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tropes-and-tales · 2 months ago

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🥰 FINALLY

(Frankie "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader)

CW: Angst; talk of addiction; talk of failed relationships. Smut (PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 6734

AN: This was originally requested by @elegantmusicdragon, and it's a sequel to this!

There’s no pretending they don’t know.

Will saw it firsthand. Pope heard it, then got text confirmation from Will. Ben slept through all of it, but when he wakes early in the morning, he looks across the loft and sees his brother in the wan pre-dawn light, staring at the ceiling with a haunted look on his face.

A bit of prodding later, he finds out what he missed while he slept.

You and Fish, fucking. You and Fish, the two members of the team who squabble and irritate each other the most, who sometimes outright fight and sometimes require someone else—Will, usually—to referee.

You and Fish. You thought you were quiet, but by morning, everyone knows.

And worse, you and Fish know they know. After you finished, quiet as you could be, both of your cell phones pinged with a string of incoming messages. From Pope.

Pope: 👏👏👏👏

Pope: excellent work you two

Pope: 🍆 💦💦💦💦

Pope: seriously tho ur both gross

Pope: but congrats happy for u

You read the messages and felt a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, but when you glanced over at Frankie, he only raked his hand through his hair and muttered, “fuck.”

-----

Breakfast is a surreal affair. No one says anything at first, so the only sounds are forks and spoons clinking against dishes. Chewing. Benny, doing his usual gross early morning phlegm-clearing cough.

Your face burns in embarrassment. Frankie keeps his eyes fixed on his scrambled eggs, which he only pushes around with the tines of his fork. You can feel Pope’s eyes on you, Will’s eyes, and the cabin is full of anticipation.

Pope’s the one who breaks it. He clears his throat, asks in a tone that’s phony-casual, “everyone sleep okay?”

“I didn’t,” Will replies. “Thought I heard something last night.”

“Outside?” Again, Pope’s voice is fake, an edge of chipper teasing in it.

“Sounded like something got into the cabin.”

Pope pulls a thoughtful face. “Y’know, I think I heard something too. Kinda like a wounded animal? Two wounded animals, grunting and moaning—”

Frankie huffs out a heavy sigh, and you slouch lower in your chair. Benny grins around his mug of coffee and adds, “it is mating season, I think.”

Pope snaps his finger, a eureka sort of gesture. “That must be it! We must have come here during mating season and just didn’t realize it. Wild. Who knew?”

You chafe at the word mating, which makes it sound like you and Frankie are…well, mates, so you mutter, “it’s just hooking up,” which makes Frankie sigh again, because that launches Pope into a blistering lecture about responsibility and poor choices and Jesus Christ, you two, are you even using protection? Are you at least being safe, because you sure as shit aren’t being smart?

You mumble a defensive comment that it isn’t his business (though you’re on birth control, you sure as hell aren’t admitting it to the guys—Frankie knows, and that’s all that matters), and then you find the strength to stand up, announce that you’re going for a walk down to the lake, and if they care to speculate further on your reproductive health, they can do so without your presence.

*****

Frankie can’t remember the last time he has been so mortified.

No, scratch that. He can remember. It was when he was in the throes of his addiction, and you ambushed him with an intervention. Now, a full year after that, he sees the love and care that went into it, but at the time, he felt a furious blend of anger and frustration and mortification.

This is like that, albeit less strong…but incredibly fresh.

After you march off—abandoning him, naturally—he lets the guys get their shots in. He clenches his jaw and fixes his gaze somewhere over Pope’s head, at a pattern of knots in the wood paneling on the wall. He tries to let their ribbing wash over him, but he takes each comment personally.

And he’s embarrassed. It would be one thing to be caught with a random woman from, say, a bar or a party. You, though? It feels like a weakness, a failure of character, to be caught fucking someone he barely gets along with. Pathetic, like he can’t do better. Like he couldn’t find a woman who simpers for him, who is eager to impress him, who is impressed by him. Like he’s had to settle for someone who rolls her eyes at him, who snarks at him, who doesn't think that highly of him.

Someone who saw him at his weakest, when he was addicted to coke. Someone who rolled her eyes and marched in to save the day.

Weak. Pathetic.

Frankie stews. The guys wear themselves out, split up. Benny goes to find you on your march down to the lake. He says he’ll calm you down, soothe your chagrined soul and smooth you out. Pope disappears into his room to take a work call, since he has a new contract coming up in a few days.

It leaves Frankie and Will. Frankie stands up from the table and makes his way out to the front porch, and Will follows. Frankie heaves himself onto the porch swing, and he sets a rhythm of fast, jerky swinging. Back and forth. Back and forth. He swings in time to his pounding heart, the headache forming at the base of his skull.

Will settles on the step and stretches his leg out. He turns his face to the rising sun, and he’s silent for a long moment.

“You okay?” he finally asks. There’s no teasing in his voice. He sounds genuine.

“Great.” Frankie spits it out, sarcastic.

Will jerks his chin in the direction of the cabin door. “You know we’re just teasing.”

“Yeah.”

Will hesitates before he asks, “is it really just hooking up?”

Frankie sighs. “Obviously.”

Another beat of hesitation. “You don’t have feelings for her?”

That pulls a bitter laugh from Frankie. “Obviously not.”

“Thing is, it’s not so obvious.” Will turns his head and fixes Frankie with an appraising look that Frankie doesn’t like. He meets his eye for a beat, then slides his own gaze away, looks past Will to the clearing where the fire pit is. That first evening here seems a million years ago, though it was only a couple of days.

“It’s just that you two make a weird sort of sense,” Will continues. “You’re so similar—”

“We’re nothing alike.” Frankie cuts him off tersely. “We don’t have a damned thing in common other than a shared history.”

“You’re both stubborn. You’re both strong-willed people, and you both obviously care about each other—”

“No. Nope.” He cuts him off again, and all of those bad feelings—mortification being the strongest—bubble up in him.

“I don’t care about her. Are you kidding? It was just hooking up. She was available, and it was convenient, and that’s it.”

There’s venom behind his words, a force fed by his deep embarrassment to have been caught with you. It makes his voice carry just enough that you and Ben both hear it as you walk back from the lake. Will sees you first, makes a noise in the back of his throat as he catches your expression—the hurt there, the pain that Frankie’s words cause—and then Frankie sees you too.

“Hey,” he starts to say, but you wave him off, tell him it’s fine, you’re fine…and in all the years that Frankie has known you, this is the first time you lie to him.

-----

The weekend ends on a sour note.

There’s no fight between you and Frankie, and that hurts the most. For as much as you bicker, you go silent now. When you talk to him, you’re flat. Polite. Distant.

Pope needs to head back early to get back to Colombia, and you catch a ride with him.

“Got things I need to do,” you say, and everyone knows it’s a lie, but no one knows how to call you out on it. You’re hurt, Frankie has hurt you and the guys fed into the bad feelings that led to that hurt, and everyone parts in a low mood.

A hundred times Frankie’s finger hovers over your name on his phone. A hundred times he starts to craft a message in his head, only to toss the phone aside.

A hundred times he struggles to fall asleep because he cannot get your face out of his head. That look of surprise and hurt, and all his fault because he was an asshole who was embarrassed to be caught hooking up with you.

No, not was an asshole. Is an asshole. Because a hundred times he thinks he’ll summon the courage to reach out, but a hundred times, he fails.

-----

He doesn’t see you for six months. He don’t talk to you directly, and the best he gets is your short, clipped responses in the gang’s group chat. Even there, you tend to go silent.

He dare not ask one of the guys how you’re doing. He sees the Miller brothers the most, talks to Pope only sometimes, and maybe there’s a separate group chat because it seems as though the three of them have reached some agreement to never mention you around Frankie.

Six months. Half a year after the cabin by the lake. How does Frankie spend his time? Lonely, mostly. He goes to work, then goes home. He goes to meetings once a week, but he rarely has cravings and has less pressure to use. He started using before because he just had too much going on—work and married life, Pope’s scheming to make them all millionaires, Tom’s death. Now Frankie has very little. Just a job. Just a small apartment where he sits alone on his secondhand couch and eats microwaved leftovers while the TV plays at a low volume.

A hundred times he thinks to call you. A hundred times he thinks to drive to where you live—one town over, but only a fifteen minute drive. He could apologize; he could try to understand why you looked so hurt. Of course he cares for you, deep down, but it isn’t love…or was it?

A hundred times that question floats to the front of his mind, and a hundred times he shoves it down, ignores it, waits for it to recede from his thoughts.

-----

Six months after the cabin by the lake, Frankie sees you again. Pope is in town for his birthday. His latest contract has ended, the next one hasn’t begun, and he has a stretch of time to visit and gorge himself on all the things he can’t get overseas.

His birthday is held at Will and Benny’s place. When Frankie rolls up a solid half hour late, though, Will is outside waiting for him.

“How’s it going?” he asks, and the two exchange their usual handshake into a half-hug.

“Good. You?”

“Good.” Will jams his hands in his pockets and fixes Frankie with a curious look. “She’s in there, you know.”

It says a lot that the she in this case is you and not his ex-wife, who arguably would put the guys more on alert. How have you managed to reach such a dubious place of honor?

Frankie tries to sound casual. “Yeah, I figured.” A beat, and he adds, “don’t worry. I don’t plan on fighting with her. It’s Pope’s night.”

Will furrows his brow at that, shakes his head faintly. “Yeah, I know. But Frankie, she’s in there with someone else. Pope’s buddy, remember?”

-----

Fucking Paolo.

Fucking recently-divorced, recently-cheated on, sad piece of shit Paolo. Pope’s buddy that he tried—and apparently succeeded at—setting you up with at the cabin.

Thing is, the guy isn’t a sad piece of shit. Or a troll, as Frankie had teased you at the cabin. The man is handsome; an easy smile and warm eyes. Hair that looks great but like he didn’t try to make it look great. Clothing well-fitted and well-made, but not obnoxiously designer. Good handshake, when Frankie is introduced. A genuine ‘nice to meet you’ in accented English.

Frankie’s jealousy, as it turns out, is wide and deep and never-ending.

Because for fuck’s sake, you look happy. Relaxed. Paolo puts his hand on your lower back and leads you to get fresh drinks. He slings an arm around your waist as you stand and chat with Pope. He turns and whispers something in your ear that makes you giggle, and how is Frankie just now learning that you fucking giggle, and that it sounds cute on you, a musical little laugh that makes his stomach turn because he’s never drawn such a sound from you?

And Paolo must smooth out your rough edges because you gift Frankie a little smile and ask how he’s been, and there’s no venom behind the question. No lingering bad will.

You’ve moved on, it seems, and it hits Frankie harder than he thought it would. He ends up leaving after only a few hours, lies and says he’s coming down with something, but he takes one backwards glance at you before he goes.

You aren’t looking at him at all. You’re looking—gazing—at fucking Paolo’s handsome fucking face, and Frankie’s first thought is she never looked at me like that.

His second thought is maybe I never gave her a reason to look at me like that.

-----

Frankie sees you once a few months after Pope’s birthday, by accident at the grocery store. You’re alone and frowning slightly in the produce section, looking at the selection of apples on display. Paolo is nowhere in sight, but that doesn’t mean anything.

You don’t see Frankie. He stands by the cut flowers and studies you from under the brim of his hat, and he half-hopes you turn and see him. He half-hopes you don’t. He stands by a bucket of cheerful daisies and wonders if Paolo brings you flowers.

He half-hopes the man does, because you deserve flowers. He half-hopes he doesn’t, because Frankie is jealous and hates the thought that Paolo has only known you for a fraction of time—far less than Frankie has known you—and is still probably that much better for you than Frankie would have been.

Frankie doesn’t know what to do with himself. His thumb still hovers over your contact information in the still, quiet hours of the night.

