#[tw: debts owed]

[toast-com]

Pact (4-29-24)

Billy smiled, clasping Top Hat's hand. "It's water under the bridge, Top Hat. After all..." His grip tightened, eyes taking on an otherworldly, feral glow. "You owe me." Top Hat's face paled slightly, and Billy's grin widened.

"You put the blade to your hand and drew the circle. Your blood called to me, and I answered." Billy stared up at him. "I've given you power, wealth, glory." His teeth were bared in a vicious smile, and his eyes were bright.

"And all I ask for is to be fed, for my hunger to be sated." His claws bit into the fabric of Top Hat's jacket, digging into the skin beneath.

Top Hat closed his eyes, bracing for the worst, but Billy merely chuckled. He released the taller man's arm, and patted his shoulder, before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him downwards.

"Listen well, mortal." Top Hat looked at Billy, staring into the wild, unearthly green eyes filled with hunger and wrath. "You can only keep me from what I am owed for only so long."

"I will have mine at the end. I always do." He hissed, the sound otherworldly, and filled with the promise of untold violence. "Or I will simply eat you. And leave nothing behind, for my hunger...is unending. And you-" He bared his teeth. "Are nothing but a morsel."

Then, suddenly, Billy let Top Hat go, a nonchalant grin coloring his face. In the absence of the violent, godly wrath, the unconcerned smile and lidded eyes were almost a relief.

"I'll see you later. At the river's edge tonight." Top Hat spluttered.

"I have no intention-"

"I will see you, at the river's edge." Billy repeated. "Or, you will see me, as I will eat your still-beating heart, and gorge myself on your flesh. Your choice, Top Hat."

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon, poverty & debt, gun violence, organized crime, death threats, arranged marriage

fem reader

Thinking about owing the mob…

Not you specifically, but your family – debt you weren’t aware of before you’re being cashed in to settle it.

You imagined several terrible things before the arrangement was explained to you. 

One of the sons needs a wife with a clean reputation. 

It’s a simple equation. You’re eligible, and he isn’t picky.

And though it leaves you in mourning for a life yet lived, it still comes with a sense of relief. It’s one of the better deals you could’ve gotten. At least you wouldn’t need to witness or partake in any crimes, nor act as a scapegoat for the likes either.

Besides… though you’ve yet to meet your fiancé, you’ve been explained that he only plans on treating you like a wife on and for the camera – that his tastes otherwise lie in the gentlemen’s lounge. 

All you ever have to do is smile. He isn’t interested in anything else.

That’s what you were told, and yet…

“It’s funny.” Your husband says after the wedding ceremony. 

You’re back at the mansion you’re meant to call home. The grounds are about twice the size of the block you come from. Marble, gold, and diamonds – it’s so outrageously excessive it’s shameless. 

“I was told your brothers run routes for us to make ends meet.” He continues, looking at you and the expression on your face as you stare up at the chandelier – it’s clear you’ve never seen anything like it. “Fuck, I mean, I can’t imagine risking my life and still end up needing to pick between food or rent at the end of the day.”

Your gaze falls down to him at that. 

Clad in lush wedding expense – white gown and silver tiara – you still stick out like a sore thumb. Something in the way it wears you and not the other way around. It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable with it all. It’s probably worth more than your family's ever owned.

He steps closer with a chuckle.

“Then, the poor suckers go and fuck up so bad they end up needing to sell their own sister.”

He spots your fists ball at your sides. But you keep your cool. Only a slight grimace curling your lips along a tiny furrow between your brows. It all smoothens into something else when he reaches out to grab your chin.

“What’s even more funny…” He tilts your face in his hand – jaded eyes assessing you like he’s found a coin on the ground. “You don’t look like street trash like I expected.”

Your frown returns, and you try pulling back – but he grabs your arm before you can.

Tsking, “Ah-ah – Remember,” His smile sharpens. “You’re property now. When I touch you, you let it happen.”

You weren’t that easily convinced. He bet you’ve had to fight off a lot of unwanted attention back where you come from. But he isn’t some back-alley thug. When he wants something, he expects it not only to be served on a silver platter but to be hand-fed to him with a silver spoon.

He pulls the gun out from behind him. Slotted in the band of his dress trousers, it had stayed hidden beneath the coverage of his suit jacket during the ceremony.

Your throat dries up, and any protests you had died of thirst along with it – eyes wide as you stare at the piece.

You can’t believe he’d carry that thing into a church with vows upon his lips – now pointing it at the very same wife he’d made those vows to. 

“Make me spend a single bullet, and your family will share the rest.” He taps the barrel’s mouth against the quiver of your lips. “I’d rather not it come to that. It’ll ruin the carpet…”  

You quiver, feeling weak with a shudder – your eyes slip closed with a shivering tear.

“Not to mention this…” He strokes the pitiful droplet off your cheek with the weapon while eyeing the way you quake with grinning eyes. “Pretty little body I’ve only just acquired.” 

BNHA – Dabi

JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji

BLLK – Reo

HxH – Illumi

[allfearstofallto]

When it Comes to You

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: 18+ MDNI, Yandere content, bribery, blackmail, Dub-con, Reader works at a brothel (is not a courtesan)

AN: I've just been watching a lot of apothecary diaries tbh and I needed to write something

A job is a job, you often thought to yourself as you tried not to cough from the smell of booze and tobacco, and mora is mora. You didn't have the luxury of denying yourself a single cent. Every little piece of gold, shiny and polished or scuffed and dirty was one step closer to your goal and another away from your debt. Away from him, who didn't try to hide that he was finding his pleasure in watching you drowning under the weight of your obligations.

You were to pour drinks. Whether it be tea, water, or wine. Scurry around the large main hall, entertain the guests waiting for their chances with a lady of the night and pour their drinks. Keep a smile on their faces and their pockets empty. Keep them distracted from just how much they were spending, keep their cigars lit, keep them cheerful and drunk. All simple tasks, in theory. In practice you ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, all while the guests leered at you like a piece of meat. It was dehumanizing, but it paid well and paid quickly. You'd receive a bag of mora at the end of every shift, the amount varying based on how well you'd done that day.

Most of it, you couldn't keep. After paying for necessities, you'd walk on your aching feet to the northland bank and pay off a bit more of your debt. You were barely chipping at the high fortune that you owed, but anything was better than the alternative.

And much to your dismay, the alternative was sitting at one of your tables. With that same empty eyed smile and one long leg casually crossed over the other. He tapped his finger against the rim of his empty glass, taunting you in the one place where he knew you couldn't retaliate. Another lady approached him, head bowed while she attempted to pour his wine, but he shooed her away just as quickly with a wave of his hand. He didn't want her, he wanted you. He wanted you to see and know that he wanted you.

You couldn't look angry, nor annoyed, anything less than an enthusiastic smile meant less pay. So with your lips curled too tightly, to the point of near pain, you kneeled next to his table and filled his glass with the cooled liquid. Ajax seemed pleased with your service. Although, he always seemed pleased when you were around. He kept a smile on his face in your presence , not because he had to, but because he wanted to, like he was incapable of looking anything but smug when near you. With that same expression, he took a singular sip of his wine before sitting the glass back on the table. 

“Stay,” he ordered quickly when he saw even the flicker of possibility of you leaving. You stayed kneeled next to his table as you were told, the last thing you needed was him complaining to your boss, a habit he'd made to keep you as in debt as possible. And Ajax was a high paying customer, one that they wanted to keep. His words were like law to your employers, anything less than perfection with his service would be met with the dock of your pay.

Ajax wanted you to be as poor as possible. He wanted you to be pressed under his thumb, to be weak to his will and in need of his favors. It was those same favors that'd gotten you into this mess now, and those same favors were only digging your hole deeper. You owed him a lot. Not him, per say, but the Northland bank. Usually owing money meant you'd be shaken down by a low level fatui foot soldier, yet Ajax had taken a particularly notable interest in you. One that did more harm than good. It bordered on obsession, although he'd play that observation off with a smile.

“You're late,” his words were followed by another sip of wine. He didn't have to tell you what you were late on, you knew he was referring to a payment. There was a happy chirp to the way he spoke, a playful sweetness to his tone that would've been charming, had he not been smiling at your misery.

“I paid yesterday,” you insisted. It was difficult getting your anger across with a forced smile on your face, but your strained voice and gritted teeth would have to suffice.

“You paid the principal,” he playfully tapped your nose with the cold tip of his finger and you resisted the urge to snap and bite, “Not your interest.”

“I was told I could pay it later, I'll have it by the end of the week,”

“Told by whom? Was it me?” He looked so proud of himself as he spoke watching you grow more and more frustrated while being unable to express it, “If it wasn't by me then it wasn't part of your arrangement.”

“I can pay at the end of the night if you wait for my shift to be over,” you sighed, letting the smile drop for only a moment. You thought it strange how sweetly the teller at the bank was when she insisted that you could pay the interest later. Against your better judgement, you listened. Why were you dumb enough to think you had allies on your side? To think that he wasn't still pulling strings, even when he was nowhere near.

An expression crossed Ajax's face. A familiar one. A bad one. The look he made when an idea struck him. Or, perhaps when he knew he'd finally be able to get what he wanted. That's the look he gave you, and felt your heart sink. 

“You won't make enough,” there he was again, saying those harsh words with a singsong tone, reveling in your misfortune, “With the late fee on top, you'll be short.”

You scoffed, letting the cheerful facade drop. There'd never been a late fee before, but Childe was insistent in getting what he truly wanted from you. Your one slip up was going to be your detriment, and his greatest achievement so far. You could see it in the sparkle in his dead, hollow blue eyes. He was anticipating just this, almost as if he'd plotted the entire thing himself. A conspiracy like that wasn't far off in terms of what the man in front of you was capable of, the one who was looking down upon your pitiful kneeling form in delight about the ownership of you that he dangled over your head.

“Take me as a client tonight and consider yourself cleared of this weeks payment-”

Your glossed lips parted quickly to stop his train of thoughts, but he cut you off by placing a finger against them. You couldn't see it, but you could feel the soft shade from your lips smear across his digit and onto your cheek.

“-and the next,”

You felt your world stop at this statement. Suddenly, the brothel that was so noisy and overbearing, was silent. Two weeks with no payment? Childe was never that generous. But he was also a man who was always two steps ahead. He'd been wanting to bed you since the day you walked into that bank the first time. All smiles with a hand resting too low upon your waist while selling you a loan that would essentially take your entire life to pay back. You were naive then. Naive and desperate. And somehow, you were worse now.

When things were rough and you knew you didn't have the money to pay him, he'd accept little things. A date. Handholding. A hug. There was even a day where he accepted a kiss upon the lips in exchange for a week's payment. 

A real kiss. 

He wanted you to initiate. He wanted you seated on his lap, your tongue in his mouth, he wanted to claim you completely, while making it feel like you desired it too.

The kiss was suffocating and vile, not romantic at all. It was a kiss that screamed ownership and possession, nothing close to a true affection. You couldn't even pull away when you wanted to, his hand was holding the back of your head, keeping you in place while he lapped at the inside of your mouth, slurping at your tongue while simultaneously tracing his fingertips over your cheeks.

“I don't take customer's, I'm not a-” you couldn't bring yourself to speak the word, but all he did was cock an eyebrow at your silence.

“Anything can be arranged,”

A deal that feels too good to be true, is usually just that. His smirk, mischievous and cold spoke of a desire that wouldn't end with one taste of your body. Silently, you were cursing yourself for even considering it. Having your head above the water, even if just for a week more would be like a balm to your soul, but at what cost?

“Two weeks?” You peaked up at him through your lashes. The way his smile spread told you that you were already making the wrong decision, but you didn't turn back, “You have to promise me Childe, do you mean it?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” his words made you feel even sicker as he mimicked the childish gesture.

His hand was outstretched to you, fingers long and lanky, still wet and cold from the condensation of his glass. The sight of that hand was familiar. The last deal you'd made with the man being the reason you worked yourself to the bone now. The last time you'd shaken that same, cold hand, you'd done something stupid. It was a bad deal. It was always a bad deal with him. There was always some hidden clause or play of words that you didn't decipher quick enough, always something hidden up his sleeve, especially when it came to you.

And despite your better judgement, you still shook his hand. Instead of feeling the weight of the world fall off of your shoulders, you only felt it grow heavier upon your already weak body. It was better to give it to him now, than have him take it later, right? Who knew what he had planned for you if you couldn't pay.

“Shall we take a room upstairs?” He pointed to the staircase. Only courtesans and their clients used those stairs. You were sure he knew that, yet he spoke as if he also knew that there would be one free for the two of you to use together, like he'd planned this very scenario from the get go.

The thought wasn't lost on you. Ajax always planned things to a tee, when it came to you.

[pineconepie]

Parental yandere mafia dad who kidnaps you takes you in <3

TW: Mentions of death, platonic yandere, forced age regression, infantilization

...

You know this is stupid, but you have no choice in the matter.

The worst thing is, its not even your fault you're in this situation. A family member made some horrible choices with a huge, well-known mob, and they died before they could pay off the debt they owe.

So, it falls on your shoulders now.

They said if you could do some favors for them, they'd let you live a peaceful life and never bother you again.

But either way, it seemed like death was almost inevitable.

"Hey person who has no experience with mob bosses and cartels, go gather intel on one of the world's most feared mob boss without getting caught! We're sure you'll do great!"

You're sure they're aware you probably won't turn up alive.

That's besides the point. You had a job to do.

And this is why you've found yourself here, entering a huge building with obnoxiously bright neon lights, the air smelling heavily of alcohol.

Its both a casino and nightclub, you figure, as you see a few gambling tables along with a large dance floor, and a bar in the far back. The ground is a little sticky beneath your shoes, and some weirdo bumps into you, clearly drunk.

The guy they asked you to gather information about is none other than Vincent Brewer. From what you've heard, he's ruthless, sadistic, fearless, and loves to flaunt his wealth and success.

His group, Cryo, dabbles in a little bit of everything.

Selling guns, manufacturing weapons, running casinos, killing those that piss them off... All things like that.

So of course, you're terrified out of your mind.

But you manage to make it past the bouncer and enter inside.

Its a nice place, despite all the crimes you're sure happened here. A lot cleaner than you'd expect for such an area.

Almost immediately, you see none other than Vincent himself.

He has short blond hair, hazel-green eyes, and a black suit with a trench coat draped over his shoulders.

He's smirking as he talks to what you presume are other members of Cryo. Vincent is pretty well-known for that smile. It's rare he ever drops it.

You wonder if its because he genuinely finds joy in anything and everything or because he feels the need to come off as tough or domineering. Knowing how much power he wields, it's probably both.

There's no time to stand and stare, though.

You approach, pretending to be one of them, but before you can back out and regret your decisions, he already has his eye on you. You feel like a rabbit trying to convince a den of wolves that you're one of them. And this is the biggest, meanest, hungriest wolf in the world.

"Well, hello," Vincent says. His smile doesn't leave his face, but softens a tiny bit. He looks you up and down. "I don't believe we've met. Are you new?"

Your hands are clammy and trembling, but you put on a fake smile and offer to shake his hand. "Yeah! I'm... (Y/n)." For a moment, you hesitate, considering maybe you should give a fake name just in case, but looks like it's too late for that.

Now that you think about it, you're definitely sure you were sent on a death-mission. Those people didn't even give you proper training.

"(Y/n), huh?" Vincent asks, shaking your hand. He's got a firm grip, as you expected. "Nice to meet you, kiddo. You seem a bit young to be one of my recruits, though." He brushes some hair out of your face, making you tense.

"I guess I look a bit younger than I am," you mutter. "I'm an adult, if that's what you're worried about."

He laughs at that. "Well, that's good! I'd hate to hear how a kid ended up with us!" Then he ruffles your hair, which is a bit embarrassing, but he seems so nice about it that it's not unbearable. "You're just a baby compared to almost everyone in this room. I think I'll need to tell the employees to make sure you don't drink or gamble. That's for grown-ups."

You relax when you realize he's teasing you.

Maybe that's a good sign? "It's okay, I don't really do either of those often, anyway."

Vincent lets out another chuckle, putting a hand on your back, leading you through the crowds and towards where the tables are. There's lots of other people sitting, talking, drinking, laughing. Playing cards or chess or something like that.

Just a bunch of regular casino things.

So far, so good.

This might actually end up working out after all...

"So why exactly did you want to join us?" Vincent asks as he sits you down at one of the chairs, pulling his own chair up next to yours. "Come from a wealthy family? Orphans? Wanted to get off the streets?"

You rub the back of your neck awkwardly, thinking of a suitable lie you'll remember for later. "Ah... I needed the money... Medical bills and stuff. Don't have any family to rely on anymore. Thought maybe if I could save up enough money, I wouldn't need to worry anymore..."

It's kind of true. After you get the information, they said they would reward you with enough cash to pay off whatever was still owed.

But whether that will ever actually happen is yet to be seen.

The more pressing issue was how Vincent would react. So far, so good. He hasn't questioned anything. Just nodded his head sympathetically and hummed at your explanation.

You continue. "And plus, Cryo seems really cool. No pun intended."

"Well, that's nice of you to say," he replies with a laugh. "We try our best around here. You seem a little jittery, though. I hope I don't scare you, kiddo?"

"I mean..." You can't really admit the real reason without outing yourself. He sounds like a man that wants to be feared by everyone. "I think this is just a new environment to me. I don't do too well with crowds."

Vincent nods understandably, patting your shoulder. "Makes sense. It is kinda noisy in here, huh? Sorry about that. Normally we're not like this, but tonight is a party night since we made a pretty big deal recently, as you're aware."

You nod, pretending to know what he's talking about. "Oh, yeah, I heard about that." This means you've already failed step one of your task - being updated on current deals - but that's okay. There's plenty of time to get the intel later. Right?

His eyes darken slightly, but his smile never leaves. "And besides... Can't say we're the nicest group of folks, either." He pokes your cheek and laughs again. "I'm worried this might be too much for you."

"Really, its okay!" you argue. "I'm a lot tougher than I look, I swear!"

He snorts. "You look like a puppy surrounded by wolves. Even if you're tougher than you look, it makes you an easy target. People are gonna be more quick to try to take you out instead of someone bigger than them."

Is he insulting you or genuinely concerned? You hope he's joking and teasing again. "I'll prove I'm strong enough to fit in! You won't have to worry about me one bit. And I can help out Cryo a lot, I promise!" You don't know why you're getting defensive over his condescending tone.

Vincent only seems amused by it, more than he already was. He pinches your cheeks between his fingers, smiling sweetly down at you. "Ohh, I'm sure you're veerrry strong, sweetie."

He sounds patronizing, in that overly-sweet way, as if speaking to a toddler.

He rubs your cheek a few times before leaning back and releasing you. "I think I'll let you stay if you answer one question for me, how 'bout that?"

You nod. "Of course. Anything."

His smile becomes more sharp. "Who sent you?"

"W-what?" Your mouth feels dry. The whole mood shifts, and suddenly it feels much less welcoming, making your stomach churn in panic.

Did you get caught that easily? How did you mess up? Maybe he's just bluffing.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Vincent stares down at you, eyes now narrowed. "You aren't fooling anyone, doll. We have extensive background checks before any of our members can even begin to be considered eligible for recruitment. I personally meet every single one of our new recruits to approve them and remember all of their names. Not only that, but I lied about a recent deal. There was no recent deal."

Your heart starts beating faster in your chest. You feel cold sweat dripping from your forehead.

He saw through you so quickly. Does he already know why you're here?

If you lie again, you're not sure you'll make it out of here alive. "Scarlet Syndicate sent me. I owe them debt, I'm not part of them... please don't kill me."

The man snickers and leans back against his chair again. "Oh, you poor thing. Its pretty clear they aren't expecting you to come back to them with info. They probably sent you here to die or get lost and forgotten about. That's cruel, even by my standards. They set you up for failure." His voice softens up. "You're shaking..."

You're hyperventilating a little, panicking. "I don't wanna die."

Vincent coos at you gently, wrapping a secure arm around you and pulling you into his lap. "Shhh, shh, hey... relax, kiddo, I'm not gonna kill you... I would never hurt such a precious little sweetheart." He kisses your head. "Calm down. Breathe in, breathe out..."

You listen to him and do as instructed.

Taking in deep breaths through the nose, letting them out from your mouth slowly. He rubs gentle circles along your back until you relax against him. He secures you in a firm hold and lifts you up against his chest.

Even for a mob boss, he has an impressive amount of strength to carry you with almost no effort.

You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck.

He smirks at you again. "Aww... does baby wanna be carried everywhere now?" Though its teasing, its also affectionate. You find yourself nodding regardless.

Vincent walks out with you still in his arms, ignoring his colleagues' confused gazes. You can see the exit sign coming closer and closer.

Once you leave the building, he puts you inside a limousine with him, shutting the door behind. He gathers you in his arms after shedding his long beige trench coat, wrapping it around you and engulfing you like a blanket.

This man you hardly even know just called you 'baby.'

You're not quite sure what to make of that.

"Home," he tells the driver. And then he looks down at you. "You really are a little baby, huh?"

You don't know how to react to this sudden display of parental behavior, except stare in confusion.

He pulls you into his lap. "I always wanted a kid of my own, you know. But unfortunately, fate decided I couldn't have any of my own. Well, guess it doesn't matter now!" His eyes flicker across your face. "As soon as I saw you, I could tell you needed someone to take care of you. Like a dad."

"But..." you sniffle. "I'm not a kid."

"Maybe not physically, but I can tell mentally. And you should be grateful for that. I usually don't let any spies live long enough to see another day," Vincent says. "So what do we say?"

You hesitate. "...thank you?"

"You're very welcome, munchkin. When we get you home, we'll have some late dinner and then its bedtime for you," Vincent coos.

"I usually go to bed a lot later than this," you protest.

"Nope, not anymore," he argues back, petting your hair. "As much as I want to be the fun dad, rules are rules. Bedtime will be 8:30 PM for you everyday starting from now on, got it?"

You guess you don't really have a choice.

Not in a million years did you expect this outcome of you being caught spying, but hey, its better than death by gunshot!

The limousine stops outside a huge penthouse.

Vincent carries you out of the vehicle and holds your hand as he leads you to the elevators. Inside, there's a deskman who waves at him. You shyly wave back, a bit unsure.

"This is (Y/n). They'll be staying with me from now on," Vincent explains to him. "If you see them trying to leave without me, call security and tell them to escort them back to my place. And notify me."

"Yes, sir," he agrees, then looks back at you. "Nice to meet you (Y/n). I'm August. If you need anything, feel free to ask!"

You stare at him, then Vincent, dumbfounded.

Vincent pulls you along. "Come on, baby. Let's go home."

Inside the elevator, you're left in shock, speechless. It goes high up - the top floor - before arriving at a large, fancy room.

He unlocks the door to reveal his apartment.

The entire thing is covered with plush rugs, sleek furniture, shiny marble floors, beautiful lights... Everything you'd expect in a multi-millionaire's home, including but not limited to a grand piano sitting in the middle of the living room and two full-size couches in front of a flatscreen TV, and what looks to be some kind of bar or wine cabinet.

"You can explore more tomorrow," Vincent tells you. "Until then, let's get dinner over with and then bedtime. Tomorrow we can discuss how you want your room to look like, clothes, toys, that stuff. Sound good?"

"Yeah," you mumble in agreement.

Vincent sets you down on the sofa, where you watch him grab a remote off of the coffee table.

He turns on the television and flips through channels before settling on something he deemed suitable, which happens to be some sort of children's cartoon.

He begins cooking in the other room, and you're still in too much shock to even think of trying to escape.

This all feels so surreal.

Twenty minutes later, he calls you into the kitchen and has you sit down next to him while he serves you both food.

It's decent, his cooking skills aren't amazing, but decent. You don't mind eating it, though he does give you a stern look when you don't eat all your vegetables.

Afterwards, he guides you upstairs into what appears to be the guest room, saying he'll redecorate it to fit you later. He excuses himself for a moment, coming back with yellow silk pajamas for you to change into. You do so as he turns around to give you some privacy.

When you finish dressing up, he has you brush your teeth, then wash your hands thoroughly. Finally, he helps you climb into the bed, tucking you beneath the blankets.

You can't help but admit that the mattress is really nice.

Vincent smiles down at you kindly. "I'm glad we found each other today, kiddo." He kisses your forehead. "Dad will stay here until you fall asleep, yeah?"

Of course, you don't argue. He watches you like a hawk until eventually, you close your eyes and drift away.

[itsthewritergal]

don't tell Bucky - B.Barnes x reader

Summary: Reader is broke and refuses to tell mob!bucky the extend of it

TW: fluff, happy ending, little swears, mention of money, getting fired, (think that's everything)

ENJOY!!

:)

Y/N was used to the biting cold in her apartment, it had been a long few months with her hours being cut down and bills piling up she was in debt. Badly. She had started cutting costs where possible, heating was the first to go, she had opted for  not turning the heating on despite the freezing temperatures outside, food was the second thing to go, she had starting making meals stretch and eating less and slowly things seemed a little more manageable. The bills continued to pile up, yet things seemed a little easier. Every single penny was put to the side to clear her debt. She had been seeing Bucky as much as possible but she couldn’t talk to him about it, he would just offer to pay her debt off and then she’d owe him for almost the rest of her life. She couldn’t ask him. She wouldn’t. Bucky had picked her up from work, it was a surprise, and something Y/N was grateful for as she wouldn’t have to pay for the bus home. 

