huff. “I didn’t exactly put you in a good situation.”

“I pulled a knife on you.” Jay points out.

“You did.” Tim agrees. “That part was fucked up.”

“I don’t know why I did it.” Jay confesses, approaching at last and sitting up against the wall. Tim sits down beside him, watching as he rubs his eyes. “I mean— I know why. I was pissed and— I didn’t want to stab you but I wanted you to listen to me and answer all my questions and that just… Seemed like the only way to do it?

“I was just so fucking mad. It felt like you betrayed me and I couldn’t believe I fell for it again. Couldn’t believe that I always fucking fall for it.” Jay’s hands travel up to his hair, gripping onto it in a way that has to hurt. “Something is wrong with me.” He says, muffled, and his eyes squeeze shut.

Tim frowns. He knows that tone all too well. He knows exactly what’s running through Jay’s head.

Gently, he loosens Jay’s grip until it falls away from his hair and no longer hurting him. “You’re a person who needs help,” Tim murmurs to him, “Not a monster.”

Neither of them say anything for a long while. It’s fine for the most part. Peaceful. Nobody pays them any mind.

But eventually, Jay clears his throat and starts with, “So. Brian.”

Tim swallows thickly. “Brian.” He echoes.

“He’s alive.” Jay says. “And the Hooded Guy. And he saved my life and when I asked him why he said— he said that he did it because he didn’t know what else to do.”

Tim doesn’t know what to say. He rubs his eyes, trying to think. “You almost died.” Is all he can manage in the end. Then, bleakly adds, “Brian might still die.”

“He… Might.” Jay agrees weakly. “But he might not.”

Tim almost laughs. “I’ve never been that lucky.” He finds himself saying. “I just got him back and now I’m going to lose him.”

“You won’t.”

“And how do you know?”

“Because— because he’s the Hooded Guy. And he’s never gone down before so something tells me he’s not going down now.”

Jay says it with such an air of finality that Tim finds it hard to dispute it. This time, he does laugh, a breathy sort of laugh but it’s a little easier to breathe once he does. “Good point.” Tim smiles, and Jay smiles back.

The tension is gone, or at least, enough of it is that it feels like they can relax with each other. Tim rests his head on the wall behind him, shuts his eyes, and lets himself believe that everything will work itself out, one way or another.

—

Brian is stabilized. The nurses tell them that he’ll probably be out for a while since he lost a lot of blood and needs time to rest and heal.

Jay and Tim spend as much time as they can stand by his bed and the rest just around the back of the hospital, close enough to be warned but not trapped within. Though, that’s more an issue for Tim than it is for Jay, but Jay tells him that he’s not that big of a fan either.

Two days after administering Brian to the hospital, Jay and Tim are softly talking to themselves when the back door to the hospital opening causes them to look over. Immediately, both of them scramble to their feet.

Brian stands in front of them, a few feet away from the back door, and stares at them. His hospital robe has been discarded, blood-stained hoodie and jeans back on, with the only things missing being his gloves and his mask. His gaze is intense but Jay hasn’t the slightest idea what he’s thinking, as his face betrays none of it.

Then, after a long and silent standoff, Brian turns and begins to walk away from the hospital. Fortunately, with how weak he is, it’s easy enough to catch up, but Jay struggles with what to say.

“Brian?” He asks, and Brian’s face twitches in a way that feels uncomfortable. “Brian, you can’t just— you were hospitalized for a reason! You have to go back!”

Brian finally stops, spinning around to face Jay. Jay almost steps back from the weight of his gaze but stands his ground the best that he can.

“A hospital,” Brian says, voice rough, “Is the first place Alex will look. You’re lucky he didn’t find any of us here.”

“He can’t— he won’t shoot any of us in public!” Jay protests.

“No.” Brian agrees. “But he can wait until we leave, tail us wherever we go, and kill us there.”

Jay’s mouth snaps shut. Brian turns away again but Tim catches his wrist before he can move and causes his whole body to still. Brian looks back and Tim doesn’t so much as blink twice. He’s focused, unrelenting, and doesn’t leave any room for an argument.

“We,” Tim says, “are going to book a hotel room, sit down, and talk.” His gaze hardens. “You owe us answers.”

Brian says nothing, not even to defend himself. Slowly, he nods, but Tim doesn’t let go as he leads the rest of them towards his car.

“Won’t the hospital staff look for us?” Jay asks the other two as they walk, feeling eyes on him but unable to pinpoint from where.

“They won’t remember us.” Brian tells him without looking back, a certainty tone in his voice that tells Jay that he has experience in this matter. Jay can’t find it in him to dispute it.