He thinks of the intervention you staged for him. He had stormed out, furious to be so embarrassed and exposed, and you had followed.

He remembers you stopping him, your hands turning him to face you. Your hands gripping either side of his face as you stared deep into his eyes and pleaded with him to get his shit together.

It’s as good of advice now as it was then.

-----

A year after the cabin by the lake, and everyone returns to the cabin by the lake.

Frankie hesitates when Will calls for his confirmation. Will must guess why, because Will not-so-casually mentions that it’s just the core folks, you and Frankie and Pope and the Millers. No plus-ones.

“Just us,” Will reminds him. “To remember Tom.”

So fucking Paolo won’t be there with his nice smile and nice hair and his hand resting lightly on your back, and Frankie agrees to come.

When he arrives, it is just like the year before. Pope pulls rank and calls dibs on the lone single bedroom. The Miller brothers scamper up to the loft like children, poking at each other and laughing the whole way.

Which leaves you and Frankie exactly where you were a year ago. Awkwardly sharing the living room with the lumpy couch and a mattress on the floor. Frankie glances at you, opens his mouth to say something, but Pope—who tosses his bag into the bedroom, then strides back out—comes up to you and pulls you into a hug that kind of looks like a headlock.

“Sorry to hear about it,” he says, and Frankie is bewildered for a beat before Pope adds, “for the record, I told him he was being fucking stupid.”

His mind guesses that this is about Paolo, but his mouth, which often operates independently of his mind, blurts out, “did you break up?”

You peer out at him from where Pope has you tucked against him, and grumble, “how’d you say it last year? I’d only disappoint him.”

Frankie sucks in a breath, remembers the shot he took at you. He shakes his head, ashamed at the memory, but doesn’t say anything.

“No. No, no, no.” Pope adjusts his hold, puts you in an actual headlock. He glances over at Frankie and clarifies, “he got back together with his ex-wife.”

“She was better than me,” you chime in, and it sounds muffled.

“Nope again. She’s a cheater, and she’ll cheat again, and you’ll be off with someone far better.” Pope adjusts his hold as you struggle against him, and he adds, “now say something nice about yourself. No feeling sorry, so say something nice.”

“I’m a good cook.” It’s muffled again; your face is pressed against Pope’s side where he holds you fast.

“No good. I mean, you’re a good cook, yes, but you learned that. It’s not essential to who you are.”

“Pope, c’mon,” you whine. “Lemme go.”

“Not until you say it.”

Frankie smiles at the exchange, but he puzzles over it too. He wonders at the relationship you have with Pope, separate from him and the other guys. He supposes he’s never considered it—he always thought you and he had a separate thing, but never considered how you got on with Pope or Will or Ben independent of him, separate from the broader group.

But Paolo was Pope’s friend too, and Frankie wonders how much Pope hyped you up to Paolo and vice versa. And how much Pope has been there for you now that it’s ended, perhaps feeling guilty to have it go sideways on you.

Hence this little game that seems well-established: Pope holding you in a headlock, forcing you to speak well of yourself.

“I’m…loyal,” you finally concede.

Pope shoots Frankie a grin and replies, “yes, you are. You’re good as gold.”

But he doesn’t release you quick enough, and you get enough of an arm free to lightly sucker punch him low in the stomach, and Frankie smiles wider because that’s the you he recognizes best—the one who puts up with shit to a certain level, then comes out swinging.

-----

The first night this time is much the same as the last time. There’s a bonfire, a cooler of beers, laughter. Loons call across the water to each other, and sparks from the fire drift on the updraft to merge with the stars glimmering above them.

Frankie feels restless. He fiddles with his bottle of beer, rolls it between his palms, peels the label. He hasn’t seen you in so long, hasn’t talked to you for even longer, and now you’re sitting across the fire ring from him. Your face is gilded orange and gold in the flames, and while you laugh with them, you seem a touch sad. Quieter than usual.

When everyone finally turns in, he offers you the mattress on the floor. For the first time since you’ve arrived, you pause and look at him. Actually look at him: meet his eyes, study his face.

“The couch is lumpy,” you remind him. “Your back.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Nah, I’m okay.” You turn away and shake out the folded blanket, and Frankie despairs at how polite and distant you are now. His own fault, but he loathes it. He wishes you’d squabble with him again, pick a fight, tease him until he huffs in frustration.

“Hey, can we talk?” he asks. He watches you lie down. You punch at the pillow, turn on your side, then settle and sigh.

“I’d rather not, Fish.”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry—”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “For Paolo? You kinda said it would go down the exact way it went down.”

He shakes his head. “No, but I should have never said that��”

“It’s fine.”

“I meant, I wanted to say I’m sorry for before.”

“Oh.”

“Here, last year.” He swallows and studies your expression, which gives nothing away. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was cruel, and—”

“I get it. I remember. It’s fine, Fish. Everything’s fine.”

He wants to add more, but you roll over to face the back of the couch, your back to him. It occurs a moment later that you’re still lying to him, because you’ve just said everything was fine at least four times in the past five minutes, and he gets the distinct impression that nothing is fine.

-----

The next day, you hike again. It’s a different route this time, and the summit is different but the view is the same, just a different angle: placid lake below, brilliant blue sky above, and a picnic lunch spread out on the rock.

Frankie has done a lot of work on himself. In the past months, he’s learned to stop thinking of himself as a fixed point. Life is not a ladder, as he always imagined. He can change and adapt and not think himself weak for backing up and taking a different route when the first route proves to be a dead end.

Case in point: you and your occasional balking as you hike down a mountain. There’s a stretch that is dicey, loose graveled and steep, and sure enough, you falter, then freeze.

Frankie from last year got impatient with you, and left you behind for Benny to rescue.

Frankie from this year recognizes that your fear isn’t a personal failing. It’s a quirk. It makes you you, and how he reacts now is what makes him him. The new and improved Frankie. Less of an asshole. Back up, try a new way.

“Take your time,” he tells you now. “There’s no rush.”

You don’t seem to hear him. You’re so used to him being frustrated that you say, plaintive, “just go around, Fish.”

A breath. New and improved Frankie. “No, I’ll wait for you. I’m here.”

You glance at him, and he sees the whites of your eyes: the fear there. He regrets that he wasn’t patient with you before. Another breath, like his therapist taught him. He feels the regret, then lets it go. He reminds himself that he can be better now.

Frankie reaches out a hand to you. “C’mon,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

Of course you stare at him a long moment like he’s grown two heads. Like he’s been replaced by some alien double who is kind instead of snappish.

You end up taking his hand, though, and he grips you firmly, takes you step by step out of the perilous stretch of the trail.

-----

Dinner is Pope on steaks, you on pasta and vegetables again. Benny, who took an internet wine course to impress a girl, pops the corks on a few bottles of middle shelf vintage. He explains about how it has to breathe, how it has to release the bouquet until Pope steps away from the steaks to smack him upside his head.

New and improved Frankie. When the dinner conversation touches on your breakup, he murmurs his consolations. When Pope gives the entire history of Paolo and his volatile ex-wife, he clicks his tongue and shakes his head in disgust.

New and improved Frankie. He tells you your contributions to the meal are delicious, and he misses the sly look that Will gives to Pope because Frankie is too focused on you. Your face twists in confusion at his praise, and you reply a beat later with a lilt of questioning, “thank you?”

-----

New and improved Frankie. He manages to beat you to the living room before bed, and he snags the couch while you’re brushing your teeth. You stop in your tracks when you see him, and you narrow your eyes.

“Take the mattress tonight,” he says. He ignores the spring in the couch digging into the left side of his ass. “Seriously.”

The guys are all already tucked into their own beds, so when you put your hands on your hips and demand to know what the hell is wrong with him, you keep your voice low.

“Nothing wrong with me.”

You don’t buy it, but your scowl softens. “Frankie, are you using again?”

He laughs. Of course you’d associate his attempts at niceness with drugs.

“Not at all. I’m at about eighteen months clean.”

That replaces your scowl with a smile. A genuine one. “Oh, Fish. Congratulations.”

“It’s thanks to you.”

“Nah. You’re the one who did the hard work.”

“You’re the one who saw I had a problem.”

“The guys noticed it too.”

“Yeah, but.” He takes a breath. “You’re the one who took action. You probably saved my life.”

You wave him off, and you kneel down on the mattress, then sit cross-legged and look at him. “You give me too much credit, Fish.”

That makes him shake his head. “No, I never gave you enough credit. I was married, remember. Sophie never noticed, and if she did, she didn’t set up an intervention. It was all you.”

Something about being so open makes you uncomfortable. You fold your hands in your lap and look down at them. “Where is all this coming from?” Your voice is quiet, and Frankie has to strain to hear you.

“What do you mean?”

A sigh. “I mean, I don’t want you to be nice because I got dumped. I hate pity.”

He sits up a bit, props himself on his elbow and watches you. “It’s not pity.”

“Then why are you being so nice? We haven’t argued once and it’s been over a day.” You glance over at him, your hands twisting in your lap restlessly.

He sits up completely and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “I hated the way I left things with you before.” A pause. “Remember what you told me at my intervention? You said I had to get my shit together. I thought, ‘okay, I’m clean now, I have some clean months behind me. So why am I still so fucking miserable to be with?’”

“Fish, you aren’t miserable to be—”

“I am.” He cuts you off. “And I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be the man who makes you feel like shit because I’m embarrassed we got caught hooking up. You’re not something to be ashamed of, and I acted like a complete asshole.”

The corner of your mouth twitches in a sardonic smile. “The guys were being obnoxious.”

“And I should have been obnoxious back. I could have talked you up. Talked us up. Instead of being a dick, I could have said, ‘yeah, we’re hooking up, and it’s amazing, so be jealous about it because you’re all single with no prospects.’”

“We were technically single too.”

He nods, serious. “Yeah, we were, but maybe we shouldn’t have been.”

That makes you laugh; an honest-to-god belly laugh that has you wrapping your arms around your stomach. Frankie winces, glances up at the loft where the Miller brothers are theoretically sleeping, then he pushes the worry aside. Who gives a shit if they hear you laughing with him?

When he doesn’t laugh too, your laughter dies down. “Wait, you’re not joking?”

“No.”

A long pause with the two of you watching each other. “…and you’re sure you’re not using?”

“I’m sure. I had a piss test last week for work.”

“…okay.”

He sighs and holds his hands out to you, palms up. Entreating. “I’ve been seeing a therapist. Yes, it feels like bullshit, but it’s something, you know? Having a third party to bounce my bad memories against. My bad feelings. He’s helped me figure out some stuff.”

You blink at him in sincere surprise. “I’m proud of you, Fish.”

That makes a warm flush course through him, you being proud of him. “It’s a cliché, but there’s shit from childhood that really can fuck a person up as an adult, you know?”

“Oh, I know it. Eldest daughter, right here. Child of functional alcoholics.”

“I guess I always had this set idea in my head of how life was gonna be, and when it was not that, when it turned out to be something that I constantly had to work out, I didn’t know how to handle that,” he admits.

“I get that too.” You nod along, and you stop fiddling with your hands.

Frankie takes a deep breath and plunges ahead. He has to get it out, and he has your attention.

“And, you know, I had set ideas about relationships. Women. Marriage.”

The sardonic smile returns. “Here we go.”

“I was trying to recreate a perfect version of my parents’ marriage,” he admits. It took some deep work to realize it. Talking in therapy, dredging up memories he thought he had buried nice and deep. “I thought if I could do it like them, but better, I would have won.”

“Won what, exactly?” you ask softly.

“Life? I don’t even know. It sounds stupid to say it out loud, but I thought it would mean that I had succeeded as an adult. As a man. Like people would look at me and be impressed.”

He glances at you, and you nod encouragingly. He takes another deep breath, and he asks you to just listen to the next part, to not interrupt. To let him get it all out before you stop listening.