“Do you want to stay at mine tonight?” Bucky asked gently pressing a kiss to her cheek as they finished their heavy make-out session in the car 

“I’ve got work in the morning,” She said softly, breath slipping through her lips 

“Call in sick” Bucky said between kisses “You can go without one shift can’t you?” Bucky asked 

“We’re short staffed Buck, I need to be there” She lied easily, 

“Let me come in? I just want to hold you tonight” He said softly pressing another kiss to her lips. Y/N nodded in agreement, how could she ever say no to an offer like that? 

Bucky followed Y/N up the stairs to her apartment, she unlocked the door and was met by an icy breeze. Bucky shuddered. 

“Why is it so cold baby? Your heating broken?” He asked 

“Hmm?” Y/N asked turning around to face him 

“Your apartment Y/N, it’s cold” 

“Oh, sorry Buck I turned the heating off” 

“For good?” Bucky asked closing the door behind him “Or is it broken?” He asked

“Oh, no I just turned it off whilst I was at work” Y/N said softly, 

“Why would you do that?” Bucky asked again pulling Y/N into an embrace 

“It was just while I went to work Buck”

“That’s not safe doll, you should keep the heating on so you don’t get ill, even when you’re not home. You need to come into a warm house” Bucky said, Y/N resisted the urge to cry. 

“I usually do Bucky, it was just a one off” she said. 

Bucky didn’t mention the heating again that night. Y/N was grateful for that small mercy. What he did mention was the mountain of blankets that sat on her bed. 

“Doll?” He called from her bedroom 

“Yeah?” She replied coming into the bedroom, her eyes falling on Bucky’s metal hand clasping three blankets, 

“You coming down with something?” He asked “I can call Banner to come and check on you if you want?” 

“Oh Buck, no I’m ok. Just get cold when you’re not here” She said, it wasn’t a complete lie, just a small one. It made her feel a little better. 

“You know you could just move in with me?” Bucky offered 

“Don’t be silly Bucky, we’ve spoken about this” She said and Bucky stopped himself from starting an argument by pressing his lips to hers. 

— — — 

The next few weeks were tricky. Y/N had started picking up more shifts than she could count which lessened her time to do anything; most of all see Bucky. 

When one fateful day put Y/N’s life into a tailspin, 

“Y/N could you come into my office when you get a moment please?” Her boss’s voice cut through the noise, and Y/N felt a panic run through her body, 

“I’ll come now” She said quickly, hurrying behind the shorter lady, “is everything ok?” 

“Take a seat Y/N” She said, Y/N knew this wasn’t good, she never asked her to take a seat before, this had got to be bad news. 

“Have I done something wrong?” 

“No, Y/N you’re one of the best workers we have here” She said taking a deep breath “but we can’t afford to keep you on, with prices and wages going up we’re cutting down to less staff members and well it’s only fair that we let you go first. You’ve got enough experience to get another job quickly whereas the others don’t” 

“You mean the others are cheaper because they are younger?” Y/N said noticing the true meaning behind her words. 

“That isn’t what we are doing Y/N” her boss spoke halfheartedly 

“When do I leave?” Y/N asked dejectedly, knowing it was a loosing battle 

“Today’s your last shift, you are let go without holiday pay or leave notice” She said passing Y/N an envelope “All the necessary documents are in here, please hand your keys in at the end of the shift” 

“No need to wait” Y/N said, pulling her work keys out her bag and putting them on the desk. Picking up the envelope, Y/N walked out. 

The walk home was a cold one, not only because of the biting wind but Y/N felt empty, numb, like she’d just been caught in the rain. She wanted to call Bucky, but after her neglect of him she knew that he was probably mad at her and calling him to cry would not be the best way to go. However, her ringtone cut Y/N’s moping thoughts short, 

“Hello?” 

“Doll, oh thank god. Steve just told me he passed you on the street, he’s turning around to pick you up so don’t go anywhere. What’s happened?” Bucky asked 

“Nothing Buck, I’ll talk to you later, tell Steve not to worry” 

“No, he’s picking you up and you can come here or go home then come here, or just head home if that’s what you want but I’d rather Steve did it than you walk yourself doll okay?” He said 

“It’s going to happened whatever I say right?” Y/N chuckled halfheartedly, the lack of reply on Bucky’s end confirmed it “I’ll wait for Steve” 

“Good girl, I’ll see you soon” He said ending the call quickly. 

As if on cue Steve’s car pulled into view, 

“Hey Y/N, Buck’s waiting for you” He said opening the door for her, 

“Thanks Steve” 

After a few quiet minutes Y/N answered the question which was burning in Steve's mind, 

“I got fired” She said quietly, 

“They did what? Oh Buck won’t be happy, how dare they” Steve said forcefully, 

“They can’t afford me apparently” Y/N chuckled sadly 

“Bullshit” 

“Promise you won’t tell Bucky?” She asked 

“I won’t lie to him if he asks” Steve said “But I’ll divert attention so he doesn’t ask” Steve agreed quietly 

— — — — — 

Y/N had avoided Bucky for another two weeks, she hadn’t meant to. But she had been sending CV’s, babysitting, dog walking and selling small handmade bits online. Anything possible to make some money, she was yet to receive an interview or even any interest. It seemed that everyone was full of employees or was hiring younger staff, there was no place for Y/N. 

She had been dodging her landlord phone calls, and the electricity company and even a few others who she knew were angry that she hadn’t paid. Stretching her legs out wide on the floor she took a minute away from her laptop screen and picked up her phone. 

“I’m on my way, be there in 15” Bucky had texted around 15 minutes ago, Y/N let out a panicked sigh and started picking up the mess around her to try and make herself look presentable for Bucky, she had to keep up appearances. 

“Doll?” Bucky called through her apartment, 

“In here” She replied quickly shoving some dirty clothes at the bottom of her wardrobe, 

“Hey doll” He said softly pulling her in for a kiss, not seeming to notice her dishevelled state. 

“Hey Bucky” she pressed a kiss to his lips, something she had missed dearly. 

“I need to talk to you” Bucky said pulling her down to sit on the bed, she sat down with his hands gripped in hers as if he was about to disappear. 

“I know I’ve been awful Buck, I haven’t spoken to you and I’ve avoided you, please don’t be mad, I’ve just been so stressed and—”

Bucky quickly cut her off “I’m not breaking up with you Y/N” 

“You’re not?” 

“No, doll I’m not” 

“Oh” 

“I know what’s going on Y/N” he said sincerely 

“Nothing’s going on” 

“Doll I know” 

“Bucky nothing is going on”

“You got fired, you’ve been trying to find another job, you’ve been dog walking, which I’m not happy with because that’s dangerous when you don’t know the dog or the owner, and you’ve been selling your adorably little crochet animals online” Bucky said 

“You got someone to follow me” 

“You started shutting me out” Bucky justified 

“Fair enough” 

“Did I miss anything?” Bucky asked 

“No” Y/N said her eyes welling up with tears, she let go on Bucky’s hand to hide her face in them, 

“Oh doll, come here” Bucky said wrapping his arms around her, letting her cry all her stresses and troubles away onto his shirt, he knew once she had cried they would be able to talk through options properly. 

“I’m sorry” Y/N said with a sniffle 

“Can I finish what I was saying earlier?” Bucky asked, Y/N nodded silently “I’ve paid off all your debts, I did the landlord, electricity, water and that loan you took out, you can pay me back if you want to if you have the money, if not it’s my birthday present to you I know you won’t accept it any other way” He said 

“Bucky please”

“It’s already done” 

“I should be able to do this better,I  should be able to pay my fucking bills” 

“No” Bucky said calmly 

“No?” 

“No you’re not doing that. You are doing as best as you can. And I refuse to listen to that shit. Now put on a nice dress, we’re going out to eat” 

— — — — 

That night when Bucky and Y/N were laying in bed cuddled up to each other, Y/N decided to be brave 

“Bucky?” 

“Yes doll?” 

“Do you think I could move in with you?” She asked pressing a kiss to his chest “I don’t think I want to do this alone anymore” 

“Doll, I’d be delighted” 

[snail-day]

Terms and Conditions Apply

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader - unwholesome edition

Sum: Normal college roommate activities, except your roommates, are madly in love with you and have a really weird way of showing it.

TW: Yandere Behaviors (manipulation, obsessive, possessive,etc), Omorashi/Piss, noncon/dubcon, oral (m! receiving), Abuse of showerhead, Reader is a bit dense, Power Dynamics, Alcohol consumption, unhealthy relationships, Infantilization, MDNI

WC: 6.0k

A/n: I will probably finish editing the wholesome edition later this week. :) I feel like I've been too angsty lately and I lowkey prefer the wholesome version a bit more, however, my beta reader likes this one so we'll see!

How far is one willing to go?

Willing to sell their soul to the devil—or in this case, devils. The ones you once called your best friends. The ones who stripped you of your rights because you owed them. Because they owned you.

Suguru and Satoru—two trust fund kids with more money than they could ever spend—had waltzed into your life during your freshman year of college, offering friendship cloaked in charm and generosity.

They’d given you a place to stay, sliding a 52-page lease across the table. A document so thick and dense that it had made your stomach turn. Your heart, your instincts, your very soul screamed at you to stop. To read between the lines. But you didn’t.

You trusted them. You ignored the red flags.

You brushed off the subtle proclamations of love buried in their actions, their words, their very presence. How they’d spoke of living up to your standards. How they hinted they’d have truly courted you—if only you’d given them the time of day.

But you didn’t. You dismissed their flirting as harmless.

And like any rich men who refused to be denied, they did the next best thing. They bought you.

You really should’ve let them court you.

Because if you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here now—trapped in their twisted acts of devotion. Acts they called love.

Satoru, with his dazzling grin and sharp blue eyes, always joked about wanting a dog. Something to take care of, to love him unconditionally, to always come when called.

Suguru, ever composed and calculating, never hid his desire for control. He wanted something—or someone—to care for, to command, to obey his every word.

And now, that someone was you.

You’d gone too far for free rent, hadn’t you?

It was almost funny, in a cruel way. You’d joked once about selling feet pics to creepy old men to make ends meet, and Satoru had flashed you that sharp, wolfish grin and asked, “How much?”

You’d laughed it off, calling him ridiculous. But he hadn’t been joking. Not even a little.

If you had said a number, he would have bought them on the spot, saving them for later use. 

When you couldn’t afford drinks on karaoke night, you’d waved it off, saying you’d be fine with water. But Suguru had just smiled, handing over his black card without hesitation.

“Don’t worry about it,” he’d said, his voice smooth, almost tender.

The whole night, he had coddled you, his arm a steady weight around your waist as you sang along to the music. When you were tipsy and laughing, stumbling into him, he’d pulled you onto his lap, his hands lingering just a little too long.

You didn’t notice.

You didn’t notice how his hands trailed along your thighs, how he tilted his head closer to catch the scent of your perfume, how his dark eyes gleamed with something dangerous.

They loved you.

They loved you so much that buying you was the easiest option.

Kidnapping you would have been messy, after all.

This? This was clean.

A lease. A signature. A series of favors and debts that quietly piled up until you were ensnared—unable to leave or even think about leaving.

You thought of them as just weird, quirky roommates. That’s what you kept telling yourself.

Satoru had the habit of barging into your room unannounced, sprawling across your bed like it was his own. He’d hug your pillows to his chest, burying his face in them, his bright blue eyes gleaming with amusement.

And behind your back?

He punched and slapped every single one of your stuffed animals.

All except for the ones he bought you.

Like the stuffed alligator he’d gifted you last month. “Because you’re so snappy,” he’d said with a wide grin, teasing you endlessly as he mimicked your glare. “And because you do those little alligator rolls when I try to cuddle you.”

He wasn’t lying. You did twist and squirm to escape his grip whenever Suguru was away, and Satoru found himself “too lonely” to sleep in a big bed all by himself.

“I need you,” he’d whine, tugging at your blanket as he wedged himself onto your mattress. “Friends can cuddle, y’know. It’s even in the lease—clause 22!”

You’d scoffed, rolling your eyes. “There’s no way that’s real.”

But, of course, you hadn’t read the lease.

You hadn’t read clause 22, clause 34, or any other fine print buried in those 52 pages.

If you had, maybe you’d have noticed the way they’d written their love into the lines of the contract. The way their obsession had been framed as something so mundane, so harmless, that you never thought to question it.

Instead, you dismissed it. Dismissed them.

They were just your weird, clingy roommates, right?

That’s what you told yourself every time Satoru squeezed the stuffed alligator to his chest, grinning as he teased, “See? It’s like me and you! You’re the snappy little gator, and I’m the big, lovable guy keeping you from biting anyone else.”

It was playful. Harmless, you managed to convince yourself.

But sometimes—especially in the dead of night, when the world was quiet, and there was nowhere to hide from the truth—you struggled to ignore the way his hands would wander.

How he’d press open-mouthed kisses against your chest, the wet heat of his lips leaving trails along your skin. The way his hands would squeeze your plush breasts, fingers digging in just a little too roughly, as if claiming them, claiming you, in his sleep.

You told yourself he was dreaming—lost in some haze where he thought you were someone else, or something else.

But when morning came, and you hesitantly brought it up, he’d blink at you with feigned innocence, his blue eyes wide and unbothered. “Did I really?” he’d ask, laughter bubbling just beneath the surface of his words. “Man, I must’ve been dreaming about something really good.”

His grin would widen, that devil-may-care attitude making you question if you’d imagined it all.

“Hey,” he’d say, throwing an arm around your shoulders as he steered you out the door, “let’s grab breakfast. My treat. Consider it a ‘thanks’ for not ripping my arm off in my sleep.”

The offer, so casually given, left you with no choice but to follow. To let him guide you down the street to the café he liked, where he’d order for you without asking—a gesture that felt less thoughtful and more… presumptive.

As he filled the table with plates of food you hadn’t asked for, his laughter echoing through the small, bustling space, you found yourself playing along. Smiling at his jokes, laughing when he wanted you to, pretending that everything was normal.

Because what else could you do?

Confronting him felt impossible. Denying him? Even more so.

It was easier this way—going along with the current, letting him pull you wherever he wanted, feeding you bites of his food like you were some cherished pet rather than a person with agency of your own.

“Open up,” he’d coo, holding a forkful of syrup-drenched pancake to your lips, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction when you complied. “Good girl.”

And you’d swallow it down, the sweetness coating your tongue as his praise sent a shiver crawling along your skin.

Because it was easier to pretend.

Easier to act like this was just how things were—how they’d always been.

But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, the question lingered, heavy and unavoidable:

How far were you willing to go?

You kept telling yourself to endure. Just two more years until you graduate. Two more years, and you’ll be free.

You could play along until then. You had to. You needed the cheap rent.

And it wasn’t like you could even prefer one of them over the other. They were equally clingy, equally overbearing in their own ways.

Suguru, at least, had the decency not to invade your space outright.

He never barged into your room unannounced like Satoru. He didn’t sprawl across your bed or bury his face in your pillows. No, Suguru was different. His methods were quieter, subtler.

Whenever Satoru left for the weekend to visit his family, it was Suguru who kept you company. He’d coax you onto the couch with him, his deep voice laced with calm reassurance.

“You’ll keep me company, won’t you?” he’d ask, his tone so soft, so genuine, that refusing felt impossible.

And before you knew it, you’d find yourself in his lap, his strong arms wrapping firmly around your waist as he leaned back, settling you against his chest.

“It soothes me,” he’d murmur, his voice low and almost apologetic. “I’ve been so stressed with my master’s lately. You don’t mind, do you?”

How could you say no?

Suguru always had a way of making his needs sound so reasonable, so innocent. You didn’t even think to question it—not until his hands started to linger. His thumbs would trace small, deliberate circles against your hips, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

Clause 12.

That’s what he’d called it the first time you hesitated.

“Roommate will always provide emotional comfort,” he’d said, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as his dark eyes held yours.

You hadn’t read the lease, of course. But when Suguru spoke, his voice so calm and assured, it was hard not to believe him.

So you let him hold you.

You let him keep you there for hours, his hands warm and steady as they rested on your waist, his quiet hums vibrating against your back. You sat frozen, unsure of where the line had blurred—or if there had ever been a line at all.

Things changed after one night.

You’d gone out for drinks with some friends—a rare occurrence these days. Between their constant presence and your dwindling social circle, opportunities like this had become few and far between.

Maybe that’s why you drank more than you should have.

The alcohol buzzed warmly through your veins, leaving your mind foggy and your limbs loose as laughter spilled freely from your lips. You didn’t even notice how late it had gotten until someone pointed it out, and the world tilted slightly as you tried to check the time on your phone.

“Shit,” you mumbled, your voice slurred as you stared at the blurry screen. You scrolled to Satoru’s contact—he always answered first—and hit call.

When they arrived, it was like the entire bar shifted.

“Oh my God, those are your roommates?” one of your friends teased, dragging out the words as she nudged you with a playful grin. “You’ve been holding out on us! Are you playing games or something?”

A giggle bubbled out of you as you swayed in your seat, the room spinning slightly. “Nooo,” you slurred, shaking your head a little too hard. “They’re just—”

Before you could finish, Satoru’s tall frame appeared in front of you, crouching down to your level. “Having fun, huh?” he asked, his bright blue eyes glinting with something unreadable.

You buried your face in his shirt, giggling uncontrollably. “Satoruuu,” you slurred, your voice high-pitched and childlike. “I’m fineeee. I was just… just hanging out!”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, chuckling as he shifted you in his arms, holding you upright as your legs wobbled.

Meanwhile, Suguru quietly slipped away to the bar, his expression calm and collected as he handed over his black card to settle your tab. When he returned, his eyes gleamed with something dark, though his lips curved into a faint smile as he glanced at your friends.

“Ah, sorry we haven’t announced we’re dating yet,” he said smoothly, his voice low, a grin playing at his lips.

The table erupted into laughter and cheers, glasses clinking together in celebration.

You blinked slowly, your alcohol-heavy mind struggling to process his words. “Wait… what?”

You tried to straighten up, but Satoru’s grip on you tightened, pulling you back against him. “Shh, don’t make a scene,” he murmured, his voice light and teasing, though the edge to his grin made your stomach twist.

“He’s joking,” you said, slurring as you waved a hand lazily. “You’re jokinnng, right, Suguru?”

But Suguru’s smile didn’t falter. He leaned closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as he said softly, “Does it sound like I’m joking?”

Your friends erupted into louder laughter, their voices blurring together as your head spun.

“Let’s get you home,” Satoru said brightly, steering you toward the door.

You were too drunk to argue, your body slumping against his as the cool night air hit your face.

“You didn’t have to say that,” you mumbled, your words barely coherent as Suguru helped you into the car.

“Say what?” he asked, sliding in beside you, his voice calm and measured.

“That… we’re dating,” you slurred, your head lolling against Satoru’s shoulder as he climbed in on your other side.

Satoru laughed, his hand ruffling your hair as he pulled you closer. “Oh, come on. It’s not a big deal. Besides, they loved it. Right, Suguru?”

Suguru’s hand brushed lightly against your knee, steady and deliberate. His dark eyes met yours in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Does it bother you?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tender.

You tried to answer, your lips parting, but your mind was too foggy, your tongue too heavy. The alcohol clouded your thoughts, dulling the sharp edges of your confusion and concern. The only sound you managed was a quiet, slurred mumble before sleep tugged at your consciousness.

When you woke up, the world felt too soft, too still.

Your eyes fluttered open, the dim light of early morning filtering through unfamiliar curtains. The silk sheets beneath you were far too luxurious, the plush mattress beneath your body a stark contrast to your usual bed.

You sat up slowly, a pounding headache hammering at your skull as the events of the night before came back to you in blurry flashes. The bar. Your friends. Satoru. Suguru.

And now this.

Waking up in their bed was unexpected.

You winced as the urge to pee hit you, the discomfort pulling you fully awake. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet brushing against the cool floor as you prepared to stand. But before you could rise, a hand shot out, gripping your wrist.

The sudden tug sent you back onto the mattress, your heart skipping a beat as you turned to see who it was.

Satoru.

His snowy white hair was messy, his eyes still half-lidded with sleep as he pulled you closer to him, his grip firm but not painful.

“Where are you going?” he mumbled, his voice groggy yet tinged with something along the lines of annoyance.

“I… I need to pee,” you stammered, your voice hoarse as you tried to free yourself from his grasp.

Satoru’s eyes opened fully then, his bright blue gaze locking onto yours. He looked at you for a long moment before his lips curved into a sleepy grin. “Mmm, can’t you wait a little longer? It’s too early to get up.”

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, heavy and unmoving, trapping you in place. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him, as if he were anchoring you there.

“I’m serious…” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to squirm away, but his grip didn’t loosen.

Instead, you felt his grin against the back of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his voice soft and drowsy but carrying that familiar edge of control. “You’ll wake up Sugu… You can wait.”

The mention of Suguru made you freeze, your eyes darting toward the other side of the bed.

Sure enough, there he was.

Suguru lay on his side, his face calm and serene in sleep, his dark hair spilling over the pillow. His breathing was deep and even, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic.

“You don’t want to wake him, do you?” Satoru hummed, his voice low and teasing, though there was something almost mocking in the way he said it.

You swallowed hard, the weight of the situation settling heavily over you as Satoru’s arms remained firmly around your waist. He shifted slightly, nuzzling into the back of your neck like a contented cat.

“Just relax,” he murmured, his voice already trailing off as sleep pulled him back under.

You lay there, stiff and silent, the dull ache in your bladder forgotten as your mind raced.

The warmth of their bodies on either side of you, the sound of their steady breathing, the oppressive weight of Satoru’s arm around your waist—it was suffocating.

But you didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Because somewhere deep down, beneath the haze of confusion and discomfort, a single, chilling thought crept into your mind:

They weren’t going to let you go.

And for now, it was easier to stay still. To let Satoru’s grip keep you in place, to let Suguru’s presence loom quietly beside you.

To endure.

Because what other choice did you have?

You waited an hour. Generously. The way your bladder felt like it was going to spill if you even moved an inch made it agonizing, but what else could you do?

Why did I have to drink so much? you thought bitterly, biting your lip to keep yourself from groaning.

“Satoru…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, tinged with a small, desperate whine.

No response.

His soft snores filled the room, and you felt the faintest flutter of hope when you realized his arm had gone slack around your waist. It was loose enough—just enough—that you might be able to slip free without waking him.

Carefully, you began to move, inch by inch.

You winced at the painful, overfull feeling in your bladder, a burning reminder that if you waited even a second longer, you were sure you’d humiliate yourself. The thought of staining such expensive, silken sheets filled you with dread.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to wriggle out of Satoru’s grip. He stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent before settling back into his slumber.

You held your breath as you slid off the bed, crossing your legs tightly as you stood. The sensation made you want to scream, but you forced yourself to stay quiet, moving as carefully as you could across the room.

You reached the bathroom door, relief flooding through you as your hand grasped the handle.

But when you turned it, the handle didn’t budge.

It was locked.

Your stomach dropped, a cold wave of panic washing over you as you tried again, jiggling the handle more forcefully this time.

Still locked.

You glanced over your shoulder, your heart pounding as you looked back at the bed. Satoru hadn’t moved, his snores still soft and steady. Suguru remained motionless, his dark hair spilling over his pillow like ink.

You turned back to the door, biting your lip hard enough to sting. Why the hell was it locked?

You tried again, pressing your weight against the door this time, but it wouldn’t give.

Panic began to rise in your chest as you crossed your legs tighter, your body screaming at you for relief. You couldn’t go back to the bed—not now, not like this. You couldn’t face them if something went wrong.

Your bathroom was… across the apartment.

You could make it, right? You just had to waddle your way there.

The thought alone filled you with dread, but what choice did you have? The idea of pissing yourself in your weird roommates’ bedroom—on their luxurious, expensive sheets, no less—was enough to make your face burn with humiliation.

A soft, desperate whine escaped your throat as you shifted your weight. It’s too much.

But you had to try.

You moved carefully, every step a torturous mix of sharp, burning pressure and overwhelming panic. Your breaths came shallow and uneven, your legs trembling as you shuffled forward, praying the noise wouldn’t carry back to the bedroom.

It was just the hallway, the living room, and then the bathroom.

Easy, you told yourself, though the pounding of your heart and the sting of tears in your eyes screamed otherwise.

You barely made it to the end of the hallway before your legs gave out, your body sinking to the cold floor as a sob built in your throat.

Tears brimmed in your eyes, the humiliation of the situation crashing over you like a wave. You couldn’t stop them, hot streaks rolling down your cheeks as you clutched at your stomach, the pressure unbearable.

Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t the door just unlock? Why couldn’t you have made it just a little farther?

You pressed your forehead against your knees, trying to muffle the soft, broken whimpers escaping your lips. The silence of the apartment felt suffocating, every sound you made echoing in your ears like a cruel reminder of just how trapped you were.

And then, the sound you dreaded most.

Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate, heavy against the hardwood floors.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the footsteps grew louder, closer.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Suguru’s voice was soft, calm, almost soothing, but it made your stomach twist into knots.

You didn’t lift your head, your body trembling as his presence loomed over you. You could feel his gaze, heavy like he could see straight through you.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, crouching down so he was at eye level with you. His tone was steady, almost kind, but there was an edge to it that made your chest tighten.

“I… I just…” Your voice cracked, the words stumbling over themselves as you tried to think of an excuse, something that wouldn’t make this worse.

Suguru tilted his head, his dark hair falling over his shoulder as his sharp eyes scanned you. “You could’ve just woken me up if you needed something,” he said softly, his lips curving into a small, affectionate smile.

Before you could respond, another voice chimed in.

“She’s crying.”

You flinched at the familiar, teasing lilt of Satoru’s voice, your heart sinking further as you felt him approach.