— —

Anddd I’m gonna stop it there because it’ll take me a lot longer to write them actually having a Serious Talk with Brian bc I gotta think about what he’d tell them and what they’d ask a lot more BUT I hope this was still good!! Damn this might as well be it’s own mini series at this point.

Requests are still open so feel free to send another for a continuation or otherwise! Thank you for the ask, glad you enjoyed the first part :)

#marble hornets #SB Speaks #SB Writes #Ask #Request #requests are very fun so they’re still open btw #jay merrick #tim wright #Brian Thomas #mind the tags!#but things do slow down here #tell me if I missed any tags #marble hornets fanfiction

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chvnnie · 2 years

Text

Skyway Avenue

lee felix x reader

part 3/8 - come on fuck me emo boy. find the playlist here

word count: 3.5k

genre: smut, but mostly just fluff. MINORS DNI

warnings: strangers to lovers, mention of minor injuries and blood, mentions of past life love/soulmates, kind sub!felix, sex in a public place (but there’s no one else around), protected sex, soft dirty talk, very soft, short sex scene, use of pet name: good boy. that’s honestly it. if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

summary: who knew a skateboard crash could make felix feel so alive?

a/n: me and @lix-ables? posting soft lixie on the same day? wow bestie behavior. anyway, i went a lil hard on this one, so sorry that it’s a bit longer than part one or two. i really needed the fluff, ok. i really hope you’re enjoying the series so far <3 pls reblog/send feedback to let me know how you’re feeling about it!

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents lee felix as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @agustd-essert, @fthan, @chaitae-bae, @cloudyybinin, @lix001, @dnadoublefelixx, @cyder-puff, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @metalchick529, @stranger-thighs - please send ask/comment to be added

Gravel crunched under the wheels of Felix’s skateboard, the grinding noise soothing his overwhelmed brain. It reminded him that he was moving, that he was alive and breathing, and getting away.

When it came to fight or flight, Felix tended to lean towards the former. He’s usually a very passive person, not quick to anger or to confront others, but when his brain goes into panic, he doesn't go down without a fight. Which was why tonight was so weird - the urge to fight was gone. The urge to run was strong.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been gone. He wasn’t even quite sure where he was. Abandoned buildings greeting him in blurs, ghosts of memories hollowing out of their broken windows. It was eerily comforting, the chills the buildings gave him. For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel so alone.

A yellow street light glowed in the distance, urging him to keep going. He really needed to figure out where he was though. As he inched closer, he saw the light hung over a bench. A bus stop. Felix would get there, then he would figure out his next move. He just had to get there-

He saw the crack in the sidewalk a second too late.

Felix flew off the board, hands out to stop his head from colliding with the concrete. They only helped a bit; palms and knees colliding with the broken sidewalk and rubbing them raw. His head didn’t quite slam, but it did hit the ground, leaving him with a large scratch underneath his right eye.

A whiny groan built up in his throat, the sound getting lost in the sidewalk crack. Felix put his head down, willing his tears not to fall. It had been so nice. He left. He got to be with his thoughts. Then he stupidly stopped paying attention, and the rips in his jeans would serve as a constant reminder of this awful evening that apparently, is only getting worse.

The gravel crunched again, only softer this time, as if someone was walking on it. He should be more concerned about the possibility that it’s well past 10:00 PM and he wasn’t alone in this abandoned industrial parking lot, but Felix couldn’t find it in him to care. The pain, both physical and emotional, was too much. He couldn’t take it anymore. No matter what this person, or ghost, wanted with him, Felix would go along with it. He just didn’t care anymore.

“I know you didn’t fall hard enough to knock yourself unconscious.” Felix turned his head to the left, nose bumping into a pair of stained white converse. “Do you want some help? Or are you content with laying face down on a dirty sidewalk?”

He pressed his palms on the ground, hissing at the stinging pain in his hands, and pushed himself up. “I’m good. Tha-“ His mouth was suddenly dry, the last syllable of his words disappearing in thin air as he made eye contact with you.

You were squatting next to him, face cold as stone but eyes burning with concern. The two of you were dressed similar; ripped jeans and denim jackets, your exposed knees showing off scrapes that Felix was fairly certain matched the ones on his. Your hair was pushed over one shoulder, blowing slightly in the chilly breeze. The hair, plus the yellow glow of the street light, framed your face in a way that made you look angel. Otherworldly.

Which, you very well could be, seeing as you appeared out of nowhere.

Felix pushed himself up into a seated position. He groaned and pulled his skinned knees up to his chest to inspect the damage. “Where did you come from? I thought I was alone.”