“Okay.” Another nod, and you settle your hands in your lap again and hold them there.

“So I tried to recreate my parents’ marriage, right? I found a woman a lot like my mom. Traditional, stay at home. Sophie wanted to be taken care of, you know. She didn’t want to work. She wanted someone to make the decisions for her on all the big adult stuff. She wanted to keep house and have kids and be a soccer mom. Make homemade Halloween costumes and throw elaborate birthday parties for our four or five children, and there was nothing wrong with that. I thought she’d be better than my mom, an actual mom, you know? Not someone to get bitter about her missed opportunities and tell her kids how she sacrificed everything for them. Because that’s what my childhood was like. My mom always couched everything in what she gave up, like me or my brothers asked to be born.”

He pauses, catches his breath. You’re watching him, expectant, so he continues.

“And meanwhile, I thought I’d be the best husband. The best dad. I had a military career, and they trained me to fly helicopters. I was so much further ahead than my own dad, who drove a tow truck. He worked hard all day, then came home to a bitter wife. The best thing in his life was drinking cheap beer in the garage and hiding from her, and here I was, married to Sophie with a good military job and benefits, and I should have been so happy to be winning.”

“But you weren’t,” you say gently. It isn’t a question.

He shakes his head. “No, I wasn’t. And I didn’t know why. I started to resent Soph for never making a decision. Mortgage went up because property taxes went up? Not her problem. Roof needed replaced? I had to figure it out. Car registration expired while I was overseas, and she got a ticket? Somehow I had to solve it from the middle of goddamned Afghanistan. We didn’t even have kids yet, and I was feeling all this pressure to be an adult for both of us. When I got back home on leave, she tells me that she’s stopped her birth control, and I just…cracked.”

“I get it, Fish. I mean, not being married, but I get how it feels to expect one thing in your life and have the opposite happen.”

He holds up a palm to remind you to let him get it all out, and you whisper “sorry. Go ‘head.”

“And then there was you. The complete opposite of Soph, you know? You were…are this super independent woman, and whenever we were stuck overseas and Soph was struggling with running a house stateside, you were just there, chirping about what she needed to do. Like it was nothing. And I got irritated with you because you are just so damned pulled together and even-keeled and…and easy. It’s so easy with you, and I hated it because I knew I made the wrong choice after all. I tried so hard to avoid my parents’ marriage’s pitfalls that I just fell into the same pattern even harder, and you were the one who showed me that.”

He watches to see how his words land. When you blink at him, he sees a film of tears there, so he plunges forward to get the rest out.

“I didn’t even realize that I loved you. That’s how fucked in the head I was. I picked fights with you and told the guys how irritating I thought you were, and you stuck to me anyway. I could never shake you off. We mustered out and you saw me drowning in my addiction, and I still told myself that I didn’t like you, didn’t care about you. I got divorced, and we started hooking up, and I swear to god, sweetheart, hand up to god: the first time we slept together, it felt like I was finally home, and I still couldn’t admit it to myself. I kept telling you each time that it was the last time but I kept coming back for more because you feel like home and I loved you, but I fucked it all up because I didn’t understand who I was or what I wanted.”

He stops there, spent. He feels like he’s been emptied out, and he stares down at his own clenched hands and waits for you to say something. Anything.

There’s a long, long moment of silence. He hears the loons on the lake and the wind rustling the trees outside, but you don’t say anything for so long.

Then you breathe out his name, an “oh, Frankie,” and when he looks up, he sees the tears streaming down your face.

“I mean it,” he adds softly. “I’m sorry, but I mean it. I love you. I’ve probably always loved you. Thinking back, I can’t remember a time I didn’t. I just didn’t realize it.”

You’re crying openly now, but you’re trying to be quiet. Frankie doesn’t even think of the guys nearby; he stands up and makes his way to where you sit on the mattress, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters against the side of your head, and he has no idea what you’re thinking—if you’re horrified or embarrassed or something else by his admission. It’s out now, though. He can’t take it back, and he doesn’t think he would want to take it back anyway.

It takes another long moment of him holding you awkwardly, you trying not to cry too loudly. But then you give a weak laugh, and whisper hoarsely, “I really thought you were on drugs again.”

“Therapy is sometimes harder than sobriety.”

You pull away a little and stare at him with eyes brilliant with tears. “Would you have said anything if I were still with Paolo?”

“Maybe. I might have changed the messaging. I wouldn’t have wanted to get in the middle of anything.”

You chuck him weakly on his bicep. “I’ve missed you, you asshole. And I wasn’t expecting any of this.”

He grins down at you. “If you feel too out of sorts, we could argue.”

“Yeah?”

“You pointed out that we haven’t argued once yet.”

“Feels weird.”

“It does. Want a big fight or just a little one?”

“Might as well go big. It’s been so long.”

Frankie chuckles. He releases you. He holds his hands up and makes a ‘gimme’ gesture with them. A ‘give me your best shot’ gesture.

“C’mon then. Let’s hear it,” he says.

You smile and swipe at your wet eyes. “Okay. You’re a real fucking piece of work, dropping all this heavy shit on me out of nowhere.”

“Maybe you’re a real fucking piece of work to have never guessed.”

A laugh of surprise erupts out of you. “How in the hell would I ever have guessed that?”

“You notice everything else. You noticed I was using before.”

“So you dropping a ton of weight and looking like shit from coke is the same as being in love?”

“With you?” he scoffs. “Absolutely. Can’t sleep, no appetite, can’t think straight ‘cos of you—”

“Fuck you, Fish,” you say, and then you’re on him, your mouth sliding over his, and it feels just as he said: you feel just like home. It stretches out, long and eager, the two of you obviously missing each other and making up for lost time. Too much lost time.

He breaks the kiss long enough to get you turned and under him, to get your thin cotton shorts down around your ankles, to get his own pajama pants down enough to free his hardening cock. He bullies himself between your thighs but you spread yourself wide eagerly. You grasp the back of his neck with one hand, but you reach down with your other hand, take him in hand, and stroke him to his full length. He touches you between your legs, feels you growing wet and slick for him, and it’s just like home when he kisses you, and it’s just like home when he notches himself against your entrance and then slides into you.

What’s new, though, is how he drops his head so his mouth is near your ear, and he whispers, “god, I love you so fucking much.”

It’s new, too, how you clench down at those words, then turn his head to make him look at you, so he can see your eyes when you whisper back, “I love you too, Frankie. Always.”

*****

In the past year, Pope has obtained a prescription for medication to help him sleep, so he misses the texts flying in the shadow group chat that is just him and Miller brothers. He only reads them when he wakes up to birdsong outside his window.

Will: u hearing this?

Will: Pope. POPE.

Benny: Wkae up, asshole.

Will: u will never guess what’s happening

Benny: 🍆🍑💦

Will: Fish told her he loved her.

Benny: bro, wake the fuck up. This is wild.

Will: HE SAID HE LOVES HER

Benny: disgusting but wild

Will: I think she said it back

It’s five in the morning when Pope wakes up and reads the texts. He grins, and he wonders if Benny realizes that the peach emoji usually is a stand-in for an ass, which means Benny was implying that you and Fish had anal sex while they all slept nearby, which seems unlikely.

Pope climbs out of bed quietly to use the bathroom, and it takes him through the living room where you and Frankie are asleep. Together, he notes. You’re both fully clothed—thank Christ for small miracles—but you’re together on the mattress on the floor. Frankie’s arm is over your waist, and your hand lightly circles his wrist.

Fucking gross.

But also fucking adorable.

Pope uses the bathroom, then tiptoes back to his bed. He re-reads the texts, then types out his reply to Will and Benny.

Pope: 🥰

Pope: FINALLY.

#kinktober2024 #clear the inbox 2024 #tropes and tales #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales imagine #triple frontier

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mind-intheclouds342 · 26 days ago

Text

Do it for them - Co-captain x Curly

Previous - Part 7 - Next

Warning: Abortion mention.

You were watching the ultrasound you were doing on Anya, and you ran your hand over your face upon seeing the fetus.

"When"

Anya: "...I found out just before the crash..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You turned to look at Curly on the stretcher and then saw Anya, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Anya: "For a moment I thought that... you wouldn't do anything for me either... and then, with all the responsibility you had on your shoulders... I didn't want to give you more problems."

"Why did you think I wasn't going to help you?"

Anya: "...You were always on the captain's side..."

"Well, when he had reasonable decisions, of course I agreed! Ugh... I don't want to talk about this now, let's focus on this now... How many weeks approximately?"

Anya: "...14 weeks..."

"Great, you're still on time. I know I ordered misoprostol, it must be somewhere."

Anya: "What's that?"

"It would help you to abort"

Anya: "How did you manage to get them to add that?"

"Well, I lied saying that some of the crew had gastric ulcers due to the consumption of aspirin to treat the inflammation caused by radiation when they had to go on walks outside the ship... And I sent Curly to ask for it so they didn't ask questions."

You mentioned searching through the cabinets for that medication until you found the tablet and handed it to her.

"I warn you that it's going to be hell, it's completely your decision, and I'll be with you to help you with all this."

You said, holding the pills while she watched you, slowly taking the box.

Anya: "How do you know?"

You fell silent and your eyes quickly moved to give Curly a glance, and then back to Anya, who understood immediately.

"Those are the side effects mentioned in the content if you take them when you are pregnant."

You told him right away and then sat down sighing.

Anya: "You look tired... Shall we grab a drink?"

You knew very well why he was saying that now, but you nodded to leave that place, not without first greeting your husband, letting him know you would be back soon.

Anya: "How was that?"

"I had gotten pregnant a few years ago, and we were about to make a new delivery, before that I asked Curly for a new load of medications, I was going to finish it myself on the ship."

Anya: "Why didn't you stay? Why didn't you do it in a safe way?"

"They keep an eye on everything you do, and they judge you. I wouldn't have gotten this job back, they would have done thousands of physical and mental tests to tell me I wasn't qualified to be co-captain... And I didn't want Curly to find out either."

You shrugged and took a seat while you prepared what was like hot chocolate, placing the powder in some cups and pouring water over them.

Anya: "Didn't he suspect anything?"

"I knew how to hide it, at that time there were only men on the ship, I lied saying it was my period, no one cared enough to ask more questions... Although Curly was very worried, he couldn't neglect his work that much either."

Anya: "...How was it? I want to know exactly what I'm going to face."

"...Hemorrhages, pelvic pain, depression, infections.... infertility"

You looked at the cup in your hands while saying this last part, taking a sip of its contents.

Anya: "...There aren't too many painkillers left in the nursery... Not for the three of us... Not for all this time we have to wait-"

She pressed her lips together as she placed her hand on her belly and tightened her uniform.

"Oh right, I haven't told you yet, the ship is heading to a Pony Express station, there we can ask for a rescue, we'll arrive in two more months."

Anya: "Even so, there aren't enough."

"I've already endured hell, I can do it again, don't worry about my dose."

Anya: "But-"

"Think about yourself! Please! Stop thinking about others!"

You slammed the cup against the table, causing a bit of the liquid to spill.

"It's your decision... Just...Decide... For you, not for others."

Anya: "Captain..."

You lifted your head upon hearing her say that, and you could see a small smile on her lips.

Anya: "Thank you"

#mouthwash #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #captain curly #captain curly x reader #mouthwashing curly #do it for them mouthwashing

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 6 months ago

Text

All of your Time | Yandere Hybrid SatoSugu

The thing about introverts is that they need to recharge

They need time by themselves to be able to handle more interaction

They greatly value their lonesome

Whether to enjoy their imagination without distraction or to put themselves nose-deep in their field of interest

They have a safe space – a time or place meant to belong to them and only them

It’s why you didn’t go out on the unplanned drinking escapade when your boss and his partner offered

“No, thank you I have something to do tonight.”