“Aw, did we scare her?” he teased, his grin audible in his voice as he crouched beside Suguru, his bright blue eyes gleaming with amusement.

“It’s not that,” Suguru murmured, his gaze never leaving you. “She’s upset.”

“Hmm,” Satoru hummed, leaning in closer, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with something that made your chest tighten. “Why’s that, little gator? What’s got you all worked up, huh?”

You wanted to disappear, to sink into the floor and vanish entirely. Anything to escape their piercing stares, the weight of their presence pressing down on you like a cage.

But then, you felt it.

The warmth spreading beneath you, dampening the hardwood floor.

Your breath caught in your throat as the realization struck you like a tidal wave. You’d pissed yourself.

Silent tears trickled down your cheeks, shame and humiliation crashing over you in waves as you dared a glance at Suguru.

His dark eyes flicked down to the wet patch spreading across the floor.

And then he smiled.

Not his usual small, measured smile, but something broader. Something that sent a wave of goosebumps.

Satoru followed Suguru’s gaze, his brows lifting in surprise before his grin widened into something almost predatory. “Well, would you look at that,” he murmured, his tone light and teasing but laced with something darker.

Suguru tilted his head slightly, his sharp eyes meeting yours as he spoke.

“Clause 52,” he said softly, his voice calm and steady, like he was reciting something he’d known by heart.

Your stomach knotted further, anxiety pooling. You really should have took time to read the absurdly long lease.

“‘If a roommate is deemed unfit to take care of themselves, it becomes the other parties’ duty to assume full care of the roommate, gaining full autonomy over the party deemed unfit.’”

The words were a death knell, ringing in your ears as your tears fell faster.

“Unfit,” Satoru repeated, his tone dripping with mockery as he leaned closer, his hand gentle as it brushed a tear from your cheek. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think, Suguru?”

Suguru’s smile didn’t falter, his dark eyes steady as his hand came to rest on your trembling shoulder. “It’s not harsh if it’s true,” he replied softly, his voice almost tender, but the weight of his words crushed any chance of denial. “She clearly needs us.”

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to push away the rising panic. You clung to the last shreds of your dignity, your hands trembling as you tried to wipe your tears. “It was an accident. I just—”

“You just proved you can’t take care of yourself,” Suguru interrupted, his grip tightening slightly, his words cutting through your feeble attempts at an excuse.

Satoru chuckled, leaning against you, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something darker. “You know,” he started, his tone almost conversational, “we could have enacted Clause 52 sooner.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes darting to him as he tilted his head, his grin widening.

“I mean, your grades this semester? Not exactly stellar.” He chuckled, shaking his head as if scolding a child. “And let’s not forget that blunt you took from Shoko a few months back. You do know weed is very illegal in Japan, right?”

The blood drained from your face as he spoke, your mind scrambling to keep up with his words.

“Could’ve gone to jail,” Suguru added, his voice calm and matter-of-fact as he straightened, his hand leaving your shoulder only to slide under your legs.

You yelped as he scooped you up effortlessly, your body trembling as you tried to claw away from him, your hands weakly pushing against his chest.

“But a grown woman pissing herself?” Satoru said, standing and shaking his head as he followed Suguru toward the bathroom. “Now that’s a pretty clear sign you need help. I mean, we’d be neglecting you if we didn’t take care of you at this point.”

“Put me down!” you cried, your voice breaking as you struggled against Suguru’s hold, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Shh,” Suguru murmured, his grip unyielding as he carried you down the hall. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”

Tears blurred your vision as the door to their bathroom came into view, the realization of just how powerless you were sinking in with every step.

Tears blurred your vision as the door to their bathroom came into view, the realization of just how powerless you were sinking in with every step.

“We’ll clean you up,” Satoru said brightly, his grin firmly in place as he swung the bathroom door open. His tone was light and teasing, but the words twisted in your stomach. “That’s what good boyfriends—sorry, roommates—do, right?”

Suguru carried you inside without hesitation, his movements smooth and calculated, like he’d done this a hundred times in his head. He set you down gently on the edge of the bathtub, his hands lingering on your arms as though steadying you. The care in his touch felt unnervingly intimate, blurring lines you hadn’t even realized were being crossed.

“I don’t need—” you started, your voice trembling, but Suguru cut you off.

“Do we need to treat you like a child too?” He hummed as he turned on the water, you noticed Satoru take a spot on the floor, his hand….gravitating to….

You forced yourself to look away. 

Instead pleading to Suguru that you can wash yourself, that he doesn’t need to climb into the tub with you pressing himself behind you. As he grabbed the handheld shower head, changing the settings as he deemed fit as you squirmed and sobbed. 

“Have to clean you now, hm?” He hummed behind you, changing the setting of the handheld shower head to the highest setting, the pressure was too much as you squirmed and clawed at his hands shaking your head. You looked over at Satoru the smile on his face, the way he seemed blissed out as he stroked his…

Oh god. 

They enjoyed this. 

You couldn’t help the whine that escaped you as your cunt clenched onto nothing, as your clit was being tormented by the harsh pressure of the showerhead Suguru had directed. 

“Shhhh, just let go… I got you,” Suguru murmured, his voice low and soothing as he adjusted the spray of water once more, there was purpose in his insistent touches, firm and absolute.

You couldn’t stop the sobs that wracked your body, your tears mixing with the water cascading over your skin. Your mind felt like it was spinning, your thoughts fragmented and overwhelmed by the unbearable mix of sensations and emotions crashing over you.

And then, you reached the peak—your body betraying you, shuddering in his grip as your climax washed over you. Shame burned hot in your chest, your face flushed with humiliation as the sobs came harder, raw and broken.

Suguru’s hand never faltered, his movements steady as he lowered the setting on the showerhead to a gentle spray, hushing you softly as you came down from your high.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his tone almost tender as his hand smoothed over your damp skin. “Just let me take care of you.”

You couldn’t muster the strength to respond, your body trembling as exhaustion began to creep in.

But he wasn’t done.

Before you could catch your breath, Suguru adjusted the water pressure again, the sharp sensation snapping you back into focus as he began once more.

“No, please…” you whimpered, your voice weak and cracking as you squirmed in his hold.

“Shhh,” he hushed you, his lips brushing lightly against your temple as his grip tightened. “You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t have the strength to fight him.

Again and again, he pushed you over the edge, your sobs gradually giving way to soft, broken whimpers as your body betrayed you. Your limbs felt heavy, your mind clouded with a haze of exhaustion and humiliation.

By the time he finally relented, your eyes were half-lidded, sleep tugging at the edges of your consciousness.

Satoru, who had been watching the entire time, stood from his spot on the floor, his sharp blue eyes raking over your limp form with a grin that made your stomach twist.

“Since Suguru did a good job cleaning you up, think you can clean my mess?” Satoru’s voice was light, teasing, but the sharp glint in his blue eyes told you there was no room for refusal.

Your head weakly shook in response, your body trembling with exhaustion as you tried to avert your gaze.

But Suguru didn’t let you.

“Be a good girl,” he murmured, his voice calm but firm as his hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face back toward them. His thumb pressed against your lips, prying them open with gentle insistence.

You whimpered, tears welling in your eyes again as his thumb slipped onto your tongue, the weight of his touch heavy and suffocating.

“There you go,” he said softly, almost soothing as though this was something to comfort you. “It’s easier if you don’t fight.”

Before you could protest, Satoru was pressing the tip of his cock onto your tongue, sliding his length down your throat despite your gags as Suguru ensured you wouldn’t bite down, keeping your mouth open.

“Good girl,” Satoru cooed, his voice low and saccharine as he watched you with amusement, the corners of his lips twitching upward as you instinctively flinched. “Be a good little gator, don’t bite”

You couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that trickled down your cheeks, your body frozen under the weight of their attention. Every movement felt heavy, every breath labored as you struggled to take the full length down your throat.

Suguru’s dark eyes bore into you, steady and unyielding. “See? You can do this,” he murmured, removing his thumb to help guide your head as you sucked on Satoru’s cock. “You’re already doing so well.”

“Better than I thought she would,” Satoru replied, a soft groan escaped his lips as he tilted his head back, gently rocking his hips forward despite your tears, Suguru was forcing your head to bob on Satoru's length, keeping his touch gentle.

“We’re going to take such good care of you,” Suguru hummed, his voice smooth and steady as his hand’s methodical movements, his dark eyes gazing at you in adornment as you choked on the sticky white ropes that trickled down your throat. 

His words made your stomach twist, but the calmness in his tone—the way it almost sounded affectionate—made it all the more suffocating.

“I think we can work with this arrangement, right?” Suguru murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. His tone was calm, almost soothing, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

“We love you so much, don’t you know?” he continued, his voice softening further, as if the depth of their love for you was as much a burden for them as it was for you. “We’ll give you time to adjust to the new arrangement. Don’t you worry.”

You flinched, your body trembling from a cocktail of exhaustion and humiliation. The words wrapped around you like a cage, their gentleness only making the weight of them heavier. Your eyes darted toward Satoru, searching desperately for some sign of relief, some thread of normalcy—but his expression only made your stomach twist.

His smile was lovesick, almost dazed, his half-lidded eyes clouded with fatigue, likely from his final exam. Yet his fingers found their way to the top of your head, the touch soft and deliberate, giving you a gentle, almost affectionate pat.

The gesture should have been comforting. It should have eased the tightness in your chest. Instead, it felt like a reminder—a quiet assertion of control, of just how tightly you were bound to them.

“Let’s get you ready for bed, shall we?” Satoru said, his voice light and teasing, laced with his usual carefree charm. But beneath the playful tone, there was an undertone of finality, a quiet edge that made it clear this wasn’t a suggestion.

Suguru’s hands were steady as he adjusted the towel around your body, his touch disarmingly gentle, as though he were savoring the act of caring for you. Each movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were worshipping the process of drying you off. He ensured the towel wrapped around you modestly, yet his fingers lingered just long enough to make you question if there was more to his care.

When he stood, his tall frame towering over you, he extended a hand. His dark eyes met yours, calm and unreadable, as if silently urging you to trust him.

You hesitated. Every instinct screamed at you to pull away, to run, to do something. But the exhaustion weighed you down, rooting you in place. Your legs felt like lead, your thoughts foggy and scattered, a tangle of fear and resignation you couldn’t untangle.

“You’re tired,” Suguru murmured, his voice a soothing balm that did little to ease the tightness in your chest. There was an undercurrent of quiet authority in his tone, one that made resistance feel futile.

His hand enveloped yours, warm and steady, guiding you to your feet before you could summon the strength to protest. “Let us take care of you,” he said softly, the words carrying a tenderness that felt at odds with the unease curling in your stomach.

Satoru was already waiting by the door, leaning casually against the frame. His bright blue eyes watched you with his signature grin—a grin that normally felt harmless but now carried an edge that made your chest tighten. “Come on, little gator,” he cooed, beckoning you with a casual wave. “We’ve got everything ready for you.”

You let them guide you, too drained to resist. Suguru’s hand rested lightly on your lower back, steadying you as Satoru walked ahead, his playful hum filling the quiet hall.

When you finally crawled into the cool sheets, your body sagged into the mattress, the weight of the day pressing down on you. The bath had left your skin warm and your limbs heavy, the overstimulation making it impossible to think straight. Exhaustion was a tide, pulling you under, and for a fleeting moment, you were grateful for the comfort they had so carefully orchestrated.

Perhaps you were too far gone to notice—or to care—about the faint noises behind you. The soft murmur of voices, the rustle of fabric, the low, intimate sound of Satoru’s moan as he lowered himself onto Suguru.

Your mind barely registered it, the sound blurring into the background as sleep took hold. You ignored the quiet gasp, the rhythmic creak of the mattress in the other room, and the muted groan that followed.

The warmth of the blankets, the scent of lavender, the haze of exhaustion—all of it conspired to drag you deeper into unconsciousness, letting the world fade away as your body surrendered to sleep.

[kamiversee]

Sukuna’s Fuck Buddy ꨄ

[ { Synopsis } ] ➤ You agree to be friends with benefits with Sukuna, not exactly expecting to get ruined in different ways every week.

[ { Need to know } ] ➤ This is a What-If scenario that stems from my fic; The F*ck List— A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt.

[ { Content & Warning } ] ➤ f!reader, dirty talk, tw; spitting, degrading, manhandling, pet names, fingering, unprotected sex, language, brief/slight exhibitionism, & Sukuna has a filthy mouth.

[ { Paring } ] ➤ Sukuna x f!reader.

[ { Word Count } ] ➤ 4.2k

"A whore," Sukuna commented, clearly joking but his words had made you uneasy.

It was oddly specific. You hadn't thought much of it when he called you a whore the night prior, since, y'know, you liked being degraded. But, something about that being his assumption for your occupation was a crazy coincidence.

Especially considering how hellbent Gojo always is on telling you not to call yourself that. The more you thought about it...

Gojo got upset at something from Sukuna's party, he didn't want you to call yourself a whore all of a sudden, Sukuna seems to have believed that was your actual job, and you remember how pissed Gojo seemed as he thought about you sleeping with Sukuna-

Holy fuck. Are the two connected somehow? Is something going on? What does Gojo owe Sukuna? Does Sukuna know you only slept with him as payment to clear Gojo's debt? Is-

A finger had poked your forehead and you blinked out of your thoughts.

Sukuna was chuckling, "I was joking, woman. Calm down." He uttered, "I actually thought you worked at one of those beauty stores."

You raised a brow, still feeling uneasy with the man. "Beauty stores?"

"Sephora, Ulta," He shrugged, "Wherever the fuck. I pictured you being one of those cute little cashiers."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment...?" You murmured.

"Or working at McDonald's, I don't know, I didn't think too hard on it-- jus' wanted to fuck you," Sukuna admitted honestly.

Your expression drops, "Oh..."

His hand had gone to your chin and he tipped your face up, "Do you want me to want something more from you?"

His gaze was intense like always, causing chills to slip down your back. You shook your head, "I mean, no... I only wanted you to fuck me."

"We could keep doing this," Sukuna suggested with a shrug, "Make' it a weekly thing."

You batted your eyelashes at him a few times in thought. At the time, things definitely would've gone differently had you not answered his request but... Somewhere deep down inside, you wanted to make it a weekly thing.

"Really?" You had asked the man, taking him by slight surprise.

Sukuna had wholeheartedly expected you to disregard his suggestion to you but, you didn't. "Yes, really," He replied before stepping closer to his bedside where you were seated and leaning toward you, "Let's fuck every week."

You stared at him with wide eyes for a long moment, contemplating numerous things in your head. Technically, you should've said no. You should've moved on from the topic, y'know, brushed his offer off entirely.

Yet there you were, steadily nodding your head in agreement before uttering a simple, "Okay."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Which takes you to right now, a few weeks after said agreement where you find yourself in the backseat of one of Sukuna's cars, your legs sprawled out over his as you sit prettily in his lap.

Since agreeing to be friends with benefits with Sukuna, you and him have met up once a week, sometimes twice, just to fuck each other.

In Sukuna's right hand was his cell phone, the device up at his ear as he conversed with someone as if his free hand wasn't occupied with toying with your dripping cunt-- thick fingers fucking so deep into you and curling just right against your slick walls.

Your back was against his firm chest, lips parted with heavy pants and soft moans spilling from your throat as the lewd sound of Sukuna finger fucking you filled his vehicle.

Trying so hard not to be loud in courtesy of whoever he was on the phone with, you bit your lower lip, “Mmmh… Sukuna…” You mewl out gently.

He’s been at it for a while and you could even feel how hard his cock was against your ass, his tip leaking and member twitching beneath the fabric of his sweats every time you squirmed.

Sukuna sighs heavily and pulls the phone away from his mouth only to bring his lips to your ear, “Shut the fuck up. If she hears you, I’ll stop…” Pausing mid-sentence as your cunt squeezes tighter around his fingers, he smirks, “Slut.”

“P-Please… hah… don’t stop,” Your voice was filled with pure and utter need, just as he liked.

Sukuna angles his head down a bit, planting a soft and all too teasing kiss below your ear, his breath tickling your neck, “Then shut up.”

You’re nodding, closing your mouth, and swallowing down your own moans as he purposefully shoves his fingers into you at a rougher pace.

In and out and in and out, your pussy was gushing around his fingers— mouth opening and jaw dropping every now and then as he hit all the right spots.

“Fuck,” You curse under your breath as your torso leans forward and you shoot a hand down to grab his wrist.

Sukuna’s speaking to whoever he has on the phone but you only register a few words every now and then. “Mhmmmm,” He hummed and you swore that was directed toward you as your eyes flickered back— he knew you were close.

Sukuna’s fingers slid almost all the way out of your hole just to tease you, his fingertips slipping up to flick over your clit. A breathy moan leaves your lips as he rubs your clit aggressively, drawing circles over the bud and making your legs draw together.

“M’gonna cum,” You whine out quietly, struggling to keep your noises in.

He wanted to make things harder for you so he smirks, “Yeah?” Sukuna taunted, “Gonna’ make a mess? Hm?”

Your head just barely angled back to look at him, seeing that he didn’t bother to move the phone away or mute it so whoever he was talking to heard everything he just said. This overwhelming feeling of embarrassment and arousal shoots throughout your body and your face twists up in pleasure as Sukuna sinks his fingers back into you.

“No, not you,” He spat to whoever he was talking to on call, smirking at you afterward, “I told you I was busy when we first got on the phone…”

Your hips jerked forward a bit as you unintentionally moved to ride his fingers, panting and maintaining eye contact with the man. He nearly felt like he was getting high off of merely watching you grow so stupidly drunk in lust. 

“S’kuna…” You mumbled.

His cock ached in his sweats and he nodded, “Mhm, yeah, y’know what, I’ll call you back— I have a needy whore to take care of.”

You turned your head to face forward as he said that, once again feeling embarrassed and even squeezing your legs together a bit. The sound of Sukuna scoffing is heard and then his phone is, quite literally, tossed somewhere else.

He shifts and his now free hand goes to your hip as his other kneads into your pussy, making you dizzy in satisfaction as you continue trying to keep quiet.

“Look at you…” Sukuna taunts, “You’re about to cum, aren’t you?”

You nod stupidly, feeling the knot in your core build as your orgasm approaches, “Y-Yeah… fuck, please.”

“Hm? Please what?” He scoffs, as if he hadn’t had a tendency to strip you of your climax multiple times.

“Hah… Let me cum, p-please Sukuna,” Your voice was a needy but quiet whine and he bit his lower lip once he acknowledged you were still following his orders of being quiet.

Sukuna snickers, “Uhuh, I will,” He hums, “Jus’ keep squeezin’ around my fingers,” He leans forward so he could speak into your ear, low and rasped voice driving you over the edge, “Yeahhhh, like that— Fuckin’ whore.”

Your jaw drops and your mouth forms an immediate O shape as your eyes flicker, back arching, and whimper escaping your throat— you cum hard while still trying to be quiet, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you do so.

There’s a slick sound of Sukuna still toying with your cunt as you come undone and then he sits back, parting his legs a bit as you readjust into his lap and his fingers slip out of you.

Sukuna coos, “See? Was that so hard? Now here,” He moves one hand to your throat, forcing your back to be against his chest as his other hand goes to your lips, “Clean yourself off my fingers, messy girl.”

His digits that’d just been inside you prod at your lips, tapping your lower one before you part them and Sukuna pushes his fingers in. He was such a nasty man, forcing you to taste yourself and clean your slick off his fingers— you couldn’t stand him sometimes.

Not to mention how he teases you as he does so, “Taste good, right?” Sukuna asked.

You whirl your tongue around his fingers and then pull off them with a hard and firm suck, a slight pop emitting from the action, “Mhm…”

“Good,” Both of Sukuna’s hands go to your hips and he lifts you up. You hardly realize what he’s doing until he forces you to turn around and face him. Then, he makes sure you remain hovering over his crotch as he works his cock out of his sweats, his eyes on yours as if he were seconds away from devouring you.

Sukuna looked ravished for you, tired of the past minutes he spent on some tedious phone call when he could’ve been buried inches into your sloppy hole. His eyes were low-lidded, maroon shade dazed with this feral need for you.

Oh, he was about to fuck the shit out of you— as he typically does. You’d picked up on that much, how his eyes would change, his breathing grown heavier, voice low and pitched with this sexy rasp that made your cunt flutter.

“Do me a favor,” Sukuna suddenly voices out, making you blink out of your daze. Your hands were on his broad shoulders, keeping yourself hovered over him. “Sit on this dick ‘nd make another mess f’me,” He instructed, words causing you to look down at his hard, slightly curved cock that’s been freed from his clothes.

It’s so damn intimidating— the way his veins bulge, how his hand jerks at his shaft in quick pulls, tip sticky and leaking precum as you stare with pretty wide eyes.

Your legs were straddling his already so, after a moment of admiring his cock, your eyes flicked back up to his face. Sukuna was glaring at you, impatiently waiting for you to plop down onto his twitching member.

His gaze sent a chill down your spine and your body was finally moving again. You lower yourself steadily as you glance down again but because of how slow you were living and how needy Sukuna was, he goes to grab your hips and pulls your cunt down to his cock, tip pressing up against your hole.

Both of you let out a heavy exhale in sync and you rock your hips forward just a little bit to ride his flushed tip.

“Don’t fuckin’ tease me, woman,” Sukuna breathes out, voice more airy than he would’ve liked.

You smirk, “Sukuna…” Your gaze lifts to his face once more, “You’re drippin’.” You whisper tauntingly.

His brows tense and his cock suddenly pushes up a few inches into you, a shallow thrust made in reaction to your words. Sukuna’s dirty talk was rubbing off on you and it drove him crazy. The hands on your waist grip even tighter, sure to leave marks as his fingernails dig into you and he slams you down on his dick.

Your eyes widen, face twists up, and a sluty moan leaves your throat, “Oh fuck-,”

“Told’ you not to fuckin’ tease me,” Sukuna huffs out in an aggravated tone. His big rough hands slide up to your waist and he holds onto you tightly before forcing you to ride him at the pace he wanted.

You’re moving to keep up with his motions as best you can, using your legs to lift yourself up and then plop your cunt down on his cock over and over— sucking him in deep and tight each time you go down.

Meanwhile, Sukuna’s forcing you through it, making sure you don’t slow down for even a second. “Needy ass couldn’t even let me finish my phone call,” He grunts out, “Pussy just needed my cock, huh? She’s that greedy?”

Your cunt just flutters and gushes around his dick, walls closing around his shaft as a moan slips past your lips, “I… ah, oh-, fuuck… m’sorry.”

“Aw, you’re sorry?” Sukuna mocks, “No you’re nottt, you wanted me off the phone, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, “N-No…”

“No? Hah,” That smirk of his starts to appear and his hands slide down your body, caressing your skin as you ride him in earnest, “You wanted them to hear?”

Your hips stutter in movement and your eyes widen, “I-“

“Wanted them to hear how desperate you are for some cock?” Sukuna huffs out, hips suddenly snapping up into you, “How dumb you get once it’s in you? Hm?”

“F-Fuck, Sukuna-, ah, mghh.” You whine, hips coming to an almost complete stop as Sukuna fucks his cock up into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his tip rams up into your cervix.

To make matters worse, he slaps your ass, “Did I say you could stop? Keep fuckin’ ridin’ me.” Sukuna orders meanly, making you whine as you find your movement again, earning a smirk from him in response to how your hips match his thrusts.

There was this slight shake to his car as you bounced up and down on his cock and he kept fucking it up into you, making it hard for you to think or even moan properly.

 He smirks and then holds your hips again, slamming you down slowly but roughly along with his words, “Mmmgh, just. like. that.” Sukuna groans, tossing his head back and breathing heavily.

The sight of him with his head back and neck exposed was so damn sexy, causing you to lean forward and move to his neck, pressing sweet but messy kisses all up and down his exposed skin.

Sukuna starts smiling, “Good girl.” He suddenly praises and your hips begin to rock back and forth, making his brows tense, “Aughhh, fuuuck, keep goin’, m’close.”

Because you had slowed again, you’d assume that he enjoyed it so you continued with a steady rock of your hips, keeping his thick length buried inside you as you did so.

He lets you continue like that for a minute or two but after that, he huffs, “I said ride me, whore. Don’t fuckin’ slow down.” Sukuna grunted.

For someone who was taunting you about being needy, he sure as hell had a thousand demands on how you should be riding him— as if he doesn’t know his dick is hard to take at some point.

Your brows furrow and your lower lip sticks out into a slight pout, one he finds so fucking cute. Sukuna moves his hands to your thighs, somewhat under them to aid you, and then he’s forcing your pussy to slick up and down him again.

You let out a little scoff before looking off to the side, “Shit…” Sukuna was thrusting up into you again, bullying his cock into your dripping cunt and forcing you to ride him through it.

“C’mon,” He smirks, “Take it—, fuck me.” He suddenly breathes out.

A shocked moan exits your mouth and your eyes are glossy as they find his, “W-What? Mmh…” You breathe. Did he just say what you thought he did?

“You heard me,” Sukuna’s smirk widens and slowly eases into a sexy almost fucked out smile “I said fuck me. Fuck me like you wanna make me cum,” He huffs, your body responding through upping your pace, “Yeahhhh that’s it.” Sukuna breathes, head flying back again.

The car creaked and bounced with the frantic movements of sex occurring inside, windows fogged, your tits jumping almost in his face, plush walls clamping down on his dick so good that he felt like he was losing his sanity.

Oh Sukuna was addicted. He can’t have any other woman on his cock that’s not you, not when you ride him so well and certainly not when your hand is abruptly felt on his throat.