You nodded your head in the direction of the bus stop. “I was over there when you ate it. Decided to come over and make sure I didn’t have to call the police to report a dead bod- holy shit, you’re bleeding.”

Felix looked at his knees. A little red, but dry. His palms were the same, if not slightly more bruised. He shot you a confused look, head cocking to the left as he tried to figure out where you saw blood.

“Your face.” You said, pulling your backpack. “Did you hit your face when you fell?”

You pulled a water bottle and a pack of tissues out of your bag, wetting the thin towels before pressing it to his face. He hissed at the contact, body tempted to jerk away from the tissue.

But then he felt your skin against his, the brief touch sending shivers down his spine and unconsciously moving his body forward. Closer to you.

You, the stranger who was now on your knees, face close to his as you carefully cleaned up the blood sliding down his cheeks.

“Where were you going, anyway?” You got rid of the stained tissue and replaced it with a clean one. “There’s nothing past that bus stop - you would’ve gotten lost in the woods.”

Your face was close to his again, the smell of rainwater and cotton filling his nostrils the closer you got. Where had he been going? Did Felix even know? Everything before you was starting to blur, the memories of today so out of reach that they were no longer painful.

“I don’t know.” He answered truthfully. “I just needed to… go.”

You pulled your hand back from his face, softly smiling at him before you began to rummage through your bag again. “I get it.” You said while pulling a bandage out.

When you flipped the bandage over, revealing the pattern printed on it, Felix’s laugh echoed off the abandoned buildings surrounding the two of you.

“Dinosaurs?” He said through huffed breaths, hand coming to his stomach to try and stop the cramps.

“What’s wrong with dinosaur bandaids?” You asked defensively, grin widening as you resisted laughing with him. “Dinosaurs don’t make you feel better? Maybe I should've left you, and then you wouldn’t have a dino bandaid.”

“No, please.” He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing your wrist, suddenly scared to be alone. “Dinosaurs do make me feel better. Please, put it on.”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh finally leaving your lips as you brought the bandage up to his face. Was Felix crazy, or were you closer to him than before? He swore your knees weren’t bumping together like this earlier.

“There.” You said, patting the edges of the bandaid down. “All fixed.”

“Thanks.”

You nodded, slowly moving out of his space and onto your bottom to sit. He watched as you turned your head to the left, head lazily resting on your own shoulders as you started at the building the two of you sat in front of. The old brick building had ivy growing up the front, lacing in and out of broken windows, giving it both a charming and unsettling front.

“You picked a good place to run off to.” You said, bringing Felix’s attention from the building back to you. “It’s quiet. Nobody bothers you here.”

“Is that why you’re here?” The question felt invasive, something he shouldn’t be asking someone he met literally five minutes ago. But something made Felix feel like this wasn’t your first time meeting. Like you had always been there, waiting for him to show up.

You hummed, running your fingers through your hair as you continued to study the building. “It’s easy to think here, ya know? It’s easy to be yourself here.”

It’s easy to be yourself here.

Maybe this cracked sidewalk was where Felix was meant to be all along.

“I want to go in.” Felix said mostly to himself, but still had pulled your attention back to him. “Something about the building seems so…inviting.”

You smiled at him, eyes dancing with a mischief that both terrified and excited him. Standing to your full height, you held a hand out to him. He also envied you, so willing to run into an empty building in a shady area with a person you just met. Maybe that’s why he grabbed your hand. Maybe that’s why he let you drag him into the musty building and up a staircase that shook under your weights.

Maybe he was sick of thinking and not doing.

The door to the roof was metal, the hinges rusting from years of rain and simply not being cared for or used. There was a hole where the handle should be, which concerned Felix. He was just about to question how to open it when you pushed your body against it, using your body to open the door. You propped the heavy door with a rock before gesturing out to the roof.

“After you.”

Felix walked past you onto the flat roof. Unlike the door, it seemed the roof had been somewhat cared for. The ground was bare of any trash, and the ivy that climbed the exterior walls was trimmed, banning the plant from covering anything other than the ledges. Somebody tended to it, keeping it clean and almost livable.

It was loved. This abandoned roof was loved, cherished, kept safe by someone. It was a sanctuary, your sanctuary, that you willingly brought Felix into.

Was he crazy? Or did you feel what he did? This connection to a complete stranger, a familiarity that only came with years of knowing someone, or loving someone. It’s like you knew him, like he knows you. Like you’ve spent all this time, caring for this roof just to show him. Just for him.

Like you’ve been searching for him all along.