Unbeknownst to you, you smashed their hearts into a tiny million pieces with that polite sentence

Though it wouldn’t be the first time

The only time they could get you to agree was when they made plans with many of your friends at a significantly later date

They decided to be nice about getting your affection so why was this so hard

Why was it taking so long to get any of your free time

“Sugu! I’m tired of waiting! Why can’t we just take them now!?”

“We both decided to be patient with them…you’ve already said you didn’t want them to hate you. Right?”

“...Yeah…”

“So we’ll be taking the long way…for now.”

He says that but their patience is running thin

And like a starving pack of wolves, they need something

“Oh yeah (Y/n) kind of really needs their alone time.”

They decide to do some digging as to why this keeps happening

by they I mean Suguru eventually gets an answer from your friend

“They make plans with themselves all the time. Honestly, we’re just lucky the days we do hang out don’t fall on the dates they’ve already picked out.”

Why must their darling be oh so fickle?

They decide to go to their other plan

One they’ve crafted after many trips with you home where they stayed 3 meters behind and you didn’t know they were there

Passing by an ally you always do stopping at a familiar sound

“Oh my! Two cute friendly kitties in one day? I must be dreaming!”

You aren’t and when you return home you’ve got two fluffy cats that refuse to leave your side

Finally the perfect turnaround of seeing you composed and restrained at work

Then seeing you fawn and coddle them when they transform into cats in your home

Suguru and Satoru had gained their wealth through several means

Privilege, hard work, physical prowess, and agility that made them a force to be reckoned with in the underworld

Suddenly their ability to transform into their ‘lesser forms’ comes in handy when they feel the need to have more of your time

This time when you cancel going out with them they’re not too hurt

Knowing you're already running back home to be with them

It’s the perfect little plan that lets them have see so much more of you:

“Awww my little Nightsky~your like my little guardian! Even when I’m in the bath you watch after me, thank you!”

The black, purple-eyed cat purred in contentment as you let your fingers massage the cat’s head. Readjusting your robe you slipped into your slippers and made your way to your bed. On your way, you lightly rubbed the cheek of your white cat who was sat on his cat tree aggressively flicking his tail.

You cooed,” Don’t be jealous Cream, it’s just that you get a little crazy whenever I let you in while I’m taking a bath.”

The cat meowed indignantly. Chuckling to yourself you grabbed your phone from your nightstand. Plopping on your bed you started scrolling through unanswered messages sent to you. In your peripheral you watched the cats mew at one another before beginning to playfully wrestle.

“Be careful on the cat tree, you two.”

They seemed to ignore you subsequently rolling off the perch and onto the floor. Having seen them do this exact action before you didn’t bother looking away as you read the messages from your friend in your department. Your lips pursed as the string of messages ended with a voice note.

“Hey, those two are still asking about you. Why don’t you give them a chance? Maybe they just want to be your friends?”

Sighing you prepped yourself to make your own voice note, unaware of both your cats’ attention solely directed towards you.

“If they do want that–and I highly doubt that–don’t they feel off? Like did you see how that grumpy old man gets so mousy when they’re around? I just don’t think I’d want to associate with that.”

After ending and sending your voice note, you hold your phone as it pings with messages from your friend. Holding in a giggle you tap back your response. Conveniently Cream and Nightsky are at your side rubbing their bodies and tails in front of your face as they both sprawl out on your forearms.

“Guys!”

You scold them but you have no plans to move them instead continuing to text your friend. Occasionally kissing your cat’s heads you continue to inform them–your friend—of even more dirt you’d found on your overly-friendly employers. It lightly amuses you how it looks like your cats are reading the texts as well though you're sure it’s your fingers quickly moving that they’re so entranced by.

A ping goes off and you quickly shoot up to throw on some clothes. The cats look curiously as you crazily hop around before snatching your keys. You smiled at your approaching cats,” Okay boys! Our delivery gal got caught at the gate. So I’m going to go get food be my good boys!”

Blowing kisses, you disappear with a slam and locking of the door.

Your footsteps disappear down the hallway.

And your apartment is silent.

For a little while.

“Geez are we really that off-putting?”

Standing and looking longingly at the door is the pouting and naked, Gojo Satoru. An owner of the company (Y/n) is currently employed at and the only white-haired man who was rubbing his face into the intimate threads of their robe.

Suguru Geto, also stark naked and the CEO of that company was sighing and holding the bridge of his nose, “ Perhaps we really won’t be able to convince them otherwise.”

“Why don’t we just take them now? Burn the condo and sweep ‘em off their feet?”

“Because I know you know they’d hate that.”

Satoru lifted his head with a sadistic smirk and shrugged his shoulders,” So? They’ll get over it!”

Suguru put a disappointed hand over his face if only to hide the smile that tickled his lips. “They’re not like me…or you…we have to be gentle. Too much shock and we’ll ruin them forever.”

Satoru whined, abandoning the robe he snagged to join Suguru on the couch. Posturing himself right above his husband, “C’mmmooonnn! They’re strong enough, they can take it!”

The ravenette wasn’t swayed, teasingly turning his head as he rested he his chin on his hand. “No ‘Toru too high a risk.”

“Then why don’t we take another approach, Satoru lightly turned Suguru’s head towards him flashing his award-winning smile,” How about we work a different angle.”

Suguru’s brow quirked in intrigue.

“One where we happened to be their perfectly timed saviors.”

“Do you really think that’d work?”

“I say we try it! Otherwise, I’m back to Plan: A!”

Suguru couldn’t help but laugh bringing the man down to nuzzle his own nose. Planting a kiss on his lips, he opened wider as Satoru dove in. Pulling away after a minute Suguru cutely mimicked his cat form as he batted his eyes,” Am I forgiven for me and (Y/n)’s time in the bath?”

Satoru sucked his teeth. “You almost made me forget you slimy snake! How dare you?!”

Suguru shrugged with a smirk on his face, sending a scolding look when Gojo growled and angrily clutched at his hair. The tension was released when they both let out boisterous laughter.

The apartment wasn’t silent anymore.

And you’d returned from getting takeout a while ago.

“What the actual f–!”

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chestersturniolo · 4 months ago

Text

dealer!chris x fem!reader

Summary ; dealer!chris visits y/n for a top up of her usual, but intrigue consumes her and she decides to try something new.

Warnings ; strong mentions/use of drugs (don’t do them!) , use of y/n & pet names.

============================

after a long, long day, i trudge through the door of my apartment with a deep sigh.

i throw my bags down by the door and immediately head to my bedroom, to the pretty glass jar stashed in my dresser.

i fumble around the draw and pull it out,eagerly snatching the lid off.

“fuck” i mumble to myself, whilst staring down at nothing but pathetic crumbs laying at the bottom of the jar. i let out a frustrated huff,setting it down on top of my dresser.

i reach to my back pocket, pulling out my phone

the upside to running out is needing more…and needing more meant seeing him.

chris was my first ever dealer. and my only one since then. at first i was terrified of him, i had never smoked before. so having to meet a scary stranger guy to be able to do so, made it even more nerve wracking.

••••••••••flashback••••••••••••

my heart is in my throat as i walk towards his car. the soft glow of the streetlights that flicker slightly not helping my nerves. meeting a random guy in his car at night for illegal activity? what could go wrong?

the only thing that keep those thoughts at bay (not really) is the fact i got his number from a close friend who i trust.

“here goes nothing” i sing to myself before reaching out to the handle, plopping down into the passenger seat. i keep my eyes at my lap, too nervous to even make eye contact.

“uh-hi” i mumble, barely audible

“what’s up… what do you want, and how much?”

i tear my eyes away from my lap, to meet the boys gaze.

woah

i open my mouth to talk but nothing comes out, partly because i didn’t expect him to look like this , and partly because i had no idea what to say. or how any of this works.

i just sit, staring like an idiot , mouth agape.

“helloooo” he says with a slight underline of frustration in his voice, waving his hand across my eye line to grab my attention.

“what do you want” he repeats,

i force myself out of my trance “um…weed?” i squeak, coming out more like a question

“okaaay? and how much?” he presses.

his face emotionless and stern

once again i have no idea what to say. this should be so simple, but i have no idea the terms and phrases, how much is too much, how much is too little????? i try my best to hide the thoughts running through my head with a simple “just a little i guess…”

what the fuck is wrong with me

i watch as his eyebrows raise and he lets out a soft chuckle

“you’ve never done this before have you”

i wave of embarrassment washes over me as i feel my cheeks burn up, realising that my inexperience is so blatantly obvious. my gaze once again falls to my lap.

“uh..no..no i haven’t”

he must notice my humiliated state, as his whole demeanour shifts.

“hey,don’t worry about it” he reassures, his voice now soft.

“i’m just glad you came to me”

i glance up to him once again, a new set of eyes now looking back at me. warm and reassuring.

a soft smile on the corner of his lips.

“i’ll help you out okay? i don’t think you should do it alone”

i nod softly. for some reason i trust him.

•••••••flashback end•••••••

the rest of that night was spent with chris. he wasn’t so scary after all. we went to a backstreet and he talked me through everything. we smoked, we talked , we laughed. He made me feel so comfortable and safe. and i will forever be grateful for it.

i have been going to him ever since. although it’s not just a transaction.

we’ve hung out every now and again (a/n iykyk) and an unspoken connection has been built between me and chris since we met that night. i’m honestly not sure what it is.

i’m not just a customer.

he’s not just my dealer.

we care for eachother.

———————

i change into an oversize T and some shorts to get comfy, whipping my bra off and basking in the free feeling. i hear my phone ping, i look over to see a text from chris ,

“here”

i smirk and slip some shoes on, not bothering with any extra clothing, making my way out the the apartment.

i see his car parked in the complex lot, i rush over ,goosebump’s engulf my skin as the cold night air whips around my legs. i swing the door open, plopping into the passenger seat of the warm car, the smell of chris’ familiar cologne fills the air.

“hey ma” he chirps, shooting me his signature smirk whilst his eyes trail down to my legs and back up again.

“want your usual?” he asked, starting to rummage through the backpack on his lap.

“pleaaaaseee” i smile.

chris starts pulling out handfuls of baggies placing them on his lap, whilst looking for my usual. my nosey eyes fall on the pile, examining the contents of each bag. one in particular catches my eye. the bright white contents staring back at me. i had never had any interest in anything else other than smoking. but for some reason,in this moment, my intrigue was strong.

“here” chris says, holding out a familiar bag.

i grab the bag without looking up

“thanks”

chris notices my fixation and follows my gaze down to his lap.

“oh absolutely not!”

i snap my head up, his slightly widened eyes already on me. his eyebrows are raised as he looks at me with a face full of disbelief. this quickly turns into a stern look.

“no way, i’m not selling that to you”

“why not, you sell it to other people?” i challenge with a slight pout.

chris sighs and tears his eyes away,setting them on the dashboard.

“yes, but they’re other people ma. you’re you.” he glances back to me

“i’m not selling that shit to you y/n”

i roll my eyes with a defeated sigh.

“fine” i mumble, crossing my arms, turning my head frontways away from chris.

“don’t sell it to me. i just kinda wanted to try it…” i speak quietly, whilst making sure the disappointment in my tone was clear.

see i knew chris was a softy deep down. at least for me. so i figured i’d try and make him cave with my pouty tone. but just incase that wouldn’t work, i had the perfect back up. Chris was firm about me not buying from anyone else… it wasn’t about him losing business, it was about other peoples product. He’d warned me countless times about “stepped on shit” and he made it very clear he doesn’t want me to go anywhere else for a fix.

“i guess i’ll see if y/f/n has any other contacts, maybe they’ll sell it to me” i say casually

“god dammit” i hear chris hiss under his breath through gritted teeth.

i smirk internally knowing that comment was working exactly how it was meant to.

i feel him grab my jaw, guiding my head back towards him. his eyes staring intently into mine.