Sukuna lets out a groan that’s treacherously close to a moan, his head tipping up from the seat as his eyes find yours, “Oh? You kinky fuckin’ woman, chokin’ me like this…” He grunts, smiling again afterward, “Can hardly feel those small fingers of yours…”

Truth is, he could feel your fingers. Blood rushed to Sukuna’s face and his cock, his mind dazed for a second as you choked him whilst riding him. He would never submit to you but goddamn you were making it difficult.

Your hole just sucked him up like a vice and your walls were so snug and warm, wetness coating his dick and even parts of his thighs. He was about to cum but he didn’t want you to think you’d got the best of him.

So, Sukuna tips his head to the side and brings a hand to your wrist, “This is cute but,” He pulls your hand off his neck, “Lemme show you how it’s done, pretty girl.”

Your lashes bat in disbelief before Sukuna’s manhandling you again, flipping you both over as his large muscular frame looms over yours. His big hands go to your legs and he spreads them fast and wide enough so that he can slam his cock back inside you.

Your back is arching off the seat of the car as soon as he pushes all the way into you, the sudden change in position making his leaky tip reach deeper than before.

One hand is propped up by your head and the other goes to your throat, Sukuna’s fingers carefully wrapping around you and feeling the way broken moans vibrate against your throat.

“Mmph… ah, ‘kuna,” You slur out as his thrusts pick up all over again. Something is mumbled under your breath and he finds it funny how you could barely get it out.

Tilting his head, “Huh? What was that? Speak up.”

You groan, “Harder,” His eyes widen and his hips just ram down into you at a merciless pace before you get out what you meant, “Choke m-me… mmh, f-fuck… h-harder, oh my… ahh, ngh…”

“Harder? You want me to choke you harder?” Sukuna repeats and you nod, earning a slight laugh from him, “Of course you do, slut.” As the last word leaves his lips, his hand is squeezing around your throat, making it hard for you to breathe while he recklessly pounds into your cunt.

“M-Mmmh,” You hum, eyes rolling back as that damn curve of his knocks into you just right, “F-Fuck. Ohmygod, f-fuuck…” You curse between a whine.

His face is hovering over yours, “Feel me in there?” You nod and he bites his lip for a moment, “Yeah?”

Sukuna just thrusts harsher and harsher, and then faster, pelvis crashing into yours over and over as the lewd sounds of sex escape his car with how sloppy it was getting. His cock was covered in you but only greedy for more, plunging in and out of you as he groans at the way you just suck him back in every time he pulls out.

“Want me to slow down?” Sukuna suddenly suggests. Again, you just nod, almost too fucked out to speak anymore. “Awww, but you’re takin’ me jus’ fine at this pace,” He praises, making your cunt throb about him.

“S’too… y-you’re so… hahh… mgh, f-fucking big-,” You moan out weakly.

Those words make his thrusts stutter and he grunts, “What? I’m what?” Sukuna questions, almost like he needed to hear you say that again. His face leans down to yours and his lips ghost your wet ones, “What am I? Say that again.” He whispers.

Your heavy breaths brush up against his lips as both of you hold such intimate eye contact with one another, “B-Big, S’kuna… S-So fuckin’ big…” You cry out, gentle tears beginning to leave your eyes.

The man unintentionally beats his cock down into your messy cunt, “Big? Ohhhh, don’t fuckin’ tell me that.” Sukuna groans, again sounding all too close to a moan, “Take it.” He huffs.

You nod yet again, “Uhuh… m-mmh, oh…”

“Yeahhh, take it you whore.” Sukuna huffed, “Every fuckin’ inch like a good girl, mhm-, fuck,” He finally moaned, eyes flickering for only a moment.

He was too into it, too into you— literally. Sukuna felt like he was in your stomach, the bulge of his cock so prominent with his every thrust. Never was he really gentle with you, not during the sex at least, there was no need to be. You liked him rough and he knew that.

“M’gonna cum inside you.” Sukuna suddenly warns, hips sloppy against you, “Fuck my cum nice ‘nd deep inside you,” He huffs, feeling how you twitch around him.

Then, Sukuna stares down at your face, his hand still around your neck as he gets a sudden thought, glancing down to your lips.

“Open your mouth,” Sukuna orders, his voice deep. Your lips are parting without a second thought and Sukuna looks you dead in the eyes as he spits onto your tongue. First, it’s one messy drip, then another filthy glob.

Oh that was nasty, he was nasty. And the fact that his action only turned you on even more really said something about you.

“Swallow it,” He demands right after, watching as you shut your mouth and do as told. Then, he feels the movement in your throat against his palm and he chuckles, “Fuck, that’s sexy… You’re such a nasty lil’ slut f’me, I like that.”

Sukuna leans down to you and the grip on your throat grows tighter, his lips moving to swallow yours up. It was a messy and heated kiss, your moans and whimpers being drowned out as his tongue slithered into your mouth.

The wet slick and slide of his mouth over yours filled the air and all you could hear was that and the brutal smack of his hips down into you as his cock unforgivingly kissed your cervix. Over and over and over again until your orgasm crashes over you.

Only then does Sukuna pull away from your lips, a messy wad of saliva hanging between the two of you as he speaks slowly and his voice makes you lose it because of that damn breathy rasp, “Pussy’s creaming ‘round me, shit.” He breathes out, slowing down his thrusts just so you can pay attention to it, “Hear that? Hear how she gushes ‘round my cock?”

It was messy, sloppy, and slick as he dragged his dick in and out of your pulsing walls. This is what it was like to be Sukuna’s fuck buddy. Whenever or wherever he wanted to take you, he would— spewing such filth out to you as he did so, no matter who heard him.

He didn’t care, he just wanted to make sure you heard him, heard his every nasty word because he knew you liked it. Hell, that’s why you’re cumming around his cock now, moaning beneath him, legs shaking, and tears streaming down your face.

Just as you’re coming undone, so is he, pace picking right back up as he fucks his orgasm into you— warm seed coating your walls as he leaned to your ear, groaning out a repeated and breathy ‘take it’ as you whined and suddenly clawed at his back.

“Take every drop,” Sukuna moans into your ear. You think he might have a breeding kink-, “Fuckin’ slut,” He adds on.

He’s going and going until he thrusts in hard one last time and stills himself. His breathing was so heavy in your ear, heavy like pants almost-, almost like you’d drained him of everything he had.

Sukuna remains still for a while before he shifts only a little, lips moving to your cheek as he kisses your wet skin. Then, it’s slow but his tongue slides out and he licks whatever's left of your tears off your face.

Your face twists up in slight discomfort due to his wet tongue and the fact that his heavy cock was still inside you wasn’t making things any better, “…Sukuna,” You sigh, “D-Don’t you have a phone call t-to return…?”

He smiles at how you remind him, despite your fucked out state and how ragged your voice was. Sukuna slowly moves to lean up but, he doesn’t pull out yet, “Mhm, I do. And uh,” He sits back a bit and pulls your body along with his, making sure he never once slips out of you, “You’re gonna keep my cock nice ‘nd warm in the meantime.”

His words catch you off gaurd, “But-“

His hand goes to your lower abdomen and Sukuna traces his fingertip over the slight print his dick makes against your skin, “You don’t want to?” He asks, tipping his head to the side.

Blinking, you just let out a sigh after a long moment of thought, “No, I do…”

“Alright then,” Sukuna smiles, “But if you make any noise, I’ll video call instead and show them the needy woman I gotta deal with,” He comments finally with a cocky little wink.

tags;

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[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Six: coming clean

tw: non-con, violence, blood

“Good evening, ladies.” 

Disdain taints Aelin’s face in a dangerous way. Her brows narrow at Makarov, and she tilts her head to the side like a bird sizing up a prey she wishes to peck at. Her nose scrunches as if she’s smelt hot garbage—some noisome odor that makes her stomach curl in her abdomen. Mouth splitting open like delicate fruit, you want to tell her to stay quiet, but the fingers squeezing into your shoulders silences you. 

“Excuse me?” Aelin questions. Her eyes dart to Marco’s hands and her fingers visibly twitch as they rest on the table. “Not sure who you blokes think you are, but I’d appreciate it if you got your fucking hands off of my friend.”

The way Marco speaks your name has the sparse contents in your stomach curdling. He leans forward, body pushing against the back of your head so that you can feel the way his chuckle rips through his body. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re good friends. Tell her, babe.” 

Aelin’s eyes are on you now. Wide, and beautiful. The most recherché of sapphires. But they’re cracking, confusion spiraling throughout her irises, rooting into the flesh as you swallow down your shame. 

“Aelin,” you say, voice quivering. 

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Price,” Makarov interjects. He leans forward, elbow on the table, head bobbing with a sincere nod. “We don’t intend to take up too much of your time.” 

There it is—painful realization. It blossoms in Aelin’s eyes like the way mould consumes the tender flesh of bread. Burrowing deep, tunnelling far enough to feed. Her fingers curl as her gaze hardens into steel, piercing through everyone within sight. 

“Vladimir Makarov,” she spits. 

The man smiles, polite enough to be infuriating. “A pleasure.” 

As the weight of the situation settles over the table like thick brume, you find your attention wandering to your phone. It still sits screen up on the table, waiting for another one of Simon’s check-in texts. You yearn to see it light up. There’s no way you can reach for it—to text and ask for help—but leaving his messages unanswered would stir worry in him. It would get him to come. 

It would get him to save you; again. 

Makarov speaks your name, and like an obedient animal, your attention turns to him. “You look surprised to see us. I thought you would have learned better than to run by now. It didn’t work last time, now did it?” 

Your blood thickens into cruor. Veins and arteries blocked, leaving your eyes bulging in your skull and your ears ringing. He grins as the terrible realization of it all falls across your face—your phone. 

Even after all these years, you remember the accident that stole Sean Gilroy’s life from him. The call—the way Andrei tore something from the motherboard before leaving the useless, cracked device behind. Have you fallen victim to the same trap? 

Is your ignorance about to kill someone else all over again? 

“Marco tells me you were doing well. No late payments, always prompt. Your debt had not been an issue and now you’ve missed four due dates. This is very unlike you. What changed?”

Makarov scolds you like a school teacher concerned about missing assignments and poor test results. Each word he speaks is gentle, but the facade is cellophane thin. The last time you saw him he did not leave without spilling blood, and you are not naive enough to believe that you’ve finally grown lucky enough to earn a different fate this time around. 

“Debt?” Aelin repeats. She looks at you, hands flat on the table as she leans forward. “Chip, do you owe them money?” When you can’t bring yourself to answer, her gaze is back on Makarov—thick, and demanding. “How much.” 

“Mrs. Price, there’s no need to-”

“I said how much,” she seethes between gritted teeth. “A couple grand? A million? Easy, done. I’ll pay it off. Now can you get the fuck out of here and let us enjoy our dinner?” 

There’s bickering. Threats uttered in low tones and mandibles clenching so tight that you can nearly hear the creaking of molars—enamale waiting to crack and shatter. Aelin is fiery. Flames lick on the heel of every word she speaks, fingers tense as she points an accusatory finger at Makarov. You’re not sure how much John has told her about this man, but if she knows well enough to hate him, then she should know well enough to fear him. 

But she doesn’t. All sharp teeth, she reaches for her purse, claiming she’s going to call her husband to get this all sorted, but you see the way muscles tense beside her. Andrei, standing tall next to Makarov—his nose is straight but there’s a long scar that crosses the bridge. Old stitches that have just fully healed over. He looks different, but he is the same; hands shoved in the pockets of his jumper, icy eyes watching Aelin move.

It’s the same thing all over again. 

All your life ever does is repeat. 

“Aelin, don’t. Just- please just- just listen to them,” you beg.

Your words get her to freeze just in time for Andrei to snap her purse—and therefore her phone—far out of reach. Makarov hums, seemingly content as he leans back in his seat. 

“It seems you’ve finally managed to learn something,” he muses. 

A buzz echoes through the table, temporarily silencing the conversation. All eyes snap to your phone, where the screen illuminates with yet another text from Simon. 

Is everything still going okay, baby?

Marco’s chuckle is like sour milk. Long bad. Clotted like blood. He leans over you, fingers digging into your skin as he snatches your phone off of the table. Your heart leaps into your throat as he wraps himself around you, holding the screen up for your attention. 

“Unlock this for me, will you, babe?” he purs. Hot mint fans against your cheek, burning your eyes as you open the device with your thumb print. 

You are still in that kitchen. In that warehouse. Sitting on that chair. Back against the wall. Hand up your skirt. Wretched flesh against yours. 

Yeah. All good. 

Marco allows you to get one good look at his fabricated response before he kills the screen and places the phone back on the table face down. “Baby,” he mocks. 

“You don’t want to make the same mistake this time as you did with Chief Inspector Gilroy, is that it?” Makarov continues. 

At the mention of her father, Aelin’s head perks up. As ice builds in your body, she glances back and forth between you and Makarov, pale brows narrowing as she tries to put the pieces of this puzzle together. But she can’t. She’s fumbling. The edges are too sharp, something you know all too well—you’re surprised she hasn’t noticed the blood on your hands yet. 

“Chip?” Her voice is almost enough to lull you out of your panic, but your body still prepares for the asperity. “Chip, what is he talking about?”

Before you have the chance to spill your sins for everyone to see, the waiter returns with his hands occupied with two large plates. He’s all courteous smiles and polite conversation as he sets your meals down on the table, but even you’re sharp enough to catch the uncomfortable looks he throws at the men who have interrupted your girl’s night. When he asks if you need anything else for your meals, Makarov quickly dismisses him. 

“You’ve been cooperative so far, it’s a shame to see that you’ve fallen from that after all these years,” Makarov continues once the five of you are left alone again. “If you needed a grace period, all you had to do was ask and-” 

“No,” Aelin interrupts sternly. She’s nearly leaping across the table now, torso leaning so far forward that Andrei finds it necessary to put his hand on her shoulder and pull her back. Glaring up at him, she shrugs him off. “What the fuck do you mean? What mistake was made with my dad?” 

“His death, of course.” His answer is blunt. A wooden club straight to the skull, occipital fracturing, vision going fuzzy. 

Her face goes stiff. All her beauty hardens to stone as a shaky breath expels from her chest. “He died in an accident. A car accident that happened years ago,” she claims firmly. 

Their bickering continues to the music of clenching fists and suave smiles followed by poetic interjections that leaves Aelin floundering. And then, there’s you. Sitting in a chair, Marco’s hands wandering over you, tracing down your arms as if he’s comforting you—savoring the feeling of his skin against yours. He’s washing away everything good, and you’re not sure you can get it back. 

Not after this. 

“I got him killed.” Your claim silences the conversation at the table, and for the first time in your life, you feel your stomach churn at Aelin’s gaze. Bitter confusion settles on her face, and even though it’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen, you force yourself to look her in the eyes. “It’s my fault your dad’s dead.” 

“What?” she breathes. You’ve never heard her voice tremble like this before—a rabbit caught in a cage, skin quivering as the slaughter approaches. “N-No, Chip, I’ve told you a million times before, the accident wasn’t your fault, there was-”

“They told me not to go to the police, and I did, and he’s dead because of it,” you cut in. Glazed eyes stare at the center of the table as the steam from your forgotten meal begins to dwindle. Your muscles tense in every place that Marco touches you, and you’re certain you’ll be nothing but a statue of grief after this. “Your dad knew something was wrong. Demanded answers. I knew better, b-but I still told him anyway. He was going to take me down to the station, but his phone… they knew. They knew, and they caused the accident, but he was still alive. 

“He was stabbed to finish him off. They took the chip out of his phone a-and they… None of it would’ve happened if I just stayed quiet. He would still be alive a-and it’s all my fault and- fuck, Aelin, I-I’m so sorry.” 

You’re snivelling now. Uncontrollable tears and snot as the culmination of your sins rears its ugly head in your chest. Your nails are biting into the flesh of your palms, and Marco’s attempt at comforting you with a pat only makes you jump. Eyes squeezing shut, you try to pretend you’re anywhere else, but you’re painfully kept in the present. 

When you gather the courage to open your eyes again, you’re met with Aelin’s tear-stained face. A hand presses against her stomach, and you note the way her shoulders heave as if she can’t catch her breath. Her skin blanches. Eggshell white. No warmth like the radiant sun—no sparkle like the stars in the sky. 

You’ve killed her. You’ve killed her with your words alone. 

“Alright, enough of that, babe,” Marco coos. He’s reaching forward again, fingers pinching at one of the napkins on the table to wipe at your face. When you shy away from his touch, he only grips your chin with his free hand, keeping you still so he can polish you like a trophy. 

“You sick son of a bitch!” 

It happens faster than your brain can process it. Aelin’s shout. Skin on skin contact. Makarov’s head snaps to the side as Aelin’s chair topples over, and the violence is enough to stun you out of your pathetic pules. The man you’ve spent half of your life fearing clutches his cheek in shock as your best friend raises her hand for another blow. 

More obscenities spill from her mouth, garnering the attention of other people in the restaurant, but she does not get the chance to hit him again. Andrei steps forward, hand curling into her shoulder, yanking her back and spinning her around just in time to land a crisp slap to her face. Pulse quickening, you’re standing before you even realize it, fingers reaching for her, an instinct you can’t fight. 

You don’t make it a single step before Marco’s pulling you back, hand snaking around the front of your torso to your stomach to hold you in place. “Calm down, babe,” he warns. 

“Please stop,” you beg. “She’s not a part of this!” 

But Andrei refuses to hear your plea. 

His fist sinks into her stomach. Butter splitting on a knife. She crumbles. Cloth falling free from a line—fluttering on the wind, staining on the ground. 

Your body reacts, and you have no choice but to listen. Arms flailing, elbows flying—you feel the bony end of your humerus meet something soft, and then air escapes. It huffs, hot and moist. Then, there’s a hand on the back of your head, and pressure, then—

—impact. 

Wood bites the tip of your nose, smushing it to your upper lip until your neck pops, snapping to the side. Ichor flows from your nostrils nearly instantaneously, causing you to cough as your eyes water from the sting. You feel him against you—Marco. Hips against your rump, body curling over yours as he continues to press on you, keeping your body bent over the table, fingers curling into your nape as exhales against the shell of your ear. 

“You little cunt,” he growls. “Riley’s rubbing off on you in a piss poor way, isn’t he? What happened to my sweet little girl, huh? The one who behaved? What have I always told you? If you need help, you come to me. We make good on that fucking deal, that way shit like this doesn’t happen. Now look. Look at this fucking mess.” 

People are shouting now—voices you don’t recognize. Patrons and employees alike, men getting defensive over you and Aelin, women shouting to leave the two of you alone. Makarov orders something in Russian that doesn’t quite fall on your ears, but you feel the way it echoes through Marco’s body as he leans further, nearly crushing you, lips pressing to your cheek, unraveling you with another wretched kiss. 

“I’ll see you soon, babe.” 

You collapse to the floor as soon as he relinquishes his grip on you, but more hands replace his. Concerned citizens. Good samariatans. Patting your back. Helping you to your feet. Shoving napkins into your hand to stop the blood gushing from your nose. You assure them that you’re fine as you shrug them off, shaky knees nearly knocking together as you stumble towards Aelin on the other side of the table. 

She’s on her knees, one hand gripping the edge of the table, the other clutching her stomach. Her chest heaves. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t suck in enough air, and the mascara staining her cheeks smudges just enough to make her look like a corpse. 

You reach for her, to hold her, to comfort her—but you hesitate. 

Vacillate. 

Your hands are bloody.

You’ll only ruin her further. 

“Aelin…” You’re sobbing, and her name comes out as nothing but a squeak. She doesn’t look at you. Her eyes stay closed as her face contorts, pain rippling through her body as she tries to stand. “Aelin, I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. We should- Are you okay? He didn’t- didn’t hurt you, did he? Oh my god, I-I’m so fucking sorry, I-”

“I’m fine.” She chokes the words out firm and harsh, but the pain seeps into her tone anyway. Aelin stands on wobbling legs, gait awkward and stiff as she wraps her arms around herself. You wait for the blood. For the familiar redolence of offals. There is nothing—just the unmarred swell of her stomach. “I… I need to go.” 

Blood splatters on the front of your shirt, but you can’t bring yourself to care about the mess as you watch her turn away from you. “I-I’ll come with you.”

“No! Just… stay here, Chip,” she snaps. Her spine stays stiff and curled as she reaches for her purse and slings it over her shoulder, fingers quickly fumbling for a handful of cash from her wallet before she tosses it on the table. “Call Simon. Get to Terminus. I can’t stay here, I need to-”

A sob cuts her orders off, but she shrugs you away when you attempt to comfort her. There’s nothing you can do except watch her vanish from the establishment, legs tight and locked together as she waddles through the door. All you can bring yourself to do is stare at the gaping hole she’s left. Another gash. Another wound in your life. 

As patrons coddle you and convince you to take a seat, you can only wonder if Aelin hates you. She has to. You know she does. She’s never snapped like that before. Pushed you away. (There’s an icepack on your nose now, but you’re too numb to feel the cold, the bite, anything). You killed her father. She ought to push you away. It’s what you deserve. To be ostracized. To be othered. (There’s a woman patting your back, and for a moment she feels like your mother, but when she speaks it’s all wrong). You nearly got her killed. Everyone close to you always ends up hurt. (There’s so much blood). Dead. Killed. Slaughtered. Thrown in a box. (It won’t stop coming). Six feet underground. Gore on linoleum. Back against a wall. Stuck to a chair. Prisoner. Marco’s good girl. (Why won’t it stop?)

(Please stop). 

“Baby?”

Then—warmth. 

A faint apricitie diving beneath algid waves. There are hands cupping your face. Gentle. Loving. Your blood glues them to your face, attaching every cell until you’re one whole being. When your head is tilted up, and your eyes finally focus, you see it. Him. Your Simon Riley. 

“Oh, baby, what happened?” he asks. 

His question shatters you. Smashes you into a billion pieces until you’re nothing but fine sand and ichor, a sopping mess waiting for someone else to come around to pick you up, as always. You sob. Bloodied hands dropping your ice pack, you throw your arms around his neck and wail into his chest as you spill your sins. You tell him everything. Makarov. Andrei. Marco. Aelin. It all leaves you like rot from a festering wound. 

“Where is she?” Simon asks. He pulls away from you and begins to wipe at your face, smearing tears and blood across your skin. He doesn’t seem afraid of the mess.

“I dunno,” you hiccup. “She just left. Said she had to go, told me to call you a-and get to Terminus and… How… how did you know to come?” 

For a split moment, his face softens. Every hard line and puffy scar—even the steel in his eyes. It all turns pillowy the moment he leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. “You never use capital letters when you text.” 

Despite the protest of the restaurant workers begging you to stay to talk to police when they arrive, Simon escorts you out of the building where his car waits, engine still running. Your nose bleeds all over the upholstery, leather darkening to a vibrant crimson, but he tells you not to worry about it as he speeds off into traffic. 

Blood is overflowing where it shouldn’t. Down your sinuses, into the back of your throat, slimy clots slithering through you until you’re coughing them up into your sopping wet napkin. Iron coats your tongue, and it tastes an awful lot like your first kiss—just needs more menthol. 

“My phone.” The memory returns to you like a slap to the face. Your stomach drops as more blood gushes into your mouth, but you swallow it back. “They found us because of my phone.” 

Simon’s fingers are already white knuckling the steering wheel, but the color of his skin blanches further and travels to the tips of his ears until they’re bright pink. “They’re trackin’ you?” 

“Maybe. I dunno. They might have tapped my call with Aelin too, o-or something else, I have n-no idea I just- I just know that it was my phone,” you explain. 

“Give it here.” 

Without another thought, you dig through your pockets until the item is in your grasp. Placing it in Simon’s hand, he gives it a close once over before he’s ripping the case off of it, elbows attempting to keep the wheel straight as the car continues to speed through the streets. Once the device is properly naked, he looks at his blind spot before rolling the window down and tossing your phone through the gap. Slackjawed, you watch in the rearview mirror as it shatters on the road, glass screen exploding into a trillion prismatic pieces. The car behind you swerves to avoid it.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he promises. 

But your mind is very far away—too far to worry about something as trivial as your phone. 

“I fucked up,” you choke. Each word you speak is stuffy, nostrils too clogged with blood to get your consonants out properly. “What am I gonna do, Si?”

“It’ll be okay,” he assures. 

“She knows. She knows about her dad. What I did. I told her all of it, they made me.” You’re spiraling. An animal caught in a trap. Rubbish caught in a riptide, being pulled too far out to sea to be saved.

“Easy, baby,” he hums. He takes your hand into his. He does not flinch at the blood. “We’ll figure it out.” 

Terminus comes into view with the same flashing neon signs that it always sports. Russet bricks, a decent line out the door—you find that you are not anxious about this place anymore. Not the crowd, nor the music that muddies your hearing and shakes every pane of glass in each window; there are worse things that lurk in the dark. 

Simon opens the door for you once he’s parked, and you make sure to keep your body tilted forward as you bleed onto the pavement of the carpark. With a hand on the small of your back, he guides you towards the entrance, letting you keep your head down to avoid the stares. There’s quiet murmuring and sly comments from the people you pass by, but all it takes is a single glance from Simon to silence them. 

You do not worry about them. All you can think about is Aelin. Her tears. Her anger. 

How she hates you. 

“Fucking hell.” 

John’s voice snaps you to attention. Eyes finding him, you realize that you haven’t seen him in quite some time. Not since you had dinner at their place back in January. He looks different. His beard is disheveled, a far cry from his usual groomed whiskers, and his face is flushed a bright pink. He’s hardly got his gaze on you and you already find your tears beginning to spill again, remorse draining from your body before he even knows of your transgression. 