Felix felt your shoulder brush against his arm as you walked past him, straight to the ledge of the building. You climbed onto it and sat, hanging your feet off the side. Palms resting at the sides, you looked up at the night sky.

“Sit with me?”

His body moved before he could answer, finding his place next to you.

“The best part about this rooftop is the sky.” You whispered as you adjusted your hand, the edge of your palm lightly pressing on Felix’s. “You can see everything from this high up. Look how much brighter the stars are here.”

But while your eyes were fixed on the stars, Felix’s were fixed on your. The way the moonlight made your skin glow, wide eyes sparkling with starlight. He couldn’t look away from you; he wanted to reach out and touch you. Trace the sharp edges of your jaw, feel the softness of your nose. He considered taking a picture of you, but knew no camera could capture what he was seeing. What he felt when he looked at you.

Was this love?

You lifted a hand, a thin finger pointing to the north. “Do you see that star?” Only then did Felix look away, turning in the direction of your finger. It would be hard to miss that star; while small, the light it gave off was bright. Instead of glowing white, it had a slight blue tint to it, setting it aside from the rest. “It reminds me of you.”

Felix found himself speechless, a squeaky “Me?” slipping past his lips.

You turned to look at him, a shy smile on your face as you locked eyes. “The way it subtly demands your attention, drawing you in and making you feel…warm. Like the way you fell - while less than subtle - but it drew me in. And then, I don’t know. It’s kind of silly. But you looked at me and I felt warm. Safe. You felt like a-“

“Home.” Felix softly cut you off. “Like a home.”

You nodded your head, lip trembling slightly as you spoke. “Is that crazy? I don’t even know your name-“

“It’s not.” He gripped your hand, no longer able to hold himself back from touching you. “It’s like, even though we just met, and we may only know each other for tonight, you’re more of a home to me than any person or place has ever been.”

Slinging one leg back onto the roof, you straddled the ledge, now face to face with Felix. “Exactly.” You whispered, shifting closer as he mirrored your position.

Felix’s knees bumped into yours as he leaned in, hands steady for the first time all night as he brushed a strand of hair out of your face. Never has he, the most nervous man in the country, felt so confident or bold. So…

Alive.

“Can I kiss you?” Felix asked in a hushed whisper, as if afraid the question would get lost in the space between you and him.

Your hand grabbed his wrist, holding his hand against your cheek and nuzzling into it. Your eyes fluttered shut as you sighed happily. “Please?”

His lips crashed against yours, pressure firm but pace slow. He wanted you to feel him, but didn’t want to rush anything. You shifted your weight to kiss him better as Felix teased the bottom of your lip, begging for entrance. Your lips parted slightly, letting him take the lead.

The taste of you was hypnotizing, pulling him in closer and making him dizzy. Felix really didn’t want to rush things - he wanted to take his time kissing you. But then your tongue brushed against his just right, a low moan filling both of your mouths, and Felix couldn’t find the strength to be hesitant anymore.

Lips moved faster. Breathes got heavier. Your hands were pushing Felix’s jacket off before he could even register what was happening. The denim material fell onto the rooftop, your matching one following. The evening chill, and the way your fingers twisted his white shirt to pull him closer, gave Felix goosebumps. How did he get here? How did he end up with someone like you in his arms, pleasure pulsing through his body, on the worst night of his life?

How did you make it better without even really trying?

You broke the kiss, hands falling asleep from how hard you were gripping his shirt. “Can we move off the edge? I’m all for thrills, but I'd rather not fall trying to undress you.”

It didn’t take long for you to end up on your back, the jackets serving as a barrier between you and the cold concrete. Both of your shirts had disappeared at some point during the transition, neither of you caring very much about their destination. Felix’s hands worked on the button of your jeans, lips moving steadily down your body.

“Wanna kiss you.” He mumbled, pants finally undone and slipping down your legs. “Wanna kiss every inch of you before I fuck you.”

He kissed you like you were made of glass, delicate and gentle as he canvased your body. Lips traveling from your neck to your shoulders, down to the swells of your breast and back up. Goosebumps painted your skin, back arching at the feeling of his lips.

When he reached the hem of your panties, hands flew up to his shoulders to stop him.

“No.” You said, pushing yourself up to a seated position. “Need to feel you, too.”

Your fingers moved over his skin like you were painting him, gently brushing down towards his lower body. Felix rolled his head back, sighing contently as you made sure not an inch of him went without your touch.

He helped you undo his belt, helped you remove his pants until he was as bare as you. Your lips found his, kisses laced with a need that made Felix’s heart ache. Kisses that were confirmation that you needed Felix as much as he needed you. If not more.