“one try” he states. pointing a finger at me with his free hand.

my lips turn upward into a smirk,

he notices my satisfaction, releasing his grip on my jaw. he sighs with a shake of his head. stuffing the scattered baggies on his lap back into his bag, before opening the car door and stepping out. i watch him as he comes round to my door, opening it and reaching a hand out.

“come on” he orders.

i grab his hand, he pulls me up and starts leading me back to my apartment.

—————

my leg bounces anxiously as i perch on the edge of my couch, watching as chris wades through his bag once again. finally he pulls out the bag i was fixated on. he holds it up to our eye level, his eyes move from the bag to me.

“you’re sure about this?” he asks, with a dead serious expression. searching my eyes for any traces of hesitancy.

i nod my head

“talk to me” he presses

“yes chris i’m sure”

he gives a soft nod of his head before opening the bag. i watch as he brings his finger to his mouth giving a small suck to the tip, getting it wet.

he pauses, glancing up to me

“you trust me?”

i nod once again “of course”

he reaches into the bag dipping his finger into the powder. i watch curiously as it sticks to his wet finger tip. he scoots closer to me on the couch and uses his free hand to hold my jaw.

“open sweetheart” he whispers, giving my jaw a small squeeze.

my brows furrow slightly, but i obey, slowly opening my mouth.

chris brings his other hand towards me , and slowly slides the coated finger into the side of my mouth. i feel him find his way to my gums, slowly rubbing up and down. his reassuring eyes not leaving mine.

he repeats the action to the other side,then slowly pulls his finger out, planting a sweet kiss onto my cheek whilst still holding my jaw. before placing the finger that was in my mouth, into his own, taking off the excess.

he sits back into the couch and watches me.

a mixture of anticipation and nerves start to wash over me, my leg returning to its bouncing state. the fear of what will happen next starts swirling in my brain.

chris noticed my shift immediately , he reaches over and grips my knee, holting the bounces. brushing his thumb in small soothing circles.

“hey-” he coos, bobbing his head down slightly to meet my gaze that’s now resting on the floor

“-it’s okay ma, i’ve got you aight?”

================================

a/n - thankyou for reading loves🤍🤍🤍 and thankyou again for 500 of you!!? this was a fun one i hope you enjoyed. requests open 🥰

- 𝑺𝒂𝒈𝒆 ♡

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo edit #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #the sturniolo triplets

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junqkook · 9 months ago

Text

— ROTTENFOLK: AFTERMATH (m.)

PAIRING. jungkook/reader, taehyung/reader GENRE. faerie au, angst, smut WORDS. 10,234 RATING. explicit

SYNOPSIS. six years after escaping from the faerie realm, you’ve done everything to hide yourself and your son from the high king. but you should have known he would never let you go so easily.

CONTENTS. boyfriend taehyung, faerie king jungkook, human reader, mother reader, father jungkook, kidnapping, manipulation, slight dubcon, riding, grinding, creampie, unprotected sex (stay safe!), rough sex, hair pulling, biting/marking, possessiveness, accidental exhibitionism/voyeurism, infidelity, multiple orgasms, hinted f/f, pregnancy, multiple smut scenes (!), overstimulation, fingering, dom jungkook.

NOTES. this is a sequel to rottenfolk. i highly suggest reading rottenfolk before reading this one. Y’ALL GOT ME MISSING THIS WORLD, so i gave in to my own desires and wrote this. i’ll warn you all now: this is not a happy story.

EXTRA NOTES. UNRWA; Care for Gaza; Direct Aid For Gaza. please consider donating to and/or sharing these organizations.

— rottenfolk. rottenfolk: aftermath.

Taehyung’s arms wrapped around you from behind and you giggled, leaning back into his chest. The smell of breakfast filled the kitchen and your boyfriend’s warm lips pressed chaste kisses against your neck.

“Missed you this morning,” he murmured.

You hummed and closed your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of him. “I woke up early and decided to treat my lovely boys to breakfast today.”

Taehyung chuckled and pulled his mouth away from your neck, resting his cheek against yours instead. “You know what Soobin told me last night?”

“What’d he tell you?”

“He concocted such an imaginative story,” your boyfriend of three years started, a lightness to his voice that comforted you. “Said he saw magical creatures in the forest by the park that knew his name—”

Your eyes shot open and you tensed in Taehyung’s arms. “What?”

He continued without noticing your reaction. “Yeah, he was telling me all about these—actually kind of grotesque now that I think about it—”

You whirled around in his arms and faced him. “When did he tell you this exactly? Where?”

Taehyung cupped your face and smiled at you. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Don’t worry, it’s just a story, he was probably watching YouTube or something and got the ideas—”

“Tae,” you pressed. “I’m serious. Please answer me.”

He held up his hands in defense and nodded. “Okay, okay. He told me while we were walking home from the park yesterday. He was really excited about it and said the fairies told him they’d see him again. It’s nothing bad, sweetheart. He’s just a five year old with an active imagination.”

You cursed under your breath. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

Taehyung shrugged and crossed his arms. “I don’t know, it didn’t seem like pressing information to share. And you were dead tired when you came home, so it must have slipped my mind.” As he watched you flutter around the kitchen nervously, he continued. “Can you tell me what’s going on with you right now?”

You sighed and faced your boyfriend. “Remember when I told you about Soobin’s father?”

Taehyung pursed his lips. “Yeah. You said he’s dangerous.”

“He is,” you said. “I didn’t think he’d find me, or even be interested in it, but—he doesn’t know about Soobin. And I planned to keep it that way.”

“Okay,” Taehyung replied slowly. “So what’s changed?”

“Everything,” you whimpered. “If Soobin said that to you, it means his father knows about him. It’s… his people,” you said carefully. “They’re the only ones who would tell Soobin that they’re magical creatures and—if they know about my son, it’s only a matter of time before he knows, too.”

Taehyung rubbed his temples, making sure to keep his voice low. “So, what do we do now?”

Before you could answer, the sound of padding footsteps through the house interrupted your conversation. “Mama, good morning!” Soobin’s sleepy voice called out. He appeared from behind Taehyung, rubbing his tired eyes.

Scooping him up into your arms, you pressed kisses to his chubby cheek. He murmured half-heartedly and buried his little face into your neck. The tips of his growing horns pressed into your skin lightly. You smoothed down his dark hair and gave Taehyung a pleading look.

“Morning, little man,” your boyfriend said, patting your son on the back. “You ready for breakfast?”

Soobin sat up in your arms, turning his small body to look at his surrogate father, who had been in majority of his life. “Yes,” he mumbled, squirming until you set him down so he could grasp at Taehyung’s large hand. “Good morning.”

You watched Taehyung lead him over to the table, helping him scoot his chair closer to the table once he was seated. Hurrying, you brought over your boys’ plates and then went back for yours. Soobin and Taehyung waited for you to be seated to start eating.

“S’good, Mama,” Soobin said around his food.

You smiled. “Thank you, Binnie,” you replied. You almost had no appetite, the thoughts of Jungkook swirling in your head. You hated that your chest still ached, even with the years distancing you.

The day passed achingly slowly, every minute and every second feeling like an eternity; every sound and every shadow brought with it a wave of anxiety that you hadn’t felt in a long time. You felt bad for not allowing Soobin to go with Taehyung to the store, ignoring his pouting with a heavy heart.

Finally, when it was time for bed, you tucked Soobin in with a kiss to his forehead. He looked up at you with his eyes that were so like his father’s, pupils slitted like a cat’s, that you couldn’t help the wave of fear that shot through you. But you knew Soobin wasn’t like Jungkook, no matter how much he grew to resemble him in his looks with every day.

“Binnie,” you whispered, sitting at the edge of his bed while your hand stroked the strands of his dark hair. “I love you.”

He gave you a smile that was so soft, you hated yourself for seeing any part of Jungkook in him. “I love you more, Mama.” You chuckled, your worry easing a tiny bit. “I don’t know why you were sad today, but tomorrow will be better!”

You blinked back the tears that you could feel prickling in your eyes. “I know it will be,” you answered him, leaning down to press another kiss to his forehead. “Sweet dreams, baby.”

As you stood, you noticed Taehyung smiling at the scene from the doorway. “Night, little prince,” he said to your son. The word jabbed at your ribs and you felt like you couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“That’s a new nickname,” you managed to get out between your nerves.

Soobin giggled from his bed. “The magical faeries called me that!” he said excitedly. “Wouldn’t it be so cool if I really was a prince, Mama?”

You turned to give him a strained smile. “It would be so cool, Soobin.”

“So cool,” he repeated, his voice trailing off as his eyes shut. “G’night, Tae.”

When you shut the door of his bedroom, you nearly collapsed—if it hadn’t been for Taehyung’s arms wrapping around your waist, you would have dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung whispered in panic as he held you up. You tried not to cry into his chest, finding comfort in his arms for a few agonizing seconds before you stood completely.

“Nothing, just—I’m fine,” you lied. “We should go to bed.” Taehyung’s lips pursed, not believing you for once second. “Please,” you whimpered.

With a sigh, Taehyung nodded. “Okay, okay. Let’s go to bed.”

Once in your own room, Taehyung’s warm body against yours, you rolled over until you were on top of him. He gazed up at you with hooded eyes, his hands finding purchase on your hips.

“I thought you were tired,” he murmured.

“How can I go to sleep when my man is laying there, looking that good?” you teased, wiggling yourself until you were slowly grinding against his clothed cock. He groaned and you could feel him hardening underneath you. With a shudder, you started grinding yourself against him harder, the friction delicious against your clit.

Taehyung’s hands slipped under your shirt and dragged it off your torso, your hips never stopping their movements against him. He sat up in the bed, his hips rocking up, and his mouth started sucking one of your nipples harshly. You pushed yourself off his lap for a few seconds to rapidly tug your pajama pants and underwear off, pulling Taehyung’s sweats and boxers halfway down his thighs as well. His cock was hard and red and you wrapped your hand around the length of it, pumping it quickly.

“You’re so hot, you know that?” he groaned against your breast, flicking and twisting your other nipple with his fingers. You tried to keep your voice down as you mewled, pushing yourself flush against his body and guiding the head of his cock to your slit. You rubbed it against your slit a few times, the head bumping into your clit with every drag, before you started to lower yourself onto it.

“You’re so big,” you panted into his ear, the burn of his cock stretching your walls making you clench tightly.

“No matter how many times I fuck you, this pussy is always so tight for me,” he grunted, grabbing for your hips and removing his mouth from your chest. His fingers dug into your bare skin and you sank down completely, shivering and clenching his cock inside of you.

Taehyung’s fingers found your clit easily after years of learning your body and he started to rub as you ground your hips into his. Soon, he was thrusting up into you roughly, his fingers on your hips helping you move up and down to keep pace with him. You gripped his hair and tugged his mouth to yours, kissing him deeply, the slap of your skin against his filling the room along with your little noises.

You orgasmed quickly, your wound up body giving way to pleasure easily. As your walls spasmed around his snapping hips, Taehyung cursed under his breath and held you down on his cock as it twitched, spurts of hot come filling you up. He didn’t stop grinding you against him while he rode out his own release, his fingers sliding down to play with your clit.

“Taehyung,” you whined, “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he mumbled against your shoulder, his eyes shut while he savored the feeling.

You couldn’t help your bucking hips, chasing the feeling of his fingers pressed against your clit. You blinked your bleary eyes open and glanced toward the window, meeting cat-like eyes that startled you into a second orgasm while the head of Taehyung’s spilling cock continued to rub against your g-spot.

You had to bite down on your bottom lip to stop the shout that tried to tear itself out of your throat—a mix of fear and pleasure.

Rocking your hips against Taehyung’s softening cock inside of you, you wrapped your arms around him and kept his head buried in your chest as he pressed kisses to the tops of your breasts. Your eyes never left the ones staring back at you.