“What happened?” he demands, eyes glancing back and forth between you and Simon. 

“I’m fine,” you attempt to assure, but it’s clumsy—unconvincing. 

“You and Aelin were supposed to go out for dinner, and I just got a call from her saying she’s at the hospital.” Face tensing, he glances at Simon. “The fuck is going on?” 

“She’s at the hospital?” you repeat, voice cracking. Everything twists—a million needles burrow into your skin, and still it does not feel enough to cleanse you.

“Yeah. Christ, looks like you ought to be there, too,” he grunts. “What the fuck happened? Who did this to you? To her? Give me a name and I’ll take care of it.” 

The world spins beneath your feet and the only thing that’s grounding you is Simon’s touch. Still, you spiral. Hospital. Aelin. She told you she was fine—but she’s not. There’s something missing. Something else that you can’t name, but it’s here waiting for you to split yourself open on it. 

“Baby, go inside,” Simon urges. “I can tell ‘im everything.” 

“Vladimir Makarov.” The final nail in the coffin. The first handful of dirt on the casket. The final breath. 

John’s face contorts as anger and confusion mixes into a painful dance within him. He steps back, but his fists clench as if he’s ready to fight—he needs to put the anger down somewhere. 

“How the hell do you know him?” he asks. 

“I owe him money,” you stutter. “I’ve… I’ve owed him for a long time. But I haven’t been paying, a-and I thought that I was able to get away but I… God, John, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I got Aelin hurt and-” 

He silences you with a simple raise of his hand and your mouth slams shut. Your fingers yearn for thread, but not for your silly game of string. You wish for a needle. For sutures to keep your lips sealed so you won’t ever have to choke on this shame again. 

“How long have you known?” His question is directed at Simon now, sharp gaze puncturing through him, a finger pointing at him as if it’s a spear he wishes to plunge into his chest. 

“Price, we shouldn’t talk ‘bout this in front of her,” Simon attempts to rationalize. 

“I said how fucking long?” 

Incensed fingers curl into the collar of Simon’s shirt as John yanks him forward. For the first time in your life, you watch Simon obey. He follows the ruthless pulling of John’s grasp as he nearly goes limp, and you squeak, arms up in defense as if the violence might soon be directed at you. 

“This wasn’t his fault!” you wail. 

“The fuck it is,” John spits. “She didn’t know any better, but you do. How long did you think you could keep this from me? What the fuck made you think this shit was alright? How many fucking people have you put at risk, Simon! My fucking wife! My fucking child!” 

All air has been lost in the world. You stare, heart empty, blood filling your mouth, spilling out of you like all of the apologies you wish you could articulate but can’t. They fall flat at your feet. Drips and splatters among the grime. 

“What?” you breathe. 

John goes loose like a dead body. Hands slipping off of Simon’s collar, feet stumbling away from him, his palm slaps over his mouth where his fingers and thumb press and rub into his jaw. His inhale fills him only to deflate, and when he finishes his sigh, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him more empty. 

“Aelin’s pregnant.”

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[joelsrose]

Guns and Roses: Chapter 7

previous chapters

Chapter Summary: You and Joel settled into an effortless rhythm, a silent understanding weaving through each day, each small gesture a testament to a bond growing deeper. Slowly, Joel began to reveal just how much he cared, his actions softer, his gaze lingering a bit longer, and soon enough, it became clear to everyone that something between you both had changed. As his guard lowered, he began to open up, sharing pieces of himself he’d kept hidden, letting his feelings show in quiet, unguarded moments.

14k words yes im insane - lemme know your thoughts in the comments pleaseeee TW: mentions of blood etc

You woke slowly, a gentle warmth cocooning you as you stirred, your senses gradually sharpening. Your arms were wrapped around something solid and warm, and as awareness crept in, you realized it was Joel—his body nestled against yours, your chest pressed to his broad back. You were the one holding him, your arm draped across his middle and your fingers resting lightly on the rough fabric of his shirt. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was a quiet lullaby, soothing in its rhythm, and for a heartbeat, you let yourself linger in that fragile peace. You didn’t dare shift, afraid to disturb the moment, or worse, wake him and shatter the unexpected intimacy of it all.

You remembered going to bed with a careful distance between you, an unspoken boundary neither of you dared to cross. But sometime in the night, that space had disappeared. Now, you were wrapped around him from behind, your arm draped over his torso, fingers resting lightly on his chest. Your head was tucked close to the curve of his neck, your breath mingling with the warmth of his skin. His slow, steady breathing matched the gentle rise and fall beneath your palm, a quiet rhythm that seemed to draw you closer still.

Your gaze drifted to the back of his head, where his hair fell in disheveled waves. The strands curled slightly at the nape of his neck, revealing the way they grew in unruly patterns. It was a small, intimate detail you’d never noticed before—how a few pieces were shorter, sticking out stubbornly, while the rest fell in gentle, careless layers. The sight stirred something deep within you, an unexpected tenderness at this quiet, unguarded glimpse of him. You traced the outline with your eyes, almost tempted to reach out and brush your fingers along the roughness of his hair and the warm skin beneath.

Carefully, you shifted, mindful not to rouse him, and let your gaze drift to the clock on the wall. The hands hovered over 8:00—later than you usually rose. You must have slept deeply, the kind of rest that felt like a gift, untouched by dreams or darkness. It was as if the steady rhythm of his breathing had wrapped you in a rare tranquility, holding the world’s troubles at a distance and banishing the nightmares that too often haunted your sleep—the visions of blood and shattered bones. A quiet satisfaction unfurled within you, a reluctant recognition that maybe—just maybe—this peace owed itself to the warmth shared in this accidental closeness, the comfort of finding something solid and real, even if only for the night.

His words from the night before echoed softly in your mind, a gentle murmur that lingered, refusing to fade.

"You're someone worth taking care of."

There had been a quiet sincerity in his voice, a truthfulness that slipped past the defenses you’d so carefully constructed—the ones that seemed to crumble effortlessly under his touch, as if he knew exactly where to press to unravel each layer.

You hadn’t known how to respond then, could only look away and swallow the surge of feelings that had risen, unbidden and overwhelming. But now, in the stillness of morning, with the steady warmth of his body grounding you, those words resonated differently. They didn’t feel like a debt repaid or an obligation fulfilled.

You sensed Joel stirring beside you, a faint shift that sparked a sudden awareness in your chest. Without thinking, you slid your arms away and edged toward the far side of the bed. A wave of fear gripped you, sharp and immediate—if he woke to find you this close, he might recoil, retreat behind the walls he always kept up. The thought of him pulling away from the moment you had shared, the fragile comfort found in sleep, stung more than you expected. So you withdrew first, putting space between you before he could, as if distancing yourself might soften the sting of rejection.

He slowly turned to face you, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. His features were softened by sleep, the early light casting a tender glow over the rugged lines of his face. He looked almost ethereal—his hair tousled in careless waves, eyes still half-lidded with the remnants of slumber, and the shadow of stubble tracing the curve of his jaw. There was a timelessness to him, as if the burdens of the world couldn't touch him here, not in the quiet sanctuary of your room. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly, a deep rasp that reverberated through the stillness between you, stirring something within.

"Hey," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his eyes as if to clear away the last remnants of sleep. "How'd you sleep?"

There was a tenderness in his gaze that stole the breath from your lungs, and you felt a quiet relief that he didn’t bring up last night’s events.

“Yeah, good,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to sound casual despite the lingering warmth in your chest.

"Coffee?" he offered, his tone light but his gaze steady.

“Yes, please,” you replied, forcing a small smile in return. His response came in the form of a slow, easy grin before he pushed himself up and headed downstairs. You watched him disappear down the hallway, your gaze lingering on the way his back flexed with each step until you finally tore your eyes away.

The moment he was out of sight, you let your head fall back onto the pillow with a soft groan. A deep exhale escaped you as you tried to shake off the lingering sensation of his presence—his warmth still clung to the sheets, and his scent lingered in the air.

No matter how hard you tried, it was impossible to erase the traces of him; the bed still carried the memory of where he had been, refusing to let you forget.

•••

Each day, the sharp edges of your pain dulled a little more, and you and Joel fell into a quiet rhythm that neither of you spoke about but simply accepted. It started with small gestures—a cup of coffee left on the counter, the way he’d linger in the doorway to check on you before heading out.

There was a quiet comfort in the silence, an unspoken understanding as you both moved through the space. It had become his habit to settle beside you each evening, a book or a glass of whiskey in hand. Right before bed, he’d offer the pain medication with a glass of water and a simple, “Here.”

You’d accept it without a word, the ritual itself evolving into a shared form of solace—an unspoken promise that neither of you was alone in this.

When the hour grew late and the house fell silent, he would slip into bed beside you, a quiet understanding that had taken root since that first night when you asked him to stay.

What began as a single gesture—his lingering presence in the darkness, offering comfort when you needed it most—soon became a habit neither of you questioned. Each night after that, he simply stayed, as if it were the most natural thing, a silent agreement that bound you together in the quiet hours. Though you never dared to show it, you were glad to have him there, his presence easing a loneliness you hadn’t realized you were carrying. But it unsettled you too, how safe you felt with him beside you—it stirred something unfamiliar, something that scared you more than you wanted to admit.

The bed that had once been your solitary refuge, where you had cried yourself to sleep or lain awake with thoughts that refused to quiet, felt different with him there. It had transformed into a shared sanctuary, where the weight of your loneliness melted into the warmth of his body nearby, and the stillness of the room was softened by the steady cadence of his breathing.

His presence was a silent promise, a new kind of intimacy that settled in the dark like a fragile truth, too precious to name aloud. Neither of you dared to acknowledge it, as if speaking it would unravel the delicate arrangement that had come to feel like home.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he needed it as much as you did—the quiet company of someone else, the shared solitude that seemed to soften the edges of the night.

There was a rhythm to your nights now. He’d help you settle in, adjusting pillows, making sure you were comfortable, and then climb in beside you with a sigh as if shaking off the weight of the day. Sometimes, his arm would find its way around you in the stillness, his touch tentative but lingering. Other nights, you’d wake to find your own hand resting on his chest or his fingers brushing yours, small touches that spoke of something deeper, something that grew stronger in the quiet moments where words fell away.

Each morning, you awoke tangled together, the warmth of his body a quiet comfort you’d come to depend on, even if you’d never admit it. But inevitably, one of you would stir first, disentangling from the other with gentle, hesitant movements—clumsy in their attempt to preserve the illusion that nothing had happened.

It was a practiced ritual, a silent agreement to undo the intimacy that unfolded in sleep, as if by slipping away before the light touched the room, you could keep the fragile truth of those moments hidden beneath the covers, buried where it felt safe and unspoken.

•••

Joel had noticed something was off—the way you stared out the window, your gaze fixed on the distant figures moving outside, going about their lives while you remained trapped inside. It was a cruel reminder of all you couldn’t do, a world continuing on as if you weren’t missing from it. When you finally turned back to your breakfast, you only picked at it, pushing the food around your plate without taking a bite, your eyes distant, as if you were some place far away.

Despite the slow progress you’d made, frustration had begun to root itself deep in your bones, growing stronger with each day confined indoors. You missed the freedom of patrol, missed tending to your garden with dirt under your nails and the sun on your skin. The restlessness gnawed at you, sharpening the edges of each hour, made worse by the doctor’s warning that it could be months before you were back to your old self.

You were exhausted by the helplessness, by the stifling dependence that came with being cared for. It weighed on you like a dull ache, pressing harder against your chest with every breath, refusing to let you forget how far you still had to go.

"Everything alright?" Joel's voice broke the quiet, his gaze steady as he took a slow sip of his coffee.

You let out a long sigh, setting your fork down with a soft clink. "Not really," you confessed, frustration creeping into your tone. "I’m just… tired of feeling useless. Like I’m stuck in this holding pattern, just waiting for my life to start again."

Joel set his mug down with a quiet thud and leaned forward, his eyes never leaving yours. “I know it feels that way,” he said, his voice calm and steady.

“But you’re not just sittin’ around—you’re healing. That’s not nothin’. It takes a hell of a lot more out of you than you realize.” His gaze softened as he spoke, a quiet conviction settling into his tone. “And you will get there. When you do, you’ll come back stronger than you ever thought possible.”

He hesitated, his hand lingering on the edge of the table, then added, “What do you say we get outta here for a bit?” His voice was lighter now, almost hopeful. “I’ve got the day off, no patrols. Thought maybe you could use a break from all this.” He leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got somethin’ in mind.”

Joel reached for his jacket, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he moved with a calm purpose. "Gonna borrow Tommy's truck," he said, nodding toward the door. "Figured we could use the wheels—make things easier." He swung the door open, letting the crisp morning air spill into the room, its chill brushing against your skin as you stepped outside.

"Where are we going?" you asked, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion as you followed him to the truck. There was a hint of playfulness in his demeanor, a spark that made your pulse quicken with a flicker of anticipation.

He glanced back at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "You'll find out soon enough," he said, his voice carrying a low, teasing edge. "Just trust me—it’s a surprise."

As he helped you into the passenger seat, his hand lingered briefly, his touch leaving a warmth that spread through you, a quiet shiver following in its wake. It was a fleeting moment, yet it left your pulse quickened and your mind wandering to what exactly he had in store. With a rumble, the engine came to life, and as Joel steered the truck down the road, it stretched out ahead like a quiet invitation, promising a brief escape from everything that had kept you confined.

The drive wasn’t far, but soon the air filled with the sounds of bleating goats and the low hum of other animals, drifting in through the open window. It was a simple, familiar noise—comforting in its way—and as you neared the source, a small farm came into view, nestled in the gentle slope of the land like a secret waiting to be shared.

Before you lay the town’s little sanctuary—a modest refuge where goats and sheep meandered under the late afternoon sun, their coats catching the warm light. A few dogs rested by the fence, tails sweeping the ground in lazy contentment, while cats prowled or perched atop hay bales, their eyes half-closed. The air was rich with the earthy scent of hay and soil, and the soft clucking of chickens formed a gentle rhythm in the background.

You took a tentative step forward, your leg free from crutches now but still stiff with a lingering limp. As you moved closer, a small goat trotted over, its tiny tail wagging in welcome. It nudged your leg with a soft bleat, as if greeting an old friend it hadn’t seen in a while.

Joel crouched beside the goat, scratching behind its ear with the ease of familiarity. “I know it ain’t much,” he said, glancing up at you with a touch of earnestness in his eyes, “but I thought you’d like it here. These guys don’t ask for much—just a little attention and maybe a snack.” His voice softened, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “And they sure don’t care if you’re not quite back to your old self.”

You couldn’t help but smile as the goat nudged you again, its eagerness infectious. "This is perfect, Joel," you said, glancing at him with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while.

As you scattered the feed, you soon found yourself surrounded by a gathering of eager, curious faces—goats with wide eyes and wobbly legs, sheep nudging closer for a nibble, and a scruffy old dog who padded over, its graying muzzle nudging your hand for a gentle pat. You reached down to pet him, your fingers grazing his coarse fur, and then turned to give some attention to one of the goats pressing insistently against your leg.

The simplicity of it was soothing, a quiet reprieve from the weight you’d been carrying. You reached out to pet a goat, feeling the texture of its rough fur beneath your fingertips, and let out a surprised laugh when it leaned into you, nearly knocking you off balance.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Careful there,” he teased, stepping closer as if ready to catch you. “They don’t know their own strength.”

You shot him a playful look. “Maybe they’re just excited to meet someone new,” you said, reaching out to scratch behind the goat’s ear.

Joel grinned, his gaze lingering on you, noting the way the tension had melted from your shoulders, the way a spark had returned to your eyes. “See?” he said quietly, his voice carrying a thread of satisfaction. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

You met his gaze, and for a moment, the noise of the animals seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in that peaceful corner of the world. “You were right,” you admitted softly, almost as if sharing a secret. “I needed this more than I thought.”

The two of you wandered slowly through the sanctuary, pausing now and then to rest on a bench near the fence while the animals drifted around you. The scruffy dog trailed faithfully at your side, and when you sat, he placed his head on your knee, as if sensing you needed the comfort. You absently ran your fingers through his fur, finding a quiet solace in the familiar gesture.

“I used to dream about having a place like this,” you said quietly, your voice drifting over the stillness. There was a touch of wistfulness in your tone as you glanced around, taking in the stretch of countryside beyond. “Thought I’d end up in a spot like this someday, growing old with a few animals running around. It seemed like the kind of life I’d want.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “But, you know, life has a funny way of changing course.”

Joel’s gaze settled on you, a quiet thoughtfulness in his eyes. “My daughter… she loved animals,” he murmured, nodding toward the dog curled up in your lap. “Was always begging me for one just like that.” His voice softened, as though the memory itself required gentler handling.

“I used to take her to the aquarium almost every weekend,” he continued, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. There was a pause, a shift in his expression, as if the past had come into focus, vivid and bittersweet. “She’d get so excited, she could hardly stand still.”

“What was her name?” you asked, the question barely more than a breath.

“Sarah,” he repeated, and there was a warmth in his voice that made the name feel like an offering, a piece of a world he hadn’t shared with many. “She was a good kid, funny and smart as hell,” he added quietly, his eyes far away. “You would’ve liked her.” The words hung in the air, full of a tenderness that cut deeper than you’d expected.

For a moment, the silence returned, but it wasn’t empty. It felt like the start of something fragile and unspoken, a connection stitched together by the sharing of old wounds and small, hopeful dreams.

As the sun dipped lower, stretching shadows across the sanctuary, Joel guided you back to the truck, his hand lingering on your arm longer than necessary, a quiet reassurance in his touch. “We can come back anytime,” he said, his voice warm and sincere.

“Whenever you feel like it.”

There was a softness in his tone, a quiet invitation that hinted at more than just the promise of fresh air and animals. It felt like his way of saying he wanted to share this place with you, to keep finding reasons to bring you here—an excuse to spend time together beyond the walls of routine.

•••

You returned home with a contented tiredness settling over you, the warmth of the afternoon still lingering in your bones. Joel guided you up the stairs, his hand a steady presence on your back, offering silent support as you made your way to your room. “Get some rest,” he murmured, his voice carrying that familiar blend of gentleness and quiet insistence. “I’ll go grab a few things for dinner.”

He mentioned something about picking up fresh produce from one of the local farmers—a bag of potatoes, some greens, maybe a jar of honey if there was any left. You sank into the bed, the mattress cool against your skin, and thought about the quiet sweetness of Joel’s gestures, the way he had gone out of his way to bring a little lightness to your day.

He lingered at the doorway, and though your eyes were shut, you could feel the weight of his gaze, like he was making sure you were alright before he left the room. The silence stretched between you, a moment of quiet that felt almost tender, before you heard the bathroom door creak open.

Then, the steady rush of water filled the air, the sound of the shower humming softly through the walls, and you let yourself sink deeper into the quiet peace of the house, knowing Joel was still nearby.

Your thoughts wandered where you hadn’t intended them to go, lingering on the image of Joel in the shower—the steam curling around him, water tracing the contours of his back, rolling down over the strong lines of his shoulders. The thought took you by surprise, a flush rising to your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will the image away.

What were you doing, thinking about him like that?

For so long, you had worked to keep things simple, to focus on the arrangement for what it was—Joel helping you out, taking care of you while you healed. It wasn’t supposed to be more than that, and you’d been careful to ignore the way his presence seemed to fill every space, every quiet moment that passed between you.

But lately, it was becoming impossible to push away the feelings that stirred whenever he did something kind or lingered just a bit too long at your side. The warmth in your chest, the way your skin tingled under his touch, the steady reassurance in his voice—it all left you questioning whether there was something deeper beneath the surface, or if you were only seeing what you wanted to see.

And then there was the conflict simmering beneath it all. Joel had made your life hell for so long, the two of you more often at odds than not. He’d been stubborn, difficult, his gruffness a constant thorn in your side, and you’d spent countless days resenting him. But now, seeing him like this—a different version of him, the one who thought to take you to a sanctuary on a quiet afternoon, who made sure you ate, who lingered in doorways as if he couldn’t quite leave you alone—you weren’t sure what to make of it.

You shook your head slightly, as if the gesture could dispel the confusion swirling inside you. This wasn’t the time to entertain those thoughts. He was just doing his part, wasn’t he? Looking out for you because that’s who he was—a man who took his responsibilities seriously, even when he didn’t particularly like them.

A part of you chastised yourself for even considering it, for letting your guard slip enough to see him as something more than just the man who had caused you so much grief. But the truth was undeniable: right now, he was different. Or maybe, you were finally seeing a side of him that had always been there, just buried beneath the weight of all his rough edges. And that scared you—because the more you saw of that man, the harder it was to pretend you weren’t starting to care.

You rolled onto your side, willing yourself to focus on something else, but the thought of him lingered, like an ember refusing to fade.

•••

Dinner was taking longer than usual, and as you sat in the living room, facing away from the kitchen, you could hear the quiet rhythm of Joel’s movements—the soft clatter of dishes, the scrape of a knife on a cutting board, the low murmur of his voice as he muttered to himself. The scent of food wafted through the air, warm and savory, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You couldn’t see him, but you could picture him clearly: brow furrowed in concentration, his hands working with a surprising gentleness, a quiet dedication that seemed out of place for a man who often carried himself like the world was always on his shoulders. It was a simple scene, but there was something about the way he moved in the kitchen that made you feel unexpectedly at home, as if the air itself was steeped in the quiet intimacy of sharing a space with someone.

“Dinner’s ready in five,” Joel murmured as he stepped into the living room, his voice low and warm. He moved closer, and when you looked up, it felt like the breath caught in your throat. There was something different about him tonight—a quiet, rugged elegance in the way he’d dressed, as if he’d put just a bit more thought into it.

His shirt was tucked in, the fabric fitting snugly over his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the sinewy muscles of his forearms, a faint hint of stubble shadowing his jaw. The top button was left undone, exposing the hollow of his throat, and the casual disarray of his hair was different, slightly wet and slicked back.

He looked like he’d stepped out of a half-forgotten dream—his presence filling the room with a quiet magnetism that was impossible to ignore. The soft lighting seemed to highlight every rugged detail, the way his eyes caught the light, the subtle lines that etched across his brow, adding a certain depth to the roughness that usually cloaked him. It was like seeing him through a different lens, one that softened the edges and revealed a side of him that felt both familiar and utterly new, and it stirred something deep inside you—a flutter that you weren’t sure was from surprise or something else entirely.

“Hey,” he whispered, your name slipping from his lips like a soft nudge that pulled you from your daydream. You blinked, suddenly aware of the contrast between his appearance and your own—still in a loose, worn-out sweater and a pair of faded sweatpants, your hair haphazardly pulled back. It was a lazy, thrown-together look that spoke more to comfort than anything else, but in that moment, it felt almost out of place.

“Oh, yeah, sounds good,” you mumbled, glancing down. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You need help?” Joel called as you were already halfway up the stairs, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

You didn’t answer, too focused on making a hasty retreat. Your cheeks warmed with an unexpected flush as you reached your room, your pulse quickening for reasons you didn’t want to analyze.

Why were you rushing to get ready for dinner, as if it were something more than a simple meal?

You opened your closet and rifled through the hangers, searching for something—anything—that might make you look a little more put-together, a little less like you’d just rolled out of bed. But even as you reached for a blouse that had been buried in the back, you couldn’t help but wonder what had you so flustered. It wasn’t like this was a date. It was just Joel. Yet here you were, caught up in the quiet urgency of wanting to look half-presentable, as if his effort deserved to be met halfway.

You kept rummaging through your closet until your hand landed on a dress—a simple, ankle-length piece in a soft beige. The fabric was light and comfortable, falling loosely to your feet with a natural flow. It had just enough shape to flatter, with a cinched waist that hinted at your curves without feeling too formal, and a neckline that was easy and relaxed.

It wasn’t anything fancy—just a dress you’d worn a few times before when you wanted to look a bit nicer without going overboard. You could already picture Joel giving you a curious look, maybe even cracking a small smile at your effort, but it made you feel pretty, and that was enough.

You slipped it on and wandered over to the mirror, reaching for a brush. You ran it through your hair, working out the tangles until it fell in loose waves over your shoulders, smoothing out the frayed ends from the day. You tucked a few stray strands behind your ear, keeping it casual but a little more put together. It wasn’t anything dramatic, just enough to make you feel like you’d stepped up for the evening without making a big deal of it.

You limped downstairs, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite pin down. You and Joel had shared dinner so many times since he’d started taking care of you, but tonight felt different—there was a kind of anticipation in the air that you couldn’t ignore. As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you caught sight of Joel pacing in the kitchen, his movements restless and uncharacteristic.

He was nervous, too; you could tell by the way he kept rubbing the back of his neck, glancing toward the doorway as if waiting for you to appear.

When you finally stepped into the kitchen, your eyes were drawn to the dining table. It was set more thoughtfully than usual—candles flickered gently at the center, casting a warm glow over the plates, and a cloth napkin was folded beside each one. There were even a couple of wildflowers in a small glass jar, adding a touch of color. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it had a softness to it, a quiet intimacy that gave the room a hint of date-like charm. You felt your cheeks warm as you took it all in.

“What’s the special occasion?” you asked, glancing up at him with a playful arch of your brow, though there was a hint of genuine curiosity in your voice.

Joel froze for a moment, his gaze drifting to you with an intensity that took you by surprise. His eyes roamed over your figure, lingering a little too long on the way the dress flowed around you, before finally meeting your gaze. There was a flicker of something in his expression—relief, maybe, or admiration—before he masked it with his usual gruffness.