Felix laid you back down on the pile of clothes, kisses not faltering as he removed the last bit of your clothing and his. Once you were both nude, he broke the kiss.

The moonlight was highlighting every curve of your body. His eyes took in every inch of you, from the dimples in your skin to the scars of past injuries. Everything about your body had his knees weak. Nipples hardening under his gaze, lips swollen and red, sparkling doe eyes staring up at him like he was the only thing that mattered in this world.

“You're beautiful.” He whispered.

One of your hands cupped his face, thumb running across his bottom lip as you stared into his eyes. “So are you.”

Felix searched for his jeans, fumbling in the pockets for his wallet. He pulled the condom out, double checking the expiration date before he slid it on his length.

“Are you sure?” He held the tip at the entrance, ready to either pull away or push in depending on your answer.

The yes you gave was barely audible over the pounding of his heart, but he heard it nonetheless, slowly easing himself into your tight walls.

He fell onto his elbows, holding his body above you as he gently pushed himself deeper in. The way your body reacted to him was his new favorite sight - your eyes kept fluttering shut, unable to stay open, as your mouth formed an o-shape and let him hear every little sound you made.

“Fuck.” You moaned, chills running down your spine. “You feel so good.”

The praise went straight to his head, making Felix crave more. “Yeah?”

You whined in response, a hand shooting up to grip one of his. “Yes. Yes. You’re fucking me so good. So big and- goddamn it.” The last part of your sentence was more of a scream as he hit your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure. “God, right there. Fuck, can you do it again? Can you give me more?”

Felix nodded, pace speeding up slightly to continuously hit that spot. You squeezed his hand tighter, your moans and the way you tighten around him setting his body aflame. The flames were hot, burning his skin marvelously as he began to shake, overwhelmed with the fire that you had lit inside of him.

“Good?” His voice was breaking, deep voice slowly beginning to fade into high pitched whines. “Is it-am I-“

“So good.” Your other hand flew to his chin, tilting it in your direction to look at him. “You’re such a good boy, baby.”

The fire was beginning to melt him, pace slowing and hips faltering. Felix’s eyes shut, giving himself over to the pleasure that was rapidly approaching.

“Fuck, I need-I mean-can I-I cum? Please?”

You answered by giving him the sweetest kiss he’s ever received, lips moving at the same tempo of his hips. The taste of you was so sweet, the tenderness behind your movements making Felix feel like he was flying. His lips vibrated when you moaned, pushing him over the edge.

Felix thinks he cried when he came, body trembling as he emptied himself into the condom. Felix thinks he crashed on top of you, growing dizzy from the way your walls constricted around him. He thinks he remembers you kissing his hairline as you praised him. Everything that happened after he finished blurred together, leaving him with only the clear memory of clutching onto you as he fell asleep.

The morning sun woke him up, the rays burning into his eyes and ripping him out of sleep. Or maybe it was the birds, who’s chirping was loud enough to make his head throb. Fuck, what time was it?

Felix sat up on the pile of his clothes, the rooftop empty save for a few birds picking at the ivy. Something felt wrong. Something was making him uneasy. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. Everything seemed safe - the door was still propped up, his skateboard was still in one piece, his clothes were all here. In fact, he was even somewhat clothed, though he can’t remember if it was you or him who put his boxers on.

Wait. That’s what was wrong.

You.

Where were you?

There was no trace of you on this rooftop. Your clothes were gone, your bag was gone, you were gone. It was like you were never here - nothing more than a dream.

The loneliness hit him like a train, tears threatening to pour as he fell into a pit of despair. Felix knew. He knew the possibility of never seeing you again was greater than loving you for longer than a night. He fucking knew, and he still let himself believe that maybe he would get lucky. Maybe you wouldn’t leave him.

He let himself cry. Fucking stupid Felix. How could he have been so dumb? Why did he do this to himself? He brought a hand to his face, pausing when he noticed the black ink that was staining his skin.

A heart was drawn on the back of his hand. Around the top was a string of numbers, ending with what he assumed was your name written in neat letters. He ran his thumb across the ink, whispering your name himself. It rolled off his tongue easily as he repeated it over and over, the smile on his face growing wider each time he said it.

Felix pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. It must have cracked during the fall, little shards of glass finding home in his fingers as he quickly cleared the numerous notifications he had. He couldn’t find it in him to care who was trying to find him, especially not when you answered the phone on the second ring, immediately feeling at peace when he heard your voice.

“Hey. It’s me, Felix.”

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