Jungkook watched you with heat in his gaze, even though the rest of his face seemed as through he were bored and uninterested.

The shockwaves ran through your body, igniting every nerve in your limbs while your boyfriend’s cock slipped out of you, his come following. Your breaths started to quicken when Jungkook’s form left your window, and for a second you thought you might have imagined it. For a second, you let yourself breathe.

Then you realized he had moved toward Soobin’s window, on the other side of the hallway.

With a small yelp, your throat closed up and you couldn’t breathe. Taehyung lifted his head, startled at your sudden sound, and you ripped yourself away from him, not even bothering to clean the mess dripping between your thighs as you hurriedly dressed yourself, moving at a speed you had never moved before.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Taehyung asked, tucking himself back into his pajamas and shifting off the bed.

You didn’t have time to answer him, messily dressed now. Rushing to the bedroom door, you yanked it open and sprinted to your son’s bedroom, heart pounding and blood rushing through your ears.

You threw open Soobin’s door and for a second, time seemed to stop.

The window was open and Soobin was in front of it, Jungkook leaning against the windowsill from outside. Your son turned to look at you, surprise etched into his features, and Jungkook’s eyes found yours for a second time that night. Beside each other, the two looked so alike that you wondered how you had deluded yourself into believing they would never know.

“Sweetmeat,” Jungkook’s voice drawled, your body shuddering on instinct alone. You couldn’t stop shaking, rooted to the spot as his hand settled on top of Soobin’s head. “It’s been a while, I see.”

“Mama!” Soobin cried out, a smile pulling his lips up. “You know faeries? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Jungkook,” you choked out, taking a step into the room as Taehyung’s footsteps sounded behind you. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, every atom in your body completely focused on the father of your child. “Get away from him.”

The faerie king hummed and he moved his hand down to Soobin’s shoulder. “I will not.” Those eyes that were the same as Soobin’s darted down to the young boy before darting up to yours again. “All these years, you’ve kept him a secret from me.”

Taehyung was behind you now, his voice shouting something at Jungkook, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the sweet voice that came from the faerie. You were already inside the bedroom, Taehyung right outside the doorway behind you.

“Close the door, ____,” Jungkook said softly.

Your body moved on its own, shutting the door before Taehyung could force his way in.

“Now lock it.”

You locked it.

Taehyung’s panicked voice and slamming hands against the door barely registered in your head as you turned to face Jungkook.

“Jungkook, please,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes. You took a few steps forward, stopping only when you saw his fingers tighten around Soobin’s shoulder. “Please. He’s my son—”

“And mine,” he interrupted harshly. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed when your breath hitched, Soobin’s wide and curious eyes turning toward him once again.

“You’re my dad?” he asked quietly.

Jungkook’s eyes seemed to soften for a moment. You thought it must be a trick of the moonlight. “I am,” he told Soobin. “And I’ve come to bring you to your real home, where you belong.”

“Mama can come, too, right?” he asked, glancing at you before looking at his father.

“Of course,” he said easily. “She is mine, after all, until she draws her last breath and an eternity after.”

He tilted his head and then beckoned you over. You dropped to your knees, wrapping your arms around Soobin and yanking him away from the High King.

“Please, Jungkook,” you whimpered. “Please, leave us here. Leave us alone.”

Jungkook’s eyes hardened and his hand shot out like a bolt of lightning, fingers wrapping around the collar of your shirt and dragging you toward the window roughly. Soobin’s small hands dug into your shirt and you heard him make a distressed noise where you had tucked him close.

“Do you forget yourself, human?” he growled, voice dangerously low. You could feel the anger simmering under the surface, unlike anything you had seen from him years ago—he had always been indifferent to you, never angry. You supposed it was only natural after finding out you had kept Soobin a secret, no matter how unnatural Jungkook was. “Answer me.”

“No,” you said shakily. “I am yours.”

“You will be returning with me to the Faerie Realm,” he snarled. “If only because my son has wished for it. You belong to me, sweetmeat. You are mine to do with as I please.”

“Yes,” you replied quietly, never looking away from his slitted eyes. “I am yours to do with as you please, my king.”

“Now get up and come.”

You did as he asked, rising to your feet and releasing Soobin from your grip, though he kept his hold of your shirt as he looked between the two of you. You couldn’t stop your body from removing his hands from you, even as your hands shook and your breath caught when he begged you not to. Your fingers didn’t even twitch when Jungkook lifted him out of the window and kept him on his hip. You followed immediately after, surprised when Jungkook grabbed a hold of your upper arm and maneuvered you on the branches so that you didn’t fall over as the three of you descended to the grass.

Jungkook kept a tight hold on Soobin’s hand as he led you two away from your home. He didn’t need to keep any kind of grip on you—he knew you would follow him, unable to refute his orders, especially not when he was leading your child away with him.

You didn’t look back at the house once.

The sounds and smells of the Faerie realm was something you hadn't realized you had missed so much. Nostalgia for the years you had spent among these fair folk blossomed in your chest, flowering through your skin until you could feel the tingle in your fingertips.

The faeries through the forest watched the three of you with wonderous eyes, all colors and shapes, the whispers like the sound of bees buzzing through the night air. When you looked at your son, his eyes were taking in everything around him with delight and curiosity.

Soon enough, you were walking up toward the palace that you had known so well before, familiarity settling in your bones as you took the trek.

"Soobin," Jungkook said softly—you didn't think that the High King could ever sound so soft while speaking. "Do you want to see your room?"

"Jungkook," you called, taking a few steps toward them so that you were right behind your husband and the faerie king.

His cat-like eyes cut to you, not nearly as soft as they were when looking at your son, and you hesitated to reach out to touch him. Your brain was screaming at you that any move you made would be a terrible idea.

"You'll wait your turn, sweetmeat," he said to you with a smile that could carve through flesh. "Though I thought you would remember where your place is here."

"Of course," you replied quickly, simmering down so as to not scare Soobin with your own fear.

"Mama," your son said excitedly, his small hand still gripping Jungkook's. "This place is so cool! Why didn't you tell me you knew faeries?" he questioned.

Looking at him now, your heart ached for the way you, too, had once looked on in amazement and only excitement in this realm. What would this place, with its cunning smiles and sweet dangers, do to him and his precious, innocent smile?

"I'm sorry, baby," you cooed, dropping to your knees on the ground in front of you and cupping his face in your hands. You brushed his dark hair back, fingers trying not to bump onto his little horns—they had always been sensitive to the touch. "The faeries have just been so busy, I haven't seen them in so long and forgot to tell you about them."

"Can I play with them?" he asked.

"No—"

"Of course—"

You and Jungkook cut yourselves off, meeting eyes as Soobin looked between the two of you. You could almost see the thoughts swimming around in Jungkook's head, as if deciding what to say. You were too afraid to make a sound, furrowing your brows a bit and hoping that he would have some sense to how your child had been raised so far.

"Why don't your mother and I discuss that and let you know tomorrow, okay?" he eventually said, smiling sweetly at your son—his son. Soobin nodded ecstatically, throwing his arms around you for a tight hug. You squeezed him close to you, kissing the top of his head. "Now say goodnight and I'll show you to your room."

"Goodnight, Mama!" Soobin exclaimed, letting go of you quickly and slipping his tiny hand back into his father's. How were you going to explain everything to him?

Jungkook paused to look back at you as you were getting up from your knees. "I trust that you remember where your chambers are?" he inquired, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Your cheeks flushed with heat and you willed them to go back to their normal color, not wanting to look embarrassed in front of your son. "Yes," you eventually choked out, ignoring the quiet chuckle that Jungkook let out, leading your son down the hall and towards whatever room he had assigned for him.

Sighing, you turned to the other side of the hall, ashamed that your feet did remember the way to Jungkook's chambers, where you always slept, ready to embrace him into you night after night. And you hated that your groin tingled at the memories, the release from earlier still sticky against your skin, even as it dried.

"Sweetmeat," Jungkook cooed as he came into his chambers, a devilish smile playing at his lips.

Your cheeks flushed as you sat on the bed, ashamed at your own body for reacting to his voice like this. The memories flooded your brain, every muscle in your body thrumming as you expected his touch.

"Well," he said, now standing in front of you and his hips sliding between your knees. "I see you have become forgetful in your time away," he murmured, his fingertips brushing your cheek and then tucking your hair behind your ear. "Usually you would await me with nothing on that smooth skin of yours."

You cleared your throat awkwardly as you looked up at him, your legs automatically spreading wider to make room for him to stand between them. You bit your bottom lip and couldn't stop yourself from leaning into his palm, his skin warm and so familiar to you.

"I can't," you whispered, shutting your eyes so you wouldn't see the look on his face.

To your surprise, he leaned down so that his nose brushed yours. Against your better judgement, you let your eyes flutter open and you met his slitted eyes, soft as they looked at you. There was no rage or wrath.

"Why can't you, sweetmeat?" he whispered back, every word making his lips brush against yours lightly with how close he was. You took in a shaky breath, leaning back on your hands to try to put distance between the two of you. "Don't you want me to have you?"

"Yes," you replied on instinct, screwing your eyes shut as his body pressed against yours. "But Taehyung—"

Jungkook's thumb pressed against your bottom lip, stopping you. Your eyes opened again, watching how his were trained on your mouth. "No need to worry about that human," he told you. "You were always mine first." Before you could object, he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips—you never thought you would receive a simple peck from the High King, whose touch had always been so rough and ragged on you.

"I—" You breathed against his mouth, leaning in for more of his kisses. He stayed just out of reach and it felt like a punishment. "I want you," you whimpered, letting one of your hands come up to cup his cheek. You met his eyes shyly, a spark traveling through your abdomen at the dark way he looked at you, like he wished to devour you. "I want you," you repeated.

"You'll never be anyone else's," he said to you as he crawled over your body, gently pushing you back onto the lush mattress. Your heart was pounding in your chest as he tugged your baggy shirt over your torso, revealing your bare breasts to his gaze. "I simply allowed that mortal to loan you," he growled, leaning down to nip at your hard nipple.

"Yes," you sighed, your fingers digging into his dark hair. "I'm only yours." His mouth enveloped the tip of your breast, biting down around the areola and making you hiss from a mix of pain and pleasure. "I belong to you."

Jungkook pulled your sweats down your legs, lifting his head from your chest for only long enough to remove them completely and undress himself as well. Your eyes marveled at his body, not realizing how much you'd missed looking at it. Of course, you couldn't help but let your eyes trail down to his cock, which was already hard and you could feel the tingling between your legs.

His smirk widened as he grabbed your thighs, yanking you towards him until the underside of his cock was pressing against you. A quiet whimper fell from your lips.

"You don't need to be loosened, do you?" he asked sweetly, though you could hear the tinge of mocking in his tone. You'd heard it so often, right here on this very bed, that you could detect anything in Jungkook's voice.

Your cheeks were hot. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "But I should clean fir—"

"No," he replied, rocking his hips toward you playfully. "I'll fuck you right now."

You wanted to protest, still dripping with Taehyung's cum. A pang of guilt throbbed in your chest, but the ache of desire drowned it out quickly. Your breath caught in your throat as he slowly pushed the length of his cock inside of you, a groan leaving his lips when he bottomed out.

"How are you still this tight?" he asked you, almost incredulous. "Just fucked and still this tight around my cock?"

Clenching around him, your eyes rolled back as he pulled out only a few centimeters before pushing back inside slowly. "I can't help it," you whined, spreading your thighs further apart until your knees were about to touch the silky bedcovers. "You make me this way."

When you met Jungkook's eyes, they were dark and hungry. "You're so wet," he told you, his fingers finding the flesh of your hips and digging into your skin. "I'm going to replace all this cum inside of you with my own."