“Nothing,” he said, feigning nonchalance as he stepped forward to pull out your chair. “Just figured we could use a decent meal, is all.”

But the subtle hesitation in his voice gave him away, a softness there that suggested tonight wasn’t quite as casual as he was trying to make it seem. There was something about the way he kept his eyes on you, like he was searching for a sign that you’d noticed the effort he’d put in. And maybe, just maybe, he was hoping it meant something to you, too.

Warmth crept up your cheeks, and you glanced away, your pulse quickening as Joel's presence loomed close behind you. He gently pushed your chair in, and you could feel the quiet care in his touch, as if he was afraid of disturbing the moment. The faint scent of soap and aftershave clung to the air around him, mingling with the rich aroma of the food he’d prepared, making the small space between you feel charged with a quiet intimacy.

Joel reached for the bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid glinting in the soft candlelight as he poured your glass first, the way he always did—without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He handed it to you with a steady hand, his fingers brushing yours briefly, then moved to fill his own. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, a calmness to them that belied the faint tension in the air, as if he was carefully navigating something unspoken between you.

You took the glass from him with a quiet “thanks,” your voice barely above a murmur. As you brought it to your lips, you couldn’t help but notice how he always did these small things for you first—pouring your drink, pulling out your chair, making sure you were settled before ever thinking of himself. It wasn’t just habit; there was a care in the way he did it, an attention to detail that spoke of something more than just politeness.

It made you wonder if these gestures held any deeper meaning—if they hinted at something he couldn’t or wouldn’t say aloud. Perhaps it was just Joel's way, a quiet sense of duty or a Southern gentleman’s instinct that came as naturally to him as the gruffness in his voice.

Or maybe, there was a part of him that was drawn to taking care of you, that found a quiet satisfaction in these everyday rituals. Whatever it was, it stirred something deep within you, a warmth that settled in your chest and mingled with the slow burn of the whiskey as it slid down your throat.

You took a sip, feeling the heat spread, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that these small acts weren’t just habit or instinct, but intention. A part of you wondered if Joel even realized the effect they had on you, the way each quiet gesture seemed to weave its way around your heart, making it harder to pretend you weren’t starting to hope for more.

There was a quiet care in the way he’d set the table, the way he lingered near you as if wanting to be close. But before you could let yourself get too wrapped up in those thoughts, you pulled back, unwilling to read too much into it or risk exposing the vulnerability stirring inside you.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence with a casual tone, pushing the thought aside. “What did you do before all this?” You gestured loosely, the motion sweeping over the candlelit table, the room, and the world beyond the walls—everything that had changed since life turned upside down.

“You wanna guess?” he asked, one eyebrow quirking up, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

This, you realized, was new—this playful side of Joel that had only recently started to emerge. There was a time when his words had always carried an edge, the gruffness of a man who’d built walls too high to let in anything lighthearted.

But lately, there’d been a shift: the way he’d catch your eye and hold your gaze a moment longer, or the rare, dry humor that slipped into his voice when he’d say something like, “Careful now, don’t get too attached,” when an animal at the sanctuary came up to you, or the times he’d grumble, “Don’t think you’re gonna get me to eat that,” whenever you’d suggest adding something new to dinner.

Now, there was a teasing challenge in his tone, the kind that made your pulse quicken just a little. The glint in his eyes told you he was enjoying this—seeing you caught off guard, watching you try to read between the lines of his sudden shift in mood. It was a side of him you were still getting used to, and yet, you found yourself wanting to see more of it, to discover what else was hidden beneath that familiar gruff exterior.

Now, sitting in front of you, Joel had you momentarily forgetting what you were even talking about. He looked so damn handsome like this—leaning back in his chair with a relaxed, easy confidence, the dim light tracing the strong angles of his face. The damp strands of hair that fell just right, still tousled from the shower. His shirt fit snugly across his broad shoulders, and there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it hard to look away. For a moment, you just stared, your thoughts scattering as you struggled to remember how to find your voice.

You tilted your head, pretending to study him with a thoughtful expression as your gaze traced the strong line of his shoulders and the way his hands rested casually on the table, fingers drumming lightly against the wood. “Let me guess… a mechanic? Or maybe a ranch hand?” you ventured, your tone playful, though there was a genuine curiosity behind it.

Joel chuckled, the sound a low rumble that resonated in his chest. “Close, but not quite,” he replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, as if he was enjoying making you work for the answer.

You tapped your chin, narrowing your eyes in mock contemplation. “Alright, how about a carpenter? You seem like the kind of guy who’s good with his hands.”

The instant the words left your mouth, you saw Joel’s expression shift—a flicker of surprise in his eyes, his gaze widening just enough to notice. A hint of color crept into his cheeks, softening the rugged lines of his face, and your own cheeks flushed as you registered the unintended double meaning behind what you’d said.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—” you stammered, the words stumbling out as a wave of embarrassment washed over you. But before you could fully sink into the awkwardness, Joel rescued you with a quick, smooth response, clearing his throat.

“I was in construction,” he said, his voice calm and steady, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Built houses, fixed up what needed fixin’… pretty much anything folks needed done.” His tone was casual, as if effortlessly redirecting the moment, but there was an amused glint in his eye that told you he hadn’t missed the implication.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze still on you, and you could sense a quiet satisfaction in the way he’d defused the situation. “Guess you weren’t too far off,” he added, a touch of playfulness in his voice. “Though I don’t know if I’d make much of a carpenter.”

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful that Joel had saved you from your own slip-up. But there was no mistaking the teasing warmth in his gaze, a glint that lingered a little too long, as if savoring the moment. It made your pulse quicken, and for an instant, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you—like a thread had been pulled, tightening the space that had always existed, unspoken, between you both.

His voice softened, dropping just enough to carry a hint of something deeper, and there was a new intensity in the way he looked at you. “How about you?” he asked, the question slipping out gently, as though it had been waiting on his tongue for a while. “What did you used to do?”

It wasn’t the first time Joel had wondered about your life before all this, but his own battles—his tendency to keep people at arm’s length—had always gotten in the way. Now, though, he seemed different, like he was reaching across a distance he’d kept for too long, wanting to know more about you than the small glimpses he’d picked up over time. There was a quiet longing in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the moments he’d missed, and the way he asked seemed like more than casual curiosity; it was as though he was finally giving himself permission to see beyond what was right in front of him.

You glanced down at your glass, swirling the amber liquid as if it might offer some kind of answer. The motion was a distraction, an attempt to gather your thoughts as your heart continued to beat a little faster. When you looked back up, the warmth of his gaze hadn’t faded, and you could still feel the subtle change in the air, as though a boundary had been quietly crossed, leaving you standing on unfamiliar ground.

“I was in college,” you said, a note of wistfulness creeping into your voice. “Studying to be a teacher, actually. I always liked the idea of helping people learn—seeing that spark in their eyes when something finally clicked. It felt like you were making a real difference.”

Joel tilted his head, his gaze softening as he listened, a kind of quiet admiration in his eyes. “You’d have made a good teacher,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. “Still could, you know. Just 'cause the world went to hell doesn’t mean people stopped needin’ to learn things.”

There was a sincerity in the way he said it, a weight to his words that made you feel like he truly believed it, like he could still see that part of you that had once existed before everything changed. The thought stirred something deep inside you—hope, maybe, or just the quiet comfort of being seen for who you used to be, and who you still could be.

You smiled, though a touch of sadness lingered. “Yeah, maybe,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “I was always drawn to science—especially astronomy. I loved the stars, used to spend hours studying them… even had a little telescope back home.”

At the mention of astronomy, Joel’s gaze softened, and he found himself picturing you as that college student, eyes turned toward the sky, your face lit up by the glow of distant stars. He could almost see you standing on a hill, telescope in hand, mapping constellations with a quiet passion that spoke of longing and wonder. It wasn’t just the subject—it was the way you spoke of it, as though the stars were old friends you hadn’t visited in a long time.

The thought stirred something in him. He felt an unexpected tenderness then, a quiet urge to protect that part of you, the part that hadn’t been hardened by everything you’d been through. The stars were still there, after all, steady and unchanging, even if the world had fallen apart. And in that moment, Joel made a mental note, a silent promise to himself to find a way to bring that light back into your life.

You stifled a yawn, the whiskey and warm meal settling over you like a heavy blanket, tugging you closer to sleep with each passing moment. Joel noticed, his gaze lingering on the way your eyelids drooped, how you blinked slowly, as if fighting a losing battle to stay awake.

“Wanna head to bed?” he asked softly, his voice laced with a gentleness that seemed to wrap around you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he spoke.

Our bed, you thought, the words slipping into your mind so effortlessly it took your breath away. The thought carried a quiet yearning, an ache you hadn’t been prepared to feel. It startled you how natural, how familiar it seemed—like you’d already crossed that line in your heart without even realizing it, as though you’d begun to think of him as more than just the man who shared your space, but the one who shared your nights.

“No, no,” you replied quickly, shaking your head. “This is nice. I’m fine.” But even as you said it, your eyes betrayed you, heavy with sleep and growing harder to keep open. The comfort of the evening wrapped around you like a lullaby, the warmth and quiet pulling you closer to rest with each passing second.

Joel’s expression softened, his gaze tracing your features with quiet understanding. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Ain’t no harm in givin’ in when you’re tired. I’ll be here when you wake up.” There was a reassurance in his tone, a promise that seemed to settle in the air, unspoken yet certain.

Then he did something different—he offered you his hand, extending it toward you with a gentleness that caught you off guard. It wasn’t like the usual subtle press of his hand against your back or the steady grip on your shoulder to keep you balanced. This was more deliberate, a choice to bridge the distance between you, his palm open and waiting.

You hesitated for only a moment before slipping your hand into his, the warmth of his touch spreading through you like a quiet spark. His hand flexed gently against yours, as if testing the feel of your palm in his, but he didn’t release—his grip only tightened slightly, a steady reassurance that he wasn’t letting go. As you rose from the chair, the room swayed ever so slightly, but Joel’s hold remained firm, grounding you as he guided you toward the stairs.

He stayed close beside you, his hand still wrapped around yours as you climbed, the slow press of his fingers flexing again, as though he could anchor you to him through that simple contact. Each step felt easier with him there, his presence a solid comfort at your side, matching your pace and silently offering his strength. The quiet rhythm of your footsteps seemed to draw you closer, a shared beat that made the space between you feel almost nonexistent.

Even when you reached the top, he didn’t let go. His hand remained entwined with yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as he led you to the bed. It wasn’t until you sank down onto the mattress that his grip finally loosened, releasing you with a gentle reluctance that lingered in the air.

“Get some rest,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I’ll be right here.”

•••

The next morning, after helping you down the stairs, Joel took you over to Maria and Tommy’s. “It’s just for a few hours,” he insisted, “while I’m out on patrol.” His tone was casual, but the way he lingered at the door, his hand resting on the small of your back, betrayed a quiet reluctance.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?” he said, his voice steady but gentler than usual, as if he was reassuring himself as much as you. His gaze lingered, the words hanging between you like a promise he was determined to keep. “Maybe I’ll bring somethin' good for dinner.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the flicker of unease that stirred in your chest. It was irrational, you told yourself—you’d both been on countless patrols before; the risks were familiar, accepted long ago. But as you watched him turn to leave, his silhouette framed in the soft morning light, a sudden wave of vulnerability washed over you. There was something different about today, an unspoken weight in the air that made the world feel a little less certain, a little more fragile.

“Hey, Joel,” you called out, your voice catching slightly as he was about to leave. He stopped and turned back, the morning light catching in his eyes, casting a warm glow over his features. You swallowed, the tightness in your throat making it hard to get the words out. “Stay safe,” you said, the phrase simple and familiar, yet heavy with all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

Something flickered in his expression—a brief, unguarded vulnerability that softened the edges of his usual stoicism. For a heartbeat, his gaze seemed to hold a quiet wonder, like your words had reached deeper than they should have. It wasn’t just the sentiment; it was the way you said it—stay safe—like it carried a weight, a longing that ran deeper than either of you had ever dared to acknowledge.

“I will,” he replied, his voice roughened to a low murmur, as if the promise took effort to speak aloud. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer than they needed to, like he was trying to memorize every detail—the concern in your voice, the way you looked at him right then, as if you were reaching out without quite knowing how.

Then, with a small nod, he turned and walked away.

•••

You sat on Tommy and Maria’s couch, gripping the warm cup of tea in your hands as though it could anchor you amidst the expectant silence. Their gazes rested on you—gentle, but far too curious to ignore.

They were waiting for you to share something about Joel, to explain how things had really been while you were recovering. When you stayed quiet, keeping your eyes fixed on the steam rising from the tea, they exchanged a knowing look.

“So,” Maria finally said, her voice light but laced with curiosity. “How are things going with Joel?”

You blinked, your fingers tightening around the cup as you fumbled for an answer. “Uh, yeah… he’s been… helpful,” you replied, the words stumbling out slowly. “You know, just helping me with stuff. Up and down the stairs.”

“Mhm,” Maria murmured, the sound heavy with interest. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms like she was settling in for a story you weren’t prepared to share.

“And he’s not a bad cook, either,” you added, the words slipping out before you could think better of it. It had become such a routine that you hadn’t even considered how it might sound to someone else.

“Cook?” Tommy repeated, his eyebrows lifting with curiosity. “He’s been cooking for you?”

You hesitated, the weight of their attention suddenly pressing down on you. “Yeah, like… breakfast and dinner,” you said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

“Breakfast and dinner?” Tommy echoed, a note of incredulity creeping into his tone. “Jesus, what time does he come over to be doin’ all that?”

You bit your lip, a nervous flutter building in your chest. You hadn’t thought twice about Joel being there at all hours; the days and nights had blurred together as he took care of you. But now, under their curious stares, it seemed like a bigger deal than you’d realized. “Well… he… stays,” you admitted, the words escaping before you could stop them.

A beat of silence followed before both Tommy and Maria spoke at once, their voices overlapping in surprise. “What? He stays?”

Your cheeks warmed, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I thought he would’ve mentioned it,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual. “It’s just easier this way, you know, with my leg and all.”

Tommy’s gaze narrowed, his curiosity turning more pointed. “Where does he sleep?” he asked, his tone casual but carrying a note of suspicion.

“On the couch,” you blurted out a little too quickly. The lie tumbled from your lips before you could stop it, and the memory of Joel’s warmth beside you—the way you’d wake up tangled in each other’s arms before pulling apart—flashed vividly in your mind. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you struggled to keep your expression composed.

Maria’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “The couch, huh?” she repeated, her tone dripping with playful doubt.

“Yes,” you stammered, trying to sound convincing. “It’s… practical,” you added, though the word sounded hollow even to you. “For… you know, if I need anything during the night.”

Maria’s smile deepened, as if she could see right through your flimsy excuse. “Right. Practical,” she said, drawing out the word with a teasing lilt.

Tommy’s gaze flicked from you to Maria, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “So, Joel's stayin’ over, cookin’ you breakfast and dinner, and it’s just… practical?” he asked, his tone tinged with disbelief.

Before you could stumble over an answer, Maria stepped in, though her amusement was unmistakable. “Alright, let’s give her a break,” she said, raising a hand to halt the questioning. “Let the poor girl relax. You can grill Joel about it later.”

You exhaled a silent breath of relief, but you could still feel their eyes on you, a knowing curiosity that didn’t seem entirely convinced by your explanation.

The conversation drifted to safer topics, but you couldn’t ignore the way Maria’s gaze lingered on you, a knowing gleam in her eyes. It was as if she had already drawn her own conclusions, and there was a hint of satisfaction in her expression, like she was far too pleased by whatever she’d pieced together. When Tommy stepped out to run some errands, leaving the house quiet and still, Maria moved to sit beside you, her tone turning softer, more personal.

“Listen,” she began, her voice low and careful, “there’s something I think you should know… about Joel.”

You blinked, taken aback by the seriousness in her eyes. “What is it?” you asked, your pulse quickening, an uneasy feeling settling in your chest.

Maria hesitated, as if considering her words. “Tommy told me about what happened,” she said. “The night you got hurt… those raiders. Joel almost didn’t make it.” She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “He went after you—took on those men without a second thought. He saved you, even though it nearly cost him his life.”

You stared at her, the world seeming to shift beneath you. “He… saved me?” you echoed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Joel…?” The name felt unfamiliar in your mouth, like you were speaking about someone else entirely.

Your thoughts spun as you remembered the blood soaking through his pant leg, the stiff way he moved afterward, insisting it was just a graze. You hadn’t questioned it then, had let yourself believe his lie because you’d wanted to. But now, the image of him fighting his way through those raiders, injured and relentless, lodged itself in your mind, and you struggled to reconcile the Joel you knew with the man who would do something so reckless just to get to you.

Maria nodded, her gaze steady. “Tommy said he’s never seen Joel like that before. Said it was like he’d lost all sense of himself, like nothing else mattered except getting to you.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I think he cares about you more than you realize. More than he probably wants to admit.”

You felt the breath catch in your throat, your thoughts a chaotic swirl of disbelief and something you couldn’t quite name. The idea of Joel risking everything for you, of him fighting with such desperation, was so at odds with the man who kept his distance, who grumbled and kept his emotions guarded. It felt like someone had pulled the ground out from under you, leaving you unsteady.

“But… he never said anything,” you murmured, shaking your head as if you could make sense of it. “Why wouldn’t he—”

“Because it’s Joel,” Maria interrupted gently, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “He’s stubborn and closed off, and you know as well as I do he doesn’t let people in easily. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel things… deeply.” She sighed, her gaze softening. “You didn’t see the way he looked when he brought you back. He was… terrified. I told you how he stayed by you. It was like losing you was something he couldn’t even begin to bear.”

You swallowed hard, a mix of emotions washing over you. The thought of Joel being that afraid for you, of him caring that much, was almost too much to process. The man who had taken care of you, who quietly lingered in your space and made sure you were never alone, wasn’t just doing it out of duty or habit—there was something deeper there, something you only dared to consider in the quiet moments of the night.

Maria reached over and squeezed your hand. “I’m not trying to make you feel a certain way,” she said softly, “but I thought you should know. Joel’s not perfect, and God knows he’s got his walls up, but… the way he fought for you, it wasn’t just because you needed help. It was because it was you.”

The words settled heavily in your chest, stirring something deep and unfamiliar. You hadn’t known Joel had been the one to save you, or that he might feel something for you beyond the unspoken bond you’d shared. The realization felt like a door opening, revealing a side of him you had only recently seen, a side that made your heart race with the possibilities you hadn’t let yourself imagine.

You took a shaky breath, Maria’s words tumbling around in your mind, stirring up emotions you weren’t prepared to face. “He’s been so sweet, Maria,” you said quietly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the uncertainty that lingered beneath the surface. “But… all those things he’s said to me before, the way he used to be—how am I supposed to get past that? It’s like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to say something… to remind me why I kept my guard up in the first place.”

You looked down at your hands, the weight of your own doubt pressing heavily on your chest. “There’s this part of me that keeps expecting him to push me away again, or to say something that’ll make me feel like I was wrong to think there could be more between us. Like all of this… the way he’s been lately… it’s just temporary, just because he feels responsible.”

The words left a bitter taste in your mouth as they hung in the air, and you felt the familiar ache of doubt clawing at you. “I don’t know how to trust that this is real,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “Not when I’m always bracing myself for him to remind me why I was afraid to let him in.”

Maria’s expression softened, and she gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “I understand,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “But maybe, just maybe, he’s changed more than you think. People can surprise you, and sometimes the hardest thing is letting yourself believe that someone can be different… especially when it comes to someone like Joel.”

Maria leaned closer, her eyes meeting yours with quiet resolve. “But I’ll tell you this,” she continued, “the way he looks at you now… it’s not just out of obligation. You’ve got him caring about you in a way that scares him. That’s why he’s trying so hard, even if he’s still got a funny way of showing it sometimes. Hell, you saw how surprised Tommy was—Joel cooks for you, he stays over. If he didn’t care, do you really think he’d be doing any of that?”

Her words hit you like a jolt, forcing you to confront the significance of all those quiet gestures, the way Joel had woven himself into your routine. It wasn’t just about helping you recover; it was about being there for you, in a way that went beyond what anyone could expect.

The realization settled over you, mingling with the uncertainty and the hope, leaving you grappling with the possibility that Joel might care for you more deeply than you’d dared to believe.

•••

That night, you waited for Joel, your heart beating in time with the clock’s relentless ticking. He was later than usual, and with each passing moment, the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightened. The minutes stretched on, and your thoughts grew darker, conjuring images of him caught in a deadly struggle, his breath ragged and desperate.

You imagined him ambushed by raiders, shadows closing in as he fought for his life, or the guttural snarl of an infected lunging at him, teeth bared. Worst of all was the thought of him lying somewhere in the dark, hurt and alone, out of reach. The fears clawed at your mind, relentless and unyielding, refusing to be dismissed no matter how you tried to distract yourself.

You had nearly made up your mind to limp your way over to Tommy’s when you heard the familiar sound of the front door creaking open. Relief washed over you so intensely that you couldn’t stop the breathless word from escaping your lips.

“Joel?” you said, almost too quickly.

He stepped inside, a tired but genuine smile tugging at his mouth, unaware of the quiet agony his delay had caused. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and familiar.

“You’re late,” you replied, your tone sharper than you intended, betraying the worry that had pooled in your chest.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, and there was a softness in his gaze as he looked at you, as though he could sense the tension still winding through you. “I was lookin’ for something… got a surprise for you.”

You blinked, your anxiety giving way to curiosity. “A surprise?”

His smile widened, a spark of mischief glinting in his eyes as he stepped closer. “Come on,” he said, extending his hand toward you. “But you gotta wear this.”

He held up a strip of cloth—a makeshift blindfold that looked suspiciously like a piece of an old bandana.

You shot him a wary glance, the corner of your mouth twitching upward despite yourself. “Joel…” you warned, the hint of a laugh in your voice.

“Trust me,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur that softened the edges of your doubts, unraveling the last threads of your resistance.

And you did—you trusted him almost more than anyone else in this broken world. How could you not, after all the times he’d pulled you back from the edge, his steady hand reaching for you when everything else seemed to be falling apart? He had saved your life more than once, his presence a lifeline in those moments when the darkness threatened to swallow you whole.

You trusted him with every part of yourself, even the pieces that still trembled with uncertainty, the parts you hadn’t dared share with anyone else. It scared the hell out of you, how deeply that trust had taken root, how much comfort you found in the quiet moments when his presence filled the room.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, when the shift from guarded caution to unwavering trust had taken place, but it was there now, woven into every glance, every touch, every word that passed between you.

And it was terrifying—how much you needed him, how much his very existence seemed to anchor yours. Yet, in that terror, there was also a kind of peace, a quiet certainty that in a world as uncertain as this one, trusting him was the only thing that felt undeniably right.

“Okay,” you whispered, your breath catching as he slipped the cloth over your eyes. His fingers moved with careful precision, securing the blindfold without catching a single strand of your hair, his touch impossibly gentle for hands that carried the roughness of a lifetime’s worth of hard work. The calluses brushed lightly against your skin, yet his warmth seeped into you, surrounding you like a quiet embrace. You could feel his breath, soft and steady, stirring the air near your cheek as he leaned in to tie the knot.

There was a quiet intimacy in the moment, a tender pulse that seemed to fill the space between you. Your senses sharpened in the darkness, every sound, every scent drawing you deeper into the unspoken tension. It wasn’t fear that quickened your pulse—it was the awareness of him: the nearness of his hands, the heat radiating from his skin, the quiet promise held in the firmness of his touch.

With your sight taken, the darkness came alive with vivid detail. You felt the warmth of his breath, steady and close, and the roughness of his palm resting gently on the small of your back, guiding you with a touch that was both grounding and electric. His scent enveloped you—a mix of pine, leather, and sweat, earthy and unmistakably him.

The world beyond seemed to fade, leaving only the rhythm of his breath, the subtle rustle of his movements, and the lingering warmth that bridged the space between you.

“You know,” you said, your voice light but trembling ever so slightly, “it’s probably not the best idea to put a blindfold on someone who can barely walk.”

His laughter broke the quiet, rich and deep, the kind of sound that seemed to echo through the night and settle somewhere in your chest. It wasn’t a laugh you heard often—only when he was with Tommy, or when the whiskey had worn down his edges, letting the softness slip through.

“Lucky thing you got me then, isn’t it?” he replied, his tone playful and warm, threaded with a quiet sincerity that made something inside you tighten.

You swallowed, trying to brush off the weight of his words, to ignore the way you got me seemed to echo in your mind, stirring up feelings you weren’t sure you were ready to name. But there was a kind of surety in his voice, an unspoken promise beneath the teasing, as though he meant it more than he was letting on. It was enough to kindle something fragile and hopeful within you, something you hadn’t dared let yourself feel in far too long.

“Where are you taking me?” you whispered, letting him guide you forward, each step steady under the reassuring pressure of his hand.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice close to your ear. His hand remained on your back, a steady anchor as the cool night air brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of earth and damp leaves. You could hear the rustle of trees, the faint whistle of wind through the branches, and somewhere in the distance, the soft babble of a creek.

After what felt like an eternity, he stopped. “Okay,” he said, his voice low and rough as though he were on the verge of something he didn’t quite know how to give. “You can take it off now.”

Your hands fumbled with the knot, the fabric slipping free as your eyes adjusted to the soft glow that filled the clearing.

A single lantern hung from a nearby tree, casting pools of warm, golden light across the grass. The glow illuminated a blanket laid out with care, a simple picnic set up atop it—some modest dishes, a loaf of bread, and a jar of honey he had mentioned picking up on his way home. Beyond the small scene, the sky unfurled like a dark, endless canvas, each star a pinprick of light, shimmering against the velvet blackness above. The lantern's glow danced on the edges of the night, merging with the starlight to create an atmosphere that felt both intimate and infinite.

“I figured…” he began, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was nervous. You couldn’t help the flutter in your chest, cursing yourself for finding it so endearing. It was one of his tells, a small habit you’d come to recognize over the last few weeks spent in each other’s company. You’d picked up on other things, too—the way his gaze would flicker away whenever he was hiding a smile, the slight shift in his voice when he was trying to mask concern, or the way he would reach for the back of a chair, his fingers curling around the wood, when he wanted to touch you but held himself back.

“I remember you said you liked learnin about astronomy,” he said, his voice roughened by a tenderness he couldn’t quite disguise.

Your chest tightened as you glanced up at him—he remembered.

The lantern’s glow cast a soft light across his features, illuminating the fine lines etched at the corners of his eyes, the deep shadows beneath his cheekbones. It felt unreal, almost dreamlike.

Could this be the same Joel who had once left you crying, who had shut you out with a coldness that still lingered in the back of your mind? Yet here he was, the same man, but now so different—showing you a quiet tenderness that reached places inside you you’d long since closed off.

When you didn’t speak right away, Joel felt a flicker of doubt creep in. His chest tightened as the silence stretched on, and he began to wonder if he’d overstepped, if he’d done too much. Had he read this wrong? The thought gnawed at him, a sudden worry that maybe the gesture wasn’t what you wanted, that perhaps he’d laid his heart bare in a way you weren’t ready to accept.

Before his doubts could take hold, you breathed out, “This is beautiful, Joel.” The words were quiet but laden with meaning, carrying more gratitude than you could fully express. “Thank you,” you added, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.

You weren’t sure what else to say, how to give voice to the tangle of emotions pressing against your chest—the ache of something hopeful trying to take root, of a longing that had crept up on you so slowly you hadn’t noticed it until now. It wasn’t just the effort he’d made; it was the vulnerability behind it, the quiet way he was reaching out to you without saying a word.

You sank onto the blanket beside him, the coolness of the grass pressing through the fabric and grounding you in the present. Above you, the sky stretched endlessly, a dark canvas dusted with countless stars, shimmering like scattered diamonds. The constellations sparkled with a quiet brilliance, some clustered together, others spread apart, each one a silent witness to the world below.

It was breathtaking, a kind of beauty that made you forget, if only for a moment, the harshness of the life you’d grown accustomed to—the weight of all you’d lost and the scars left behind. For just that instant, the world seemed softer, the edges blurred, as though this little slice of peace could shield you from the darkness that had become all too familiar.

There was a hush between you, a kind of sacred silence that didn’t need to be filled. It wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, allowing you to breathe deeper, to sink into the stillness. It was enough just to be here, to feel the steady warmth of him beside you, to listen to the soft rustle of the night.

He leaned in closer, and you hadn’t even realized how near he was until your shoulders touched, his warmth brushing against you. Your pulse quickened at the proximity, a nervous flutter stirring in your chest. “Hey, do you see that star?” he asked, his voice low, a hint of wonder threading through the words.

“Which one?” you murmured, your eyes sweeping over the endless sprawl of night sky, shimmering like a sea of diamonds.

Joel’s hand came up to gently guide your gaze, his fingers grazing your chin as he directed your attention to a bright, solitary point above. You followed his gesture, your breath catching at the sight. The star shone brilliantly, outshining the others with a silvery light that seemed almost alive, as if it held a radiance all its own—a beacon glowing against the dark canvas of the sky.

For a moment, you were so captivated by its beauty that you didn’t notice Joel reaching behind his back. It wasn’t until he produced a small piece of paper and handed it to you that you glanced down, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “What’s this?” you asked, unfolding the note.

Your breath hitched as you read the handwritten words—your name, etched in careful letters, alongside a simple inscription: As of this date, this star has officially been named after you. The declaration was informal, the kind of makeshift elegance that only Jackson’s post-apocalyptic world could provide, yet it carried a gravity that made your heart skip a beat.

“You… named a star after me?” you breathed, the disbelief and awe intertwining in your voice. You looked up at him, a mix of astonishment and something deeper flooding through you, making your chest tighten.

He shrugged, trying for an easy nonchalance that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You said you liked stars,” he replied, his tone light, as if naming a star after you was no grand gesture. But the sincerity in his voice, the way his gaze lingered on yours just a beat too long, hinted at something deeper.

Joel watched you as you gazed up at the sky, a faint smile tugging at his lips while the starlight shimmered in your eyes. A deep ache filled his chest, a yearning so strong it nearly took his breath away. All he wanted was to lean in and close the distance between you, to press his lips to yours. But he couldn’t—not without addressing the things that had gone unsaid for far too long. Not without apologizing for the times he’d pushed you away, for the harsh words and the coldness that lingered like a shadow between you.

His nerves betrayed him; you could see it in the restless fidgeting of his fingers, twisting together and then releasing, as if a silent struggle was unfolding in his hands. He kept glancing at you, as if searching for the courage to finally speak the truth and let the walls he had built crumble.

He had rehearsed this moment countless times—in the quiet of the shower, as the steam rose around him; in the early mornings when he made you breakfast, his hands steady but his mind racing; and in the stillness of the night, when you lay asleep beside him, and he’d listen to the gentle rhythm of your breath, wondering if you could ever forgive him.

Now that the moment had arrived, the words tangled in his throat, bound up with everything he had kept locked away. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, knowing he couldn’t keep holding back forever.

“Joel,” you whispered, breaking the silence, your voice gentle, “are you okay?”

Joel’s expression shifted, a brief flash of vulnerability crossing his face before he masked it with a small, weary smile. For a moment, you thought he might brush the question off, deflect like he always did, but tonight felt different—fragile, almost sacred, as if the starlit sky had stripped away the barriers you both had kept so carefully guarded.

He sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. His gaze fell to his hands, fingers fidgeting as though searching for the right words hidden in the calloused lines of his palms. The silence stretched between you, taut and trembling, as if the next words might snap the tension or bind you closer together.

“I never meant to be an asshole to you,” he murmured, his voice rough with remorse. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Your heart stopped. Was this it? The explanation you’d been waiting for, the truth behind the way he’d treated you? “Handle what, Joel?” you asked gently, your pulse quickening as you sensed the gravity of what he was about to reveal.

He hesitated, the shadows shifting across his face in the dim light. “I’ve said things I didn’t mean,” he began, his voice barely audible, thick with regret. “Awful things… cruel things. Things I wish I could take back.” His expression tightened, the pain etched deep in his features. “Things that cut deeper than I realized.”

“Then why say them if you didn’t mean them?” you asked, your voice steady though your mind was reeling. You needed to understand what lay beneath his harshness, the turmoil behind those walls.

He drew a sharp breath, struggling to force the words out. “I… I’ve lost people,” he said, the raw vulnerability in his voice tugging at something deep within you. “Too many people. And it’s a shitty excuse, but I thought…” He sighed, a deep, ragged exhale that seemed to pull the confession from his chest. “I thought if I kept my distance, if I pushed you away… I could spare us both the pain of losing someone again.” His eyes met yours, filled with a grief that spanned years, a haunting reflection of the past. “I thought it would hurt less.”

“Joel,” you whispered, his admission hitting you like a cold rush of air, the weight of his heart laid bare before you.

“It’s stupid,” he continued, his voice rough with self-reproach, “immature, and I know it. That night at the dining hall—"

I could never be with someone like that

His voice cracked, a tremor of anguish crossing his face. “It haunts me. I didn’t mean a word of it.” He looked away, his jaw tightening as he fought against the emotion rising in his throat. “I was scared. Scared of the way you make me feel… scared to lose someone else I—”

He faltered, the unspoken word lingering in the air between you, as if it would cost him too much to say aloud. But you didn’t push him; you didn’t need him to finish the thought. It was already written in every action, in every quiet moment, in the way he had been there for you—unwavering and steady, even when his words had hurt.

He took a shuddering breath, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You don’t have to forgive me,” he said, the pain in his eyes undeniable. “And I’d understand if you never did. I just… I needed you to know the truth.”

Without thinking, you reached out, your hand slipping into his. The touch seemed to steady him, as if grounding both of you in this fragile moment. “

You’re not going to lose me Joel,” you said softly, your gaze holding his with quiet resolve.

“I promise.”

His eyes widened, your words settling over him like a balm, softening the raw vulnerability etched into his expression. He held your hand a little tighter, as though afraid to let go, his fingers trembling just slightly against yours. In that moment, neither of you spoke, but a quiet understanding passed between you. Whatever this was—whatever fragile thing had taken root between you—it wouldn’t be easy. There were walls to dismantle, wounds that still ached, and a long, uncertain path ahead. Yet, beneath it all, there was something unbreakable, a shared promise that neither of you would face it alone.

You met his gaze, and in the silence, it was as if you’d made a vow without words—a vow that no matter what lay ahead, you were in it together. It wasn’t the end of the struggles or the undoing of years of hurt, but it was a beginning, a single thread of hope that you both clung to, knowing that some things were worth fighting for, no matter how many scars they left behind.

•••

The next morning, you awoke with a smile soft on your lips, your heart warmed by a quiet joy you hadn’t felt in years. Memories of last night flickered through your mind—laughter, whispered secrets, and the gentle way Joel had looked at you beneath the stars. It felt like a new beginning, a fragile hope blossoming amidst the remnants of a world that had taken so much from you.

You turned, half-expecting to find Joel beside you, but the bed was empty, the sheets cool beneath your hand. A slight frown tugged at your brows, a sense of loss stirring at the edges of your thoughts. Maybe he was downstairs, busying himself with breakfast, filling the house with the warm scent of coffee and something simple but comforting.

As you sat up, feeling a newfound strength in your limbs, the sound of hurried footsteps ascending the stairs caught your attention. A flicker of excitement rose in your chest, imagining Joel coming back to share another quiet morning with you.

“Joel?” you called out, your voice bright with anticipation. But the moment the figure stepped into the doorway, your heart stilled.

It wasn’t Joel. It was Tommy, his face flushed and lined with something far darker than fatigue. The sight of him twisted your stomach, a chill settling over you as the unspoken loomed between you.

“Tommy?” you managed, voice tight with unease. “What… what happened?”

He took a breath, and his eyes, shadowed with worry, met yours. “It’s Joel,” he said, his voice taut and strained, each word laced with urgency. The blood drained from your face, and the room seemed to tilt.

“He’s gone.”

•••

Tag List:

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[ohburgee]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞

Soft!Mafioso x Gn!Reader

tw: blood, violence, murder an: Another Mafioso fanfic, now I'm going to make him softy Mafioso, the reader doesn't care about anything about Mafioso's work or killing just, all matter is wanting him. summary: you are Mafioso's comfort, his smooth plushie to hug when he is stressed about the people who have debts from him, for not paying as he played a little round of his hunting game when he needs something to help him out of his stress and he got you to do that and you are there available to help him.

Mafioso was known to be ruthless, cruel, and brutal when it came to killing. He was feared by most especially those who owed him debts, and the players in his game. His name alone was enough to send shivers down spines, and his presence in the shadows felt like an inevitable death sentence.

But there was a side of him no one else saw. A side he carefully guarded, only ever showing it to the one person he cherished most. You.

Tonight had been particularly exhausting. He had been on a relentless hunt, chasing down a debtor who made the mistake of running. The chase dragged on for hours, the person weaving through alleys and walls, taunting him with their refusal to be caught. It tested his patience something he had little of until he finally cornered them.

He ripped the person's legs and made them unable to walk, and Mafioso made sure they would never run again. The sound of his sword cutting through flesh echoed in the empty lot. Blood splattered across his face, staining his black suit, but he barely flinched. The brief satisfaction of victory quickly faded, replaced by an irritable exhaustion that lingered in his chest.

After instructing his collectors to clean the scene, he checked the CCTV feed linked to his phone. His cold, sharp gaze softened the moment he saw you on the screen curled up in bed, hugging a bunny plushie close to your chest, your chest rising and falling with gentle, steady breaths.

Relief washed over him.

He needed you.

Without hesitation, he drove home, each passing second intensifying his longing. When he finally arrived, he wasted no time, heading straight to your room. The sight of you sleeping so peacefully made his heart soothe, a stark contrast to the carnage he left behind.

Carefully, he slipped into bed beside you, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you close. His eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his face into the warmth of your body, inhaling your scent like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, peace.

The subtle shift of movement stirred you awake, you turned your head a bit and saw him, Mafioso. You blinked, your tired eyes meeting his.

"Hey... you're home," you sfotly whispered, voice laced with sleep.

He opened his eyes, the harshness that usually lived within them nowhere to be found. "Yes, I'm home," he breathed, his voice low and rough.

You instinctively turned to face him, cupping his face in your hands. That’s when you noticed the faint streak of blood on his cheek. Without a word, you gently wiped it away, your thumb gliding over his skin like he was something fragile.

"Want me to do something? To help you relax?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

To your surprise, he nodded.

You sat up, guiding him to lay his head on your lap. He melted into the touch as you ran your fingers through his jet-black hair, brushing it back in soft, languid strokes. The tension in his body slowly unraveled, and he clung to you like a lifeline, arms wrapping around your waist.

You kissed the top of his head, feeling the way he sighed into your embrace.

"My little plushie to hug," he mumbled, voice muffled against you. "So soft... so tender. I wish I could stay like this forever."

Your heart swelled. "You always have me," you reassured him. "I'm not going anywhere."

He lifted his head, his face now inches from yours. The vulnerability in his eyes made your chest tighten. Without thinking, you leaned in, and he met you halfway, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. He kissed you like you were something sacred as if you were the only pure thing left in his world.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers gently tracing your jawline.

"I'm only like this with you," he whispered, voice barely audible. "Only you."

And with that, he laid back down, holding onto you as if you might disappear, finally allowing himself to drift into sleep safe, comforted, and at peace in your arms.

While you there caressing, brushing your fingers to his hair you can't believe you had this ruthless, cruel killer leader in your arms you can't believe how you had this man in your hands.

I guess having a dangerous man in my hand made me feel safe and terrified at the same, your mind spoke and you chuckled and kissed his head once again.

:3

[0bticeo]

aemond targaryen | you owe a debt

summary:

you grit your teeth.

you’re a long way from dragonstone. with you plummeting towards the ground, leaving aemond above, you’ve bought yourself a few precious seconds ー not enough. far from enough. your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you, a storm is raging and aemond is catching up.

you still.

he’s there.

wc. 1.6k

tw. unreseolved sexual tension, niece!reader (targcest), mild description of blood and gore, hubris, fix-it fic set in season one epsiode ten.

the rain is cold on your face, like tiny pinpricks of ice piercing your skin. raging wind blowing through your ears, you hear your dragon roar above the thunder. the force of it spreads through your bones. eyes half closed against the storm, fists clenched on the handles of your saddle, you curse. 

sending your younger brother alone, what was your mother thinking? 

he wants revenge. an eye for an eyeーa fair price. he could’ve asked for lucerys’ life. ( he must’ve been itching to do it, to draw his sword, sharp blade slicing your brother’s throat. to watch the blood pour out, spilling on the round hall’s floors.)

you see it, then. the dark mass before you, coming in closer and closer with each beat of your dragon’s wings. vaghar, largest, oldest dragon in the world. a massive, battle-hardened beast, with wrath etched in every inch of her being, begging to be unleashed, held tight behind her master’s iron will. (you think you hear him begging her to stop. )

high valyrian rolls off your tongue, scraping against your throat in a bark. 

faster.

visegar obliges, wings spread out against the storm. your breath hitches with how fast you’re going, strands of hair clinging to your face like you do to your reigns. 

you’re close enough to see arrax now, as small and young and terrified as his rider. 

close enough to hear aemond’s laughter. close enough to hear his tauntsー you owe a debt, boy . vaghar opens her gaping mouth, fangs gleaming under the pouring rainー

this will start a war. this will have your brother dying, torn up to pieces.

you will not let him die.

when you strike, it’s from below. lightning-fast, a blur of black scales, snatching your brother inches away from vaghar’s gaping maw. you feel her heated breath on your skin, the putrid scent of it – how many were left to rot there? 

you meet your uncle’s eye and he recognises you. 

you see it in how that mouth of his twists in a grin, tongue licking his lips in a slow drag. in how his eye traces your frame, sharpening upon noticing your stance.

“and what do you hope to do with that blade of yours?” there’s a flash of amusement in that coy grin of his. “surely, you can do better, niece .”

and he knows you can. he’s seen you in the training yard, wielding your mighty bow. he’s seen you grasping arrow after arrow, pulling them out of your quiver in an inhumanely fast gesture. he’s seen you hit target after target. he’s seen you run out of arrows and switch to the sword at your side, calling out for a sparring partner. 

(he’d been the one stepping forward, lip curling in that coy grin of his.)

now, your mouth is drying.

you’ve left your bow and arrows behind in your haste to get there. at this range, the sword is useless. 

you snarl, poison-laced words ready to strike because you yourself can’tー

your brother is screaming.

you look down and see arrax falling. with him, your brother. both of them, tumbling to the ground, spiralling down. arrax, almost torn in half, holding it together in a gory mess of viscera and torn up bones, wings beating erratically in a desperate attempt at stopping his fall. there’s so much red.

plunge.

plunge towards the ground at break-neck speed, visegar’s wings folding by his sides, almost brushing your arms. your shoulders are set ablaze. from the sheer strength it takes you to remain on your dragon’s back, or from your uncle’s heated gaze, you do not know.

soon you’re within arm’s reach. one look at arrax tells you trying to save them both is hopeless. 

“lucerys!”

he doesn’t look at you. he can’t, not with the wind roaring at his ears, not with arrax’s pain merging with his pure terror, not with the sea and its devouring waves below, they’re pulling him in, he’s going to dieー

you grab your brother’s arm and pull , high valyrian leaving your tongue in a bark. 

“visegar, up! ”

and so he obliges, your faithful dragon, leaving his brethren to crash in the hungry waves beneath. for a split second, you remain like that. floating in a never-ending storm, with your brother clinging to you, legs hanging in the void, hands in a vice grip around his flesh because you must not let him fall . 

so you pull and pull , muscles begging for you to stop, praying to gods old and new that your strength doesn’t fail you, that your uncle doesn’t catch up, not now .

then he’s on your saddle, and you press him against you, arms surrounding him, firmly pressing his hands on the saddle’s pommel for purchase. you do not let him see arrax’s fall. he’s safe. for now.

you grit your teeth. 

you’re a long way from dragonstone. with you plummeting towards the ground, leaving aemond above, you’ve bought yourself a few precious seconds ー not enough. far from enough. your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you, a storm is raging and aemond is catching up.

you still. 

he’s there.

right behind you, hot on your tail. you do not need to turn to see the wide grin etched on his pale features. you hear it in the low baritone of his voice, in the venom of his words. 

give up, niece.

and you can only weigh the odds. you cannot fight him. not with your brother there, clinging to your forearm tighter than one would to a lifeline. not with this storm. not without your prized weapons. you’re bound to lose, and he knows it.

you feel lucerys shift, looking up at you. oh, brave, brave boy with terror in his eyes. 

“it’s me he wants.” he gulps. “if you hand me over to him, you might get awayー”

you bite your lip.

each beat of dragon wing drives you closer to dragonstone. you can get there. you have to. it’s not just a matter of ensuring your brother’s safety ー or yours for that matters. it’s that should the both of you die here by aemond’s hand, war would break out.

greens and blacks have daggers held at each other’s throats. the slightest mishap will draw blood. you will not let your death be the reason a fragile, relative peace is broken.

but you can’t kill aemond either, can you? 

“niece.”

your attention snaps back to him. you find him already watching, hungry gaze never leaving you. he’s waiting, this wretched, cunning beast of a man. waiting for your move.

your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you on his back and a raging storm against his wings. 

but if there was only one rider…

you don’t have a choice. 

beneath you, visegar rises to attention. does he feel it, your fear? does he feel it, your unyielding resolve?

your hand closes around your brother’s shoulder, gently squeezing it. 

“whatever happens, fly home and do not stop .”

visegar moves. faster than all-mighty vaghar can see, faster than aemond can see, spiking above them both.

your brother is screaming.

you’re falling.

you’re falling, and there’s nothing to stop you. the gaping mouth of the sea will swallow you and leave nothing behind. you wonder if you’ll die upon hitting the water, bones shattering with the impact. you wonder if you’ll drown, if the fall doesn’t kill you. you wonder if you’ll taste arrax’s blood. 

you’re falling, and everything blurs before your eyes, storm grey and rain and a blue so dark it’s almost black. there’s lightning streaking the sky above, waves crashing down below ー and you do not know what’s up and what’s down anymore. the wind is merciless, splitting your ears with its force.

you’re falling, limbs spread out, gasping for air, and it feels like thousands and thousands of hands are pressing down on your heart and you can’t breathe ー

you think the wind roars your name. you think you see a great, black void coming from above, like the meteors the maesters weaved tales about for your entertainment. 

you feel as though you’re floating. you’re flying without a dragon. does that make you a god? you think you’re laughing.

you’re falling and it’s a gamble .

you’ve seen aemond’s stare. felt it burn like dragon fire on your skin, felt its pull down to your core as you fired arrow after arrow in the training yard. you’ve seen his signature half-smile widen just a tad bit as your swords clashed, felt the heat radiating off him as you pulled him closer, close enough for your dagger to brush against his jaw. 

(close enough to see his eye dart to your lips, pupil dilating for a brief second. close enough to feel his warm breath on your cheek. close enough to feel the lean muscles of his chest beneath the black leather of his clothes. close enough for him to bend down, lips brushing your ear in a low voice that left you with a hollow ache and clenching thighs.

“surely, you can do better, niece.”) 

you intrigue him, at the very least.

so when he comes, when he catches you mid-fall and cradles you against the warmth of him, with your name on his lips and what surely cannot be fear but is, you cannot help but smile. 

your grin flashes, as sharp as your blade.

“is that better, uncle?”

[dark-konohagakure2]

This one could be for Tumblr or AO3. Dealers choice <3 bratty girl owes kakuzu some money and shes gotta pay him back somehow ;P. Can he teach her a lesson about the value of settling her debts?

tw: noncon, age difference, blackmail, age difference, financial abuse, groping, size difference, face fucking, choking

All characters depicted are 18+

Kakuzu is in charge of the Akatsuki's finances, and he takes that role very seriously, mainly due to his immense love of money, money is the only thing in the world that Kakuzu loves and trusts. So when he's sent to go collect a debt from someone who owes the Akatsuki a very large large amount of money, Kakuzu is on the poor soul's doorstep almost immediately.

Having someone as scary looking as Kakuzu at her door is enough to scare the living daylights out of her, a reaction that annoys and amuses the miser in equal measure. He'll immediately demand that she either cough up the money or die by his hand. The poor woman is immediately panicking, revealing that she's completely broke, just barely getting by on the food she already has. This puts a wrench in Kakuzu's mission, he needs the money, something she's clearly lacking, so she can't give him the currency she needs. But that's fine, she can pay him back in a different way.

Her cute little body looks like it could fetch him a pretty penny, but Kakuzu doesn't have time to find enough men willing to pay for such a whiny woman's body, so instead Kakuzu will consider her body his payment, although it pains him to lose a single precious cent. He won't hide his unsavory intentions at all, shamelessy palming her large breasts through her shirt as he forces her against the nearest surface.

Kakuzu isn't shy, gentle, or vague about what he's doing, groping her body through her clothes as he rubs his large erection against her backside, his unusual and unforgiving eyes staring into her's as he prepares to teach her a very important life lesson; if someone doesn't settle their debts in time, then they have to face the consequences of their irresponsibility.

"Be quiet, you little tart. This is what happens to bad girls who don't have half a mind to pay their debts. Now either take my cock or I'll be taking your heart."

Once he's done feeling up her body, he'll abruptly push her down onto the ground, undoing his pants and letting his impressive cock spring free from it's confines, his manhood looking just as big and scary as the rest of him. Kakuzu will give no warnings or preparation when he forces his dick past her teeth, letting the thick meat stuff her throat to his limits whilst he uses it like a fleshlight.

Kakuzu is rough in both the way he fucks her face and the way he holds her in place, his large calloused hand wrapped tightly around her slender throat as he pounds it, making it difficult for her to breath with the overwhelming pressure both in and outside her throat. It's of no consequence to Kakuzu if she passes out from this, just gives him more opportunity to use her without having to listen to her whining.

If she does pass out, he'll take great pleasure in wrecking her other two holes while she's out cold and unable to resist or stop him, she knows this because Kakuzu outright tells her that as he's pounding away at her tear stained face. That's enough motivation for her to try her best to stay awake, even if that's becoming increasingly difficult with his cock down her throat, his hand around her neck, and her nose shoved against his coarse pubic hairs.

Breathing will become even more difficult when Kakuzu finishes right down her gullet, filling her stomach with his thick seed. It takes everything in her not to choke on his cum, or heaven forbid spit it out, Kakuzu will watch sadistically behind his mask as she struggles to gather herself after the brutal face-fucking he made her endure, cold sadism dripping from his every word as he addresses her again.

"That wasn't so hard, was it you idiot? You better get better at taking cock by the next time I come. What? Did you think you'd be off the hook that easily? The Akatsuki always gets what it's owed..."