Before you had a chance to say anything, or even start to feel a shred of shame, he pulled out almost all the way and then shoved himself inside of you, starting a brutal and quick pace. The bed was already shaking with the force of his movements, and your hand darted to your mouth for something to bite down onto.

As he thrusted into you, the lewd sounds echoing in the bedchamber and cum dripping past his cock and down your skin onto the bed, all your thoughts melted away. You had missed him. You'd missed everything about him—your body had missed him. Logically, you knew that this was wrong, that you had finally managed to find peace with the family you had created—but now—

"Jungkook," you moaned, releasing your hand from the bite of your teeth, and slid it onto his shoulder. "I need you—"

"Of course you do, sweetmeat," he cooed, though you could feel the shiver that went through his body. "You belong to me."

You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him even closer to your body. One of his hands moved up from your hip, his palm dragging lightly against your bare skin, cupping your breast and squeezing it in his hands. You whimpered and he pinched your nipple between his fingers, almost too painfully, but you liked it—maybe a little too much.

When his hand moved higher up your body to your neck, squeezing it gently while he shoved himself deeper and deeper into you with every thrust of his hips, you couldn't help the wanton moan that ripped its way out of your throat. Your legs tightened around him, trying to hold him inside of you forever while you twitched and squirmed, your orgasm building quickly and intensely.

"That's it, sweet thing," he purred, pushing his cock in as deep as it would go, using his other hand to push your thigh up so he could shove it in further while you came, clenching around him sporadically. "Did your human make you feel this good?"

"No," you croaked, seeing stars. "No one has ever made me feel this good." And you weren't lying, even though the guilt had started to eat its way through the pleasure in your abdomen.

Jungkook hummed and then started up his agonizing pace once more, making your body squirm and your toes curl.

"I can't," you begged, hands lowering to the bedsheets and clawing them in your fingers. "It hurts—"

"You can," he replied smoothly, and the head of his cock brushed the sensitive spot inside of you. You clenched hard, a cry falling from your mouth. "You will, human."

He pulled his cock out of you and when you looked down, it was wet with a mix of your slick and the cum that had still been inside of you. You didn't have the energy to feel embarrassed, though your cheeks did flush a little hotter than before. In one fluid movement, Jungkook turned you onto your stomach, his hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling them up so that your ass was in the air and your face was pressed against the bed.

You felt the slide of his cock back into you, eyes rolling back and fingers gripping the sheets. As it filled you, the squelch of it entering you again filling the room, Jungkook fisted your hair in his hand and pulled your head up.

Your body was still reeling from your orgasm—the second one that night—so you could do nothing but let him hold you in place there, a little moan coming out of your throat with every harsh thrust.

"That's a good girl," he groaned, his cock twitching inside of you while his thrusts started to slow down. "You always did take my cock so well for a human."

"Yes," you whispered, feeling a little bit of your spit on the corner of your lip. "It's all for you."

Jungkook moaned, shoving your head back down onto the bed, fingers still tightly gripping your hair. The slight pain from his hold mixed well with the pleasure of him rubbing against that spot inside of you over and over until you could barely take it.

"It's like you were molded for me," he said roughly, his body towering over yours as he tried to bury himself inside of you as far as he could go.

"I was," you said in a broken whimper, and you felt the twitch of his cock, followed by a spurt of his release, hot inside of you and filling you completely.

He rolled his hips a few times, and while still inside of you, his hand released your hair and curled around your torso, fingers finding your clit immediately. Your eyes widened for a second, the feeling of his fingers moving against your clit mixing between pleasure and pain. While his seed slipped past his cock and down your thighs, the feelings all crashed into you at once—guilt, pleasure, pain, shame, tingling—and you couldn't help but buck your hips against his hand and orgasm a second time.

When you were done, seeing stars behind your eyelids, he finally pulled out of you, letting his seed spill out of you and allowing your body to fall completely against the cool bed.

Turning to face him as he laid next to you, you couldn't even muster up a smile. Even with sweat on his face, his dark hair clinging to his skin, he still looked beautiful and ethereal.

Jungkook's eyes met yours and you couldn't stop your panting, your body completely spent—you couldn't even bring yourself to care about the mix of your slick and his seed still dripping out of you and onto the bed.

"Are you spent, sweetmeat?" he asked, a smirk starting to play at his lips.

You sighed and nodded, eyes still focused on his. "Yes," you replied slowly. "It's been... A long time," you settled on, not sure how to navigate your absence, even if he had originally allowed it.

"Well," he said gleefully. "You will get used to it again, soon."

It was then that you realized you couldn't see his other hand. When you let your eyes follow his arm down to his hand, you realized it was stroking his still hard cock, your slick and his come mixing all over it. Your cheeks flushed and your eyes widened—though, you could already feel the heat of desire in your belly and the tingling between your thighs as you clenched and unclenched around nothing.

"We are going to have so much fun, sweetmeat," Jungkook snickered, rolling over towards you to lick into your mouth.

The music and feasting was something you had missed, watching all the faeries let loose and be themselves, as grotesque as that might look to your human eyes. Jungkook had seated you at the table, taking Soobin away to introduce him to others and show him around a bit.

You were dressed in a gown made of silk, the neckline dipping almost halfway down your chest, but still covering your breasts from view—Jungkook could be possessive when he wished.

The faeries had given you looks, some with curiosity and some with suspicion—others even with pity, if you weren't completely delusional. Your eyes stayed trained on your son, who was learning how to play a game from the other young faeries around him.

"He belongs here," Jungkook whispered in your ear, spooking you for a moment. You looked up at him as he grinned at Soobin, watching him still as he took his seat beside you at the table, his hand patting your thigh before resting on the arm of his chair.

"I didn't think he'd fit in so well," you admitted, unable to stop the smile on your lips and the softness in your voice when Soobin laughed, holding hands with a young faerie who was dripping sap from their limbs.

Jungkook hummed and lightly tapped your chin with his fingers, turning your face to look at him. "Eat," he said flatly. "You belong here, too."

You swallowed nervously. Your eyes darted down to your plate, full of deliciously smelling food, the aroma calling to you. "Jungkook," you whispered, looking back at him.

His fingertips were so soft against your skin that their presence there could've been a hallucination—but you could feel a razor sharp tingle where they touched you, a subtle threat in the gentleness.

"Jungkook, when will we be able to go home?" you asked quietly,

Though his face hadn't changed, you could feel the tension settling in between your bodies. He hummed and let his fingers drag down from your chin to your neck, and then further down to your collarbones. You shivered, letting your eyes flutter shut while they continued their way down between your neckline, every touch of his igniting the nerves in your body.

His hand shot up and gripped your throat, startling your eyes into opening. He didn't tighten his hold, simply keeping a slight pressure on your neck. Jungkook's expression was wicked—and cruel.

"This is your home," he cooed, though nothing about his tone was soft. He leaned in closer, bringing you closer in as well with his hand around your throat. Your breath caught and he brushed his nose against yours lightly, eyes never wavering from yours. "I thought I did well to remind you of that earlier, sweetmeat."

Heat flooded your cheeks, traveling down your chest and between your thighs. You clasped them together instinctively and shuddered when you saw Jungkook's gaze glance down towards your legs.

"Should I remind you here, sweetmeat?" he continued, snickering at the way you were going pliant in his grasp. "Shall I show my court who you belong to?"

You wanted to say yes—everything in your body was craving him already, wanting every bit of him all over you. And to have every faerie in his court watch as he took you—over and over again—you could barely resist the temptation.

But you couldn't give in right now.

"I want you to," you whimpered, shutting your eyes again as he leaned in closer, licking your lips lewdly. He bit your bottom lip and you gasped, allowing him to press closer, kissing you lazily. His hands released your throat and moved back to the nape of your neck, holding you in place while he kissed you.

"Ew!" a voice exclaimed, a voice that was too familiar—and the entire reason you were planning to refuse his tempting offer.

You tore yourself away from Jungkook, who looked puzzled. "Binnie!" you breathed, shifting in your seat. "What's up, honey?"

Jungkook's hand stayed firmly in its place at the back of your neck, hot and heavy.

"Mama, what are you doing?" your son asked, crinkling his nose up in disgust.

"Your dad and I, we just—we just missed each other, that's all," you explained quickly. "Sometimes adults do that when they really love each other!"

Soobin frowned, tilting his head to the side. Before he could ask anymore questions, Jungkook smiled down at him. "Why don't you go to bed, Soobin?" he said, though you could see even your son, at such a young age, instinctively knew to heed his king's command.

An older faerie, one whose hair looked like sea moss trailing all the way down to its feet, arrived quickly and started to pull Soobin and the other young faerie with him away from the table.

"Wait!" he cried out, rushing over to your side.

You quickly enveloped him in your arms, raising him up to your lap. "What's wrong?" you asked, cupping his cheeks in your palms.

"You didn't give me a goodnight kiss," he pouted, wrapping his small arms around you for a hug.

"Aw, my baby Binnie," you cooed, kissing the top of his head. "Mama loves you so much." He looked up at you, his pouting lips still the same, and you kissed his cheek three times.

"I love you, too, Mama," he replied, leaning up to give your cheek a kiss as well. He looked over to Jungkook. "Can I give Dad a kiss, too?"

You hesitated, looking over at the High King, whose face was unreadable. Then, he opened his arms up in a welcoming gesture—Soobin hurriedly climbed down from your lap and rushed to his father, who gave him a peck on the cheek and ruffled his matching dark hair.

Once your son was bounding away, happily chatting with the faeries surrounding him, you sighed and turned to look at the High King, who you found already watching you.

"This is his home," Jungkook repeated harshly. You pursed your lips, hating yourself for the butterflies in your stomach when you knew Taehyung was waiting for you in the human realm. "Soobin belongs here." You didn't want to admit it, though you knew both of you knew perfectly well that he did fit in here—especially once his horns fully grew in atop his head. "Our other children will belong here, too."

Your cheeks flushed and your eyes widened, taken aback at his words. His face was unreadable, even after spending so much of your time with him. "Other children?" you gasped.

"Yes," he said easily, turning away from you and looking over the dancing and partying faeries. "I need many heirs."

A faerie took his attention before you could formulate any words in response to his statement, but you couldn't stop the pounding of your heart in your chest and the quick soar of elation that filled your head with dangerous thoughts—thoughts of the two of you together for the eternity you had promised to him, of you as his bride, of belonging to this world eternally.

You didn't see Jungkook for the rest of the night, but that didn't stop your imagination from running wild with the possibilities of your future together.

The nights passed in a blur of music, little adventures with Soobin, and reliving your memories from years ago. You couldn't help but lose yourself in this world, fully immersed in the customs and life of Faerie—especially now that you were anticipating your new familial life with Jungkook, as he'd implied.

The door shut behind him quickly and you were already slipping the straps of your dress off of your shoulders, the glitter from the fabric sticking to your skin. It fell to the ground softly and Jungkook's hands were already running down your arms, his body right behind yours.

You turned your face sideways to glance back at him, heat already pooling in your lower abdomen at his touch.

"Lie to me, sweetmeat," he whispered, dropping his head to press kisses to your shoulder, nipping at the flesh with his teeth.

You shuddered as his clothed body pressed into your bare one from behind, the tickle of the fabric causing goosebumps to raise on your skin.

"I want to go home," you murmured, your body molding against his as he walked you forward, bending you over onto the mattress. He undid his pants, letting them fall to the ground, and slid his hard cock against your ass.

You whined and pushed back against him, not even embarrassed at how slick you already were. You were already clenching around nothing in anticipation.

"How badly do you want me?" he asked, keeping one palm spread on your back to hold you down. His foot kicked your legs further apart to open you up completely to him. "Do you crave me?"

You moaned as the head of his cock pushed into your folds lightly but pulled away before giving you what you wanted. "Yes," you said. "I've never stopped wanting you."

Jungkook finally—finally—pushed his cock into you, sliding all the way in easily. He said nothing for a while, simply groaning and thrusting in and out of you, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin against skin. You were gripping fistfuls of the sheets, even biting down on them when his pace became unforgiving.

"How often did you picture me when that human was buried inside of you?" he asked, and you could hear the large grin in his voice. You didn't answer, heat flooding into your cheeks. "Were you hoping it was my cock inside of you, filling you with my seed?" You moaned in response, clenching tight around him as he picked up his pace even faster, almost slamming his cock into you over and over. "Answer me," he growled, his fingers finding your hair and pulling your head up from where it was flush against the bed.

"Yes," you admitted, your voice shaking. "I wanted you to be the one fucking me—"

Jungkook's door opened and you flinched, though his grip on you didn't loosen and his movements only slowed, never stopping.

A woman came into view, though your eyesight was blurred and you had to focus them to see what she looked like.

"Ah, Wife," Jungkook purred, slowly pushing his cock into you so you could feel every centimeter.

"Husband," she replied easily, barely glancing at you.

You clenched around him from your shock, your little breathy sounds fading into the background. You couldn't stop your body from pushing back into him, wanton for him.

"What is it?" he asked, his hips still pounding into you from behind. You were staring at the woman, unable to take your eyes off of her as you took in her beauty. Her hair was a light blue, the very tips turning white and ending near her hips. There was a small golden crown wrapped around head, weaving through her hair like vines. Her ears were long and pointed—longer than Jungkook's ears.

"I see you returned your pet," she said instead, blankly looking over your form. You felt like you were being shown at an auction, but you couldn't muster up any feelings of shame, still used to the way the High King would keep you exposed to anyone who opened his door—even his apparent wife.

"I have," he returned gleefully, snickering. His cock slipped out of you with a lewd sound and his hands gripped your body, forcefully turning you over from your bent position so that you were laying flat on your back on the bed. You let out a small sound at the shift, but his cock was already burying itself inside of you again, brushing against your g-spot and making you moan loudly instead. "Isn't she exquisite?"

"She's very loud," his wife said plainly. "I can see the appeal."

Jungkook rocked his hips into you at a slow pace, one of his hands moving up to your breast and kneading it, pinching your nipple hard as you cried out, clenching and unclenching repeatedly.

"They require you in the meeting hall tomorrow morning," his wife continued. Jungkook merely hummed, his eyes completely focused on his cock disappearing into you over and over slowly. "Do not forget to attend."

"You should really try a human woman," Jungkook redirected, biting his lip and hissing as his bottomed-out cock twitched inside of you. You whimpered, unable to help the flush of arousal at the thought of her joining, memories of the others flooding your head for a few moments. You wrapped your legs around Jungkook's hips, pulling him tighter against you as he chuckled.

"I have humans," she replied, eyes running up and down your sweaty body and stopping for a few seconds too long on your breasts. "I find myself more inclined for the men of the species."

"Your loss," he grunted, grabbing your hips and yanking you harder towards him, picking up his brutal pace again and filling the air with the sounds of your skin slapping together. "Close the door."

You watched her nod her head towards him slightly before she retreated, pulling the door shut behind her. You could feel the orgasm building inside of you as he continued his movements, all your thoughts and words scrambled in your head.

"That's it, sweetmeat," he cooed, hissing as he rushed his pace. "Come all over me."

You moaned loudly at his command and felt complied to respond with your body, the pleasure tightening in your belly first as your orgasm hit you like a wave, shockwaves throbbing through your body as he continued to thrust into you through it.

"Jungkook," you panted, tightening your legs around his hips and fisting the sheets in your fingers as you winced. "It hurts—"

"Take it, human," he said blankly, his eyes focused on yours intently. You bit your bottom lip and shivered, trying to move your hips along to his bruising pace. "You're so good for me," he purred, leaning down as he stilled inside of you so that he could lick into your mouth lewdly. You could feel his cock twitch before he came, spurting his seed deep inside of you.

"Jungkook," you whimpered, arching your back, arousal swirling in your belly at the feeling of him releasing.

He shushed you as he rode out his orgasm, keeping himself flush against you even as he began to soften and his come started to slip out of you and down your thighs to the bed. As you kissed him back, licking back into his mouth and running your fingers through his dark hair and touching his horns lightly, causing him to growl against your lips, you couldn't help but remember the faerie that had stopped by.

"You're married," you whispered against his lips.

He pulled back just enough to look at you and a razor sharp smile was present on his mouth. "Yes," he said. "The High King must be wed for the future of Faerie." When you didn't say anything, pondering his words to you earlier, he continued as his finger began to trace your cheek. "Did you think I would marry you, sweetmeat?"

Your cheeks flushed. "No."

Jungkook laughed loudly and then pressed a harsh kiss to your pouting lips. "Humans are so fascinating when they lie," he finished, and you could feel him getting hard again inside of you. You squirmed underneath him as he kept you pinned down, a gleeful glint in his eyes as he watched you.

"Again, Jungkook?" you whined, though you were already clenching around him and rocking your hips up into him, your body begging him to start moving again.

He hummed and grinded against you slowly, enjoying the sounds your sticky bodies made with every movement. His hand came to grip your face and he held you still, pulling his cock out halfway and then sliding back in slowly. "I will keep you here, bred and ready for me for eternity," he said roughly, the head of his cock brushing against your g-spot again and making you mewl. He took the opportunity to lick into your open mouth.

When he released you, you sighed against his lips and pressed your thighs against the bed to allow him in deeper. "For eternity," you promised.

Jungkook's hips bucked into you and started another brutal pace, filling the room with your moans for the rest of the night.

"Soobin!" you called, running your hand down your belly bump and feeling the fabric of your dress, like silk, cool against your palm. Each of your fingers was adorned in rings, some metal and some vine. "Bring your brother and sister from the trees."

Your oldest son rolled his eyes, his horns curled backwards and ears almost as long as Jungkook's. He was taller than you now, his growth spurt hitting him years prior, and you couldn't help but smile at him sweetly as you made your way to the long table. Jungkook was seated at the head of the table, your family feasting inside the castle on a rare occasion. His wife was seated to his right and you made your way to his left, huffing as you struggled to sit comfortably.

Jungkook's smile to you was as sweet as it could be. "They should be content to play," he started, but you tutted at him and leaned back in the chair.

"I want them to have some connection to human manners," you replied easily, already used to having the same conversation every time you ate inside.

"I think it's good for them," Hana said, interjecting for once into the conversation.

You nodded your head at her, gesturing. "See?"

Jungkook sighed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest. "Yes, yes, go ahead and gang up on me."

"Daddy!" your daughter called out loudly, the rushed footsteps of her and her siblings filling the hall as they ran over to the table. Jungkook immediately opened his arms and let her jump into his lap, running his hand down her long dark hair. "Minnie hit me!"

Jungkook hummed, looking over at his two sons as they took their seats beside you, Soobin first. "And what did you do back?"

Ha Yoon smiled wickedly. "I bit him."

Jungkook and Hana laughed. He let her down from his lap, patting the top of her head. She bounced over to you, pulling on the tips of your hair the same way she used to as a baby. You lowered your head as much as you could and then winced when she nipped at your cheek with her sharp teeth. She giggled when you returned it with a kiss to her head and then rushed over to sit beside her brother.

"Soobin," Jungkook started as the servants, a mix of faeries and humans alike, began to place the food on the table and into your plates. "Have you thought about Hana's proposition?"

Soobin perked up, though your body tensed. Jungkook's eyes cut to you for a brief second, noticing your reaction, before he returned his gaze to your son.

"Yes," he replied, his voice much deeper than it had been when you'd returned to Faerie. "I'd like to go."

You bit the inside of your cheek and shoveled a spoonful of food into your mouth, now used to the wonderfully rich tastes this world had to offer you.

"Wonderful!" Jungkook said, smiling widely. "The carriages leave tomorrow for the Court. You'll go with them."

"My brother will teach you well," Hana said, smiling at Soobin sweetly. She had been like a second mother to him all these years, so you understood that your anxiety was rooted in nothing but jealousy and a wish to keep your children near you. "Oh, and Jungkook," she continued, turning her attention to her husband while you fussed over Soobin and Minhyuk.

"Yes, Wife?" he hummed, making a face at his daughter, who looked the most like him out of the three children.

"I'm pregnant," she giggled.

Jungkook's ears twitched and he turned to her quickly, all sounds quieting in the hall. "You are?"

"Yes."

"That's wonderful, Wife," he said smoothly, reaching over and holding her hand in his. You eyed their intertwined fingers and rings with a rush of jealousy, but the anxiety in your chest worsened. "Faerie will be full of my children's laughter."

They looked over at you expectantly. "Congratulations, Hana," you gulped, smiling as wide as you could to mask your fears.

She smiled tightly back at you, her eyes darting down to your own pregnant belly. "Thank you," she said.

Jungkook reached over and took your hand in his so that he was holding both of your hands. "We will celebrate and have a feast tomorrow with the courts," he said. He squeezed your hand and then released Hana's first, using his now free hand to pat your arm before he let go.

"So we're going to have another brother?" Minhyuk asked, speaking for the first time since he sat down. Your middle son was rather quiet and looked more like you than his father, though you didn't think Jungkook minded. He spoiled them all the same.

"Or sister," Hana told him, her face back to the usual stoic expression that everyone was familiar with.

"And it'll be two of them," you told him. Minhyuk tilted his head and then went back to his food, shoveling it in ravenously.

"And there will still be time for more," Jungkook said wickedly. "From both of you." His foot bumped into yours and you looked up at him through your lashes, arousal swirling between your legs when he winked at you and reached over to rest his hand on your thigh. Hana gasped and you looked over to her, watching how her cheeks flushed pink and you could see that Jungkook's other hand was below the table in her direction as well.

He released both of you again and continued his food, the children chatting with each other and him, mostly, excited to have their father's attention since most of his morning and afternoon had been spent in his office and among his advisors.

Once the children were done with their food, they excused themselves from the table and went to go continue playing. Soobin decided to go off on his own from his siblings, but you still had no idea where he went on nights like these; Jungkook always quelled your worries, telling you that he was at that age now where he should be left alone when he needed to be, instead of fretted over.

Jungkook gestured for you with his hands and you rose from your chair, moving over to stand in front of him. He placed his hands on your belly, eyes devouring you in a way that made you want to push your thighs together for relief. He smirked.

"Have they told you what it is yet?" he asked.

"No," you replied quietly, glancing over at Hana. "They say it'll be another boy."

"Faeries and their theories," he sighed, though his tone was fond. "We'll be visiting the Unseelie Court in a few days," he continued.

"Me as well?" you asked, confused. Usually him and his wife went, but you stayed here.

"Yes," he said. "Hana will be going with Soobin. You will come with me."

You bit your lip as his hands started to travel down your dress, using his fingers to pull the fabric up higher and higher, pulling you closer to his lap as he did so. Even after all these years, he was still insatiable.

"I will go prepare and find Soobin," she interrupted, standing up and dragging your attention away from Jungkook.

He stopped her for a brief second, though his hands continued their work until your dress was lifted enough for him to slide his fingers along your unclothed folds, gathering the slick of your arousal on them before he pushed two inside at once, making you whimper as you leaned back on the table.

"Be ready for me tonight, Wife," he told her. She nodded her head.

Then she took a few steps forward, leaning down and pressing her lips to yours. You gasped into her mouth, letting her tongue press against yours as Jungkook snickered from below you, continuing to work his fingers in and out of you. Hana pulled away with an obscene pop of her mouth, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and make you hiss, clenching around Jungkook's fingers.

"I will be," she told him after, leaning down and kissing him harshly. He groaned and rubbed his thumb against your clit with every lick of her tongue against his. Then she