Kakuzu is still rather annoyed by the fact that he didn't get the money that he came all this way for, but the greedy immortal at least got the next best thing; a much needed stress relief toy he can squeeze after a long day of dealing with Hidan's nonsense and the Akatsuki's seemingly endless ambitions.

[yanderenightmare]

Geto with curse reader?

Geto Suguru

TW: implied noncon, held hostage-ish, Geto uses the word monkey

gn reader

You backed up to the very far end of your cage. Holding your knees tucked tight to your chest as you shivered on whimpers and troubled breathing. Your captors, in the dozens, all lay limp on the floor – while the man who’d killed them all made ripples in the bloody pool with his sandals.

You couldn’t see his face. You couldn’t see much more than that below his waist. But you sensed it nonetheless – he wasn’t a normal man. You figured, since you only barely saw him, he wouldn't see you if you stayed silent – but naturally… if you sensed him, it was only a matter of time before he sensed you, too.

“They’re all gone now.” He said, and there wasn’t anyone else there besides you.

Still, you kept quiet. Hoping maybe he was simply talking to himself.

But then he took steps in your direction, making splashes in the blood soiling the floor, until he crouched down next to your cage. He pulled back the curtain hiding you and revealed the blood splatter decorating his smiling face.

“You don’t have to fear anymore, I won't hurt you.”

Humanlike curses aren’t normally all that feral – with exceptions, of course, but you weren’t one. As someone who’s tasted plenty of curses, he could tell your type. You weren’t violent in nature. Unlike most curses, your technique wasn’t defensive but simply protective and could only inspire carnal passion – almost like an aphrodisiac. And like a squid’s ink, it would seem you couldn’t control it either – releasing it like a mist when you were rattled.

The room went thick with it now – but weak a curse as you were, it hadn’t much of an effect on him.

Still, he found you quite cute where you sat, eyes wide, looking at him warily.

“You’re a- a sorcerer. You’ll kill me too. That’s why you’ve come, isn't it?” You whispered – as though you didn’t dare speak any louder.

He could only imagine what they’d done to you, but if your state told him anything… he’d say it wasn’t very humane. 

Monkeys are an ugly pest, not just a stain on sorcerers – but curses too, it would seem.

“I came to slaughter the pigs piled on the floor.” He corrected. “They owed me a lot of money, you see. Their fates were sealed the moment I heard they were all broke.”

It didn’t seem to ease your worry. You still looked as though you were waiting for something. Something you dreaded with every inch of your goose-bumped skin. 

“Suppose, now that they’re all dead, you’re the only one left to pay their debt.” He chuckled, but you didn’t find it very funny.

Sure, he could twist you into a ball and consume you like he does all the curses he encounters – you’d be a nice addition to his collection, and you didn’t seem like you’d taste any bad either. But still… there are other methods of coveting something – especially when they’re as pretty as you – though perhaps not in a cage. 

Either way, you didn’t seem like you’d be much trouble, and besides… he’d been meaning to get a pet to cure the loneliness of coming home to an empty temple.

He smiled, standing up.

You felt your cage lift from the ground, swaying as you were carried above the bloody bodies growing cold with death beneath you.

“Don’t worry, pretty curse. You alone will be payment enough.”

[allfearstofallto]

if you’re still doing the yandere alphabet, could you do E,L,P,T,X, and Y for childe? no worries if not, I love ur writing! <3

I've definitely been wanting to write more of these!! Thank you so much!!!

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: Yandere, obsession, mentions of stalking

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Childe is open. More open than you'd want him to be and more open than you're willing to hear. You tend to not care about his back story or his interests, but he'll tell you regardless and you're forced to listen.

But if you do listen, really listen, really take in what he says, maybe you'll be able to see how much information he omits. Stories he laughs off like they're funny, are traumatizing in nature. The things he says are horrifying, scary in a way that would change a person permanently. 

He assures you that no such thing has happened with a playful smile, but you see the subtle twitch of his eyebrow and quiver of his lip. He's truthful, but not completely honest.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Childe is one of the few yanderes who's approach will be different based on where his standing is with you.

Know him as that one guy you met on the streets of Liyue, the one who was rather charming, but also rather persistent about seeing you again and he'll court you proper. The whole nine yards. He'll be the ideal boyfriend, albeit with a few quirks that can be brushed off. Mostly his fierce, protective jealousy and strangely short temper. 

Know him as the fatui harbinger? He'll also be just that. It's even worse if you owe money to the northland bank, a debt that he insists that you pay back with your affection rather than money. He won't even attempt to hide his true nature. You already know who he is and what he's capable of. Rather, he'll try to force you to fall in love with the real him, by any means necessary.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling? 

Patient as a fighter, patient at heart. Childe isn't inherently cruel. At least to you he's not. He'll give you time, space, conversation, whatever he thinks you may need to make you more comfortable. But that isn't him being generous. His patience comes with the expectation that you'll eventually fall into the role expected of you.

Refuse or even worse, actively fight him after all the kindness he's given you and you won't see that tolerance anymore. Expectations are higher with harsher consequences if not done when he wants, exactly how he wants. 

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Oh, does he hate that crying face of yours. He can't stand to see you sad, let alone actually sobbing. Each tear rolling down your cheek is like a stab to his heart, he can hardly bear the agony.

He's quick to console you when you cry, especially when he's the one who caused it. Although he can't help, but notice you tend to cry harder when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a hug. Even though he hates your tears, he hates the disdain you have for him more. 

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Worship is a strong word. Childe loves you. Adores you. He does put you on a bit of a pedestal, believing you to be better than most people. But worship? Worship is a bit much.

Childe doesn't feel like he has to win you over. The depraved side of him believes he already owns you. Of course, you also own him as well, if you so desire. But because of that, his actions has him seeing you as almost an equal. Almost. There are still times where he loses himself in the desperation and desire to have you completely.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Like a fish needs water, like a man needs air, Childe yearns for you in a way that's animalistic in nature. Childe knows about you long before you know about him. 

“Snapping” is a term that can't entirely be used for him because of this. You can't really lose it if it was never really there. The second he saw you, the second he felt the way he did, the way you made his heart pound the same way it would if he were to be thrust into the throes of a fierce battle, he's already plotting how he plans to take you.

[charbydis-musings]

Ambrosia: Chapter 1

This wouldn't have spawned without Anniflamma's Manwhore!Au for Epic and raving with @scyllas-dogs about Poseidon backshots on election night to cope. Enjoy. TW: Sexual themes, mild violence, biting, and Zeus. A03 link

“Enlighten me, Odysseus. What do you value most?” Patience was a waning thing in Zeus’ tone, the god leaning in close and as smothering as the humid front of a storm.  A strong hand grasped Odysseus’ jaw, bringing in the king nose to nose to with a god who now stood to scale with the man atop the deck.

The unblinking eyes of his crew and the electric gaze of a king upon him, nowhere to run and none to outwit. To persuade? Odysseus raised his chin in Zeus’ grasp, shrugging off his tattered tunic from his shoulder, “There are many roads to settle a debt owed, no?”

The fingertips digging into his jaw faltered a moment, the gall of a mortal making Zeus falter for a scant moment before he spoke, “Persuade me then.” 

Choose.

Not a question, but a demand thundering from the heavens. Hand braced against the mast of his ship, his last ship, Odysseus staunched his wound with little more than a trembling palm as he locked eyes with the King of the Gods.

A face he had not hoped to see again since Troy burned. Zeus loomed as tall as the decimated sails of the boat. Eyes as brilliant as lightning glowered upon him and his crew.

“Enlighten me, Odysseus. What do you value most?” Patience was a waning thing in Zeus’ tone, the god leaning in close and as smothering as the humid front of a storm.  A strong hand grasped Odysseus’ jaw, bringing in the king nose to nose to with a god who now stood to scale with the man atop the deck.

The unblinking eyes of his crew and the electric gaze of a king upon him, nowhere to run and none to outwit. To persuade? Odysseus raised his chin in Zeus’ grasp, shrugging off his tattered tunic from his shoulder, “There are many roads to settle a debt owed, no?”

The fingertips digging into his jaw faltered a moment, the gall of a mortal making Zeus falter for a scant moment before he spoke, “Persuade me then.” 

Odysseus steeled himself, avoiding Eurylocus’ stare weighing upon his back, going so far as to voice, “Capt-“

A glare from Zeus landed with the cracking of thunder. The god’s larger palm closed on the front of Ody’s tunic, drawing him in closer at the threat of an interfering hand. Perfect, Ody seized the opening, tangling a hand onto Zeus’ curling mane of sun bleached hair. 

Odysseus tasted of sweat and the iron of blood, the same which wept from his wound and stained Zeus’ toga as the King threw himself into the kiss as if his life depended on it. In truth, it did. Zeus grasped his backside for leverage, feeling the mortal’s fragile pulse hammering against his bruised ribs like a fluttering bird.

Fragile, scuffed, and so close to breaking. A slip of the hand could fell a man in his state, left in the palm of a god. Fortunately, carnal hunger outweighed the satisfaction of dead men slain for a sin. The groan Odysseus released was a rasping one, the man’s grip slackening on Zeus’ locks as his body slumped against the god. 

There was something admirable in his gumption to try. Splaying a palm over Odysseus’ back, Zeus hoisted the man into his arms with a sigh. “Ride the wind eastwards if you lot wish to see your home again. I will not spare you a second boon.” 

In the clap of thunder and flash of lightning, the pair vanished from sight. ----------------------

Odysseus awoke to the babbling water and rising steam, his cheek resting against the supple firmness of a man’s thigh. His eyes snapped open, spine going ramrod straight in alarm before a strong hand cupped the back of his neck.

“Rest.” Zeus chided, pushing Odysseus’ down to rest in his lap once more. 

Odysseus set his jaw, grasping the rim of the pool with a heated, “What have you done?”

“Nothing beyond what I was bid to consider.” Zeus arched a brow, “Settle your debt not in blood, little king, but with the flesh and its pleasures. I find the prospect agreeable nor is my wine bearer against the idea of a respite.”

Odysseus turned his face lower, rasping out, “I can’t be daunted again, I have to make it home-“

“To Penelope and Telemachus. You sang your plight quite succinctly to the sirens before ruthlessly butchering them.” Zeus held a freyong lock of brown hair that was increasingly streaked by gray in recent months, “A year. Withstand that sum of time in service as my wine bearer atop Olympus, then you shall find yourself returned to Ithaca.”

“…What of my crew?” Odysseus asked after a pregnant pause.

“On course to reach the isle in three days time if they follow the prevailing winds I bid Aeolus to cast.” Zeus flatly replied, “My boon is my end of a bargain struck, little king. Now tis time for you to uphold yours.”

Odysseus didn’t have time to speak before Zeus’ lips were on his throat, tongue and teeth working against delicate skin. The god laved his tongue over Odysseus’ throat with a rumbling sigh in pleasure, his hands wandering south towards the mortal’s thighs for a proper grasp.

Odysseus writhed, sputtering out a gasp as blunt teeth broke the skin of his throat and were liable to leave bruises in their wake. Zeus was unbothered by his thrashing, hiking Ody’s thigh over his hip and dipping him into a kiss in the shallow waters.  Braced against the steps of the basin and chest to chest with the king of the gods, Odysseus’ pushed against Zeus’ chest and finally broke contact, “Wine bearer or whore, be straight with me!”

Zeus grimaced, “You opened this door, Odysseus, do not be affronted when I come to collect.”

A hand moved to grasp his throat, a weight and a warning as Ody’s breathing faltered in anticipation of a choke that never came. Roughly, Zeus wedged a knee between Ody’s shaking thighs and rasped against his ear, “Yield or I can cast you to my brother, little king. His sense of justice is far more inflexible than my own. He writhes and protests even now as I withhold you from the grasp of the ocean. Is his ire more alluring than my affection?”

Slowly, Odysseus shook his head, silent as the grave when he spread his legs. 

“Good.” Zeus clapped his shoulder and withdrew, satisfied at having tested the waters. Odysseus was left panting on his back, tense and his member throbbing with need.

“T-Thats it?” He whispered under his breath, feeling Zeus’ fingers lift his chin.

“For now. You’re clean enough to walk these halls, come.” Zeus stepped from the bath, casting a sky blue swath of silk towards Odysseus. With it a heavy broach of an eagle lay in the cloth. 

Ody swallowed thickly as he left the pool and examined the garment, “…What became of my tunic-“

“Ruined beyond measure.” Zeus stood tall over the king, not one for modesty it seemed as he was less quick to dress. Ody’s gaze tentatively ventured south, his mouth going dry at the girth between Zeus’ strong legs- the girth he’d been inches away from. 

Hastily with cheeks aflame, Odysseus turned his gaze down towards marble floors.

----------------------

In the palace of the gods, Ody mercifully could place few faces. Hermes nor Athena were present to see him at Zeus’ feet, narrowly covered by the blue toga offered to him. Much of his chest and bruised throat lay exposed, the draping toga managing to cover his backside and upper thighs at least. 

The ruined canvas of bruised skin and bites was plain to see, as intended. Odysseus kept his jaw set and his eyes downcast as he raised the golden bowl higher towards Zeus’ expectant hand, fine wine sloshing in the vessel as the offered libations.

Things first went awry when Zeus grasped Odysseus’ by the throat, tender enough not to choke, yet forceful enough to draw a gasp from the king. Drawn up onto the throne, Zeus grasped the libation bowl, brows furrowed in contemplation as he mused, “A sweeter cup than gold might be the supple flesh of a man. What does a King taste like? I wonder.”

Wine was heavy and cool against Odysseus’s face, flowing in a red stream from his crown and down his cheek to his throat. Zeus was a man unrestrained in his lusts, laving his tongue up from Ody’s bruised jugular. His lips moved from neck to jaw, the god drinking his fill of wine from Odysseus’ flesh. Wincing at the drink staining his hair and beard, with one eye shut to avoid the sting, Ody grunted at the contact as he gripped a tight fistful of Zeus’ toga. The hand on his throat shifted from neck to hip, drawing Odysseus onto Zeus’ lap to straddle his hips.

Discarded, the empty bowl clattered to the tile as Zeus tangled a hand through Odysseus’ hair. Golden eyes were filled with mirth as he basked at the sight of the disheveled king, “Sweet as nectar.”

Odysseus groaned, tucking his face into Zeus’ shoulder, doing anything to avoid eye contact in his fluster. He felt the throbbing want of the god against his groin, obscured solely by fabric and feeling the heat of Zeus’ need with unfettered intensity. Rather than take his pound of flesh, Zeus was content to let the king catch his breath, a warm comfort against his broad chest. 

His trends with Ganymede had been no different, his court unbothered by the sight of another fair face adorning his throne. With a face flushed as deeply as wine, Odysseus exhaled hotly as he tried to inch away from Zeus’ prodding member- halted with a hand grasping his backside openly.

Zeus’ grip on supple flesh was firmer than a soldier’s palm to a sword, ever a man reluctant to part with his spoils. 

----------------------

Odysseus cursed under his breath as he rinsed out the drying, tacky texture of wine from his hair, stubbornly looking away from Zeus as the god lounged on a chaise with a glass of wine in hand.

“Loyalty like yours is a rare thing.” Zeus remarked, chin resting atop his closed fist as he watched Odysseus, “A crew decimated, the odds of survival ever growing slim, and not once did you buckle in consorting with another. Until now.” 

Odysseus held his tongue, shoulders taut as he remembered the slamming gales of the storm and Poseidon’s cruel lesson.

Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.

“Anything to get home, it became the price I had to pay.” Odysseus replied, his tone distant as he finally saw the water run clear.

“43 men left under your command when my brother decimated your fleet. 37 with the price offered to Scylla.” Zeus mused, “Blood would stain your hands all the same, you chose who would bleed by one way or another.”

“…It was an infant.” Odysseus whispered, head low and his curling locks hiding his face.

“It was the will of the gods,” Zeus coolly countered, “Root and stem, or you suffer an endless cycle of upstarts and budding chaos. If you cannot learn ruthlessness after Poseidon’s instruction, may a year under me leave you a wiser man with an ounce of more piety.”

Odysseus worked his jaw, moving to grab the pitcher of wine and a glass of his own. Zeus watched his brewing frustration, brows furrowed as he sighed, “Hubris will be the death of you, little king.” 

“Maybe.” Odysseus muttered, nursing his glass with a heated exhale.

Zeus hooked a finger though the front of Odysseus’ toga, drawing the king into his lap, “Ten years without your wife’s touch, how did you weather celibacy, Odysseus?”

“Do you not love Hera as a man loves his wife?” Odysseus questioned in return, equally as bewildered.

With a deepening frown, Zeus sighed, “Does wine always render you so morose?”

“No.” Odysseus gruffly stole another sip before Zeus had the wisdom to pry the glass away.

“If my wine bearer craves libations, he ought to be properly served.” Zeus drawled.

 Ody grimaced at his glass being held aloft, his disdain faltering into disbelief as Zeus poured the wine into his cupped palm.

Sweet red wine danced and dripped from the god’s broad palm, Zeus’ grin growing wide as he grasped Ody by the front and lightly pulled him forward.

“Drink, King of Ithaca.” He crooned, enjoying how wide Ody’s eyes had become as the man bared his teeth. He refused to lean in and press his lips to Zeus’ awaiting palm. Impatient with the ling’s petulance, Zeus brought his hand to Ody’s soft mouth, grasping the man’s jaw as he guided him to drink.

Odysseus swallowed, reluctantly and with burning indignation coloring his cheeks red. Zeus admired the sight, “I will tame you yet, my wolf-“

Blunt teeth split divine skin, honeyed ichor mingling with wine as Odysseus bit the hand which fed him. 

Zeus wrenched back his palm, eyes blazing in fury as electric static crackled until- gold stained Odysseus’ maw, the man licking his lips instinctively at the new taste of blood and wine. A dark thought fluttered across Zeus’ mind, there are many ways for him to taste me.

Odysseus had stepped back, wiping his mouth with a wince and not a word in apology as he cursed, “I am not your damned pet!”

“You are mine,” Zeus rumbled, advancing on the man and smoothly seizing Odysseus by his narrow waist. Draped across Zeus’ shoulder, the King of Ithaca was helpless as the god grasped his bare thigh and ass, striding like a soldier on a mission. In truth, the only mission on Zeus’ mind was to see if finally, he could have a man so proud moaning like a concubine astride his cock before the night was out.

[scorpihoe1111]

💔Chiron In the Houses💔-Part 2

Chiron in the 8H👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 TW: S*xual Content

People with this placement could struggle with themes regarding sex/sexual health. This could be somebody who’s had a bad experience with sex, such as being used/manipulated into it, made to feel shamed or guilty for having it and/or (TW: SA) sexually harassed/assaulted. I’ve also noticed people with this placement may have grew up with a very conservative family who had strict views of sex, so the individual is hard on themselves or feel almost guilty for having it or interacting in sexual things. This placement could also struggle with contracting STD’s, or having overall genital/uterus health problems often in their life. I also noticed that people like this are drawn to the occult early on in their life, and something happens that traumatizes them and ruins their outlook on it. A VERY common placement I’ve seen with people who dabbled in witchcraft and it backfired or someone who consistently goes to witch doctors/psychics/mediums and depends on these people. Also, something about the mother with this placement as well. This placement is also seen in people who have been permanently scarred by the death of someone or a near death experience themselves. The idea of death in general haunts this native and they usually refuse to accept it as a part of life. They could have paranoia of those around them dying and leaving them, or them dying themselves. The mother could have passed early on, and/or the mother could have been abusive or overly possessive and controlling of the Chiron person. Could also indicate someone who went through financial abuse as well, such as a mother or other feminine figures in their life being stingy with money that was owed to the Chiron person, or stealing Chiron’s actual money from them. This placement usually has a hard time getting along with the women in their family or women in general.

Chiron In the 9H🌍

Chiron here is one of the placements I sympathize with the most tbh. These people could have grown up in a strictly religious environment and may have had religion forced upon them from an early age. This person could have went through something that traumatized them in regards to church, church goers, pastors or religion altogether. They could have had really negative experiences or mistreatment from those in the church who were supposedly supposed to be good people they can trust. Could have been gossiped about, judged for their interests/personality/looks, or sexually abused as well by those in the religious group. These people are very conflicted when it comes to religion, usually choosing to be atheists/switching religions as they grow up in order to find one that doesn’t hold them back from what they wanna do or who they wanna be. This could also be someone who had extremely controlling parents who prevented them from developing, growing or having their own free will. This was someone who always had to obey their parents even when parents were wrong. Somebody who didn’t have the freedom to do fun or normal things everyone else in their age group may have got to do. These people are deeply traumatized by a lack of freedom and being controlled and refuse to go through that again in their future relationships. These people start to rebel in their teens/early 20’s, and once they’re free they become their own boss; however because they were sheltered so much they could be still naive and overdo their new freedom to the point of getting themselves in legal trouble or creating baggage in their personal lives. These people could have a lack of responsibility and self control and end up in debt, jail, a criminal charge, unwanted kids, addictions etc.

Chiron In the 10H👨🏻‍💼

Those with Chiron in the 10H could be sensitive about their reputation. This is a placement that has been judged and gossiped about mercilessly in regards to their character. These people may have done something scandalous within their life, or they may have made a mistake that many people throughout their lives have done but get heat for it way harder than others. This placement is usually found in those who care about their reputation and image more than anything else. They put how others see them and think/talk about them on the forefront of their lives. These people unfortunately can also be yes-men, or people pleasers due to wanting to receive validation from others at any cost. These people could have been well known and placed on a pedestal at some point in their lives which is why they usually tend to get gossiped about so much, or on the flip side this person does not get the recognition or acknowledgment they think they’re owed and this can lead to them feeling like they failed at life. I usually see this placement as one that’s money hungry or honestly an attention whore in most scenarios, since I’ve mainly seen those with this placement live for approval and validation even from those they don’t even know. These people could have grown up as an only child or favorite child, and parents could have exaggerated their talents and worth to the point they grew almost narcissistic and convinced they’re owed something from everyone. Obviously, this can have bad consequences as one steps out into the real world and this placement could be humbled quickly leading to their failure feeling of not being #1 in everything. Another scenario I see is those with this placement who have been involuntarily placed on a pedestal, to where each and every one of their actions, goals and mistakes reflected on their reputations heavily. In this case, this placement could have been severely judged/bullied in their youth, and/or had something happen to them or did something that they became known for and unfairly held against them. It’s important for this placement to heal in both scenarios, as if they’re unhealed this trauma can lead to excessive insecurity, co-dependence, anger and very low self esteem. This person needs to learn to live in their authenticity and honestly just stop giving a fuck what others think or say.

Chiron In the 11H👩🏻‍💻

These placement could have suffered from bullying online or in social groups. Definitely a black sheep placement, they’ve probably went through excessive outcasting or rejection in their early years from people their age. These are people who were probably loners in school, or simply didn’t know how to make friends. Many people weren’t nice to this native, and they might have always felt like the odd one out in any friend groups they have been in. This placement honestly gives me Janice Ian vibes. That 1 outcast that becomes friends with cruel people, and ends up being vulnerable to the wrong people. They could have been the target of bullying, subject of gossip etc. They may have had friends who were intimidated of them, and friends could have projected HEAVILY on them. These people could also be naive and easily influenced, usually ending up in the wrong crowd or friend group and trusting the wrong people due to desperation of needing to fit in. These people have a hard time being accepted within society as they may be different from most people, or have interests that are considered weird among peers. They could also be subject to online harassment and bullying as well, being the main target of being harassed by fake/anonymous accounts, secrets leaked online, personal information leaked online, posting something that the internet community may not approve of and attack the Chiron person for; etc.

Chiron In the 12H💤

This placement is really interesting for me, I think because I had to do extensive studying and research as well as trying to find people with this placement in order to really figure it out since it’s such a complicated placement. From what I’ve learned so far, those with this placement may have grew up with sleep paralysis and/or horrifying nightmares growing up. These are people that had an imaginary friend growing up. They’re very in touch with their spiritual side whether they want to be or not. These people could be scarred by the things they’ve seen in their dreams, or may have lived in homes that were possibly haunted and may have trauma in regards to things that may have happened in those homes. These people are usually deeply afraid of the paranormal, because of some type of experience they may have had when young. In another sense, I’ve also noticed that these people may have been isolated throughout their life a lot and felt very alone. They may have or still struggle with mental health/illness’s. These people could also be deathly afraid of random things, such as fire, insects, heights etc. with no personal reason as to why, it just provokes something in them. This is because those with this placement have TONS of past life trauma that needs to be healed. The sad thing about this placement is that it feels vulnerable and unsafe to things bigger than life, such as a higher power etc. They could be afraid of the paranormal, God, the Devil, Demons, Angels, ghosts etc. These are very sensitive to others spirits as well. These people often experience a deep, overwhelming sadness and pain without knowing their root cause. They feel uncomfortable and hate that the world is a negative place. Sometimes they might feel like there’s an invisible wall holding them back from reaching their full potential. In a way, this placement could feel almost as if they’re being punished by these higher powers I was talking about. Like their mind and overall future is being destroyed and blocked by something bigger than us, and they have no control over it. Overall, I feel like this placement wants to be safe. I feel like this placement doesn’t feel safe or comfortable in the world in general, which is why this placement is one of the very special ones for me. I truly think they are angels sent down from earth. I also feel it’s important that this placement heals deeply, and finds themselves a higher power that brings them comfort. I deeply feel this placement may need religion or spiritually to reach their full potential and happiness, as they seem to be so connected to the divine it’s best to confront their fears and accept the calling they’re overthinking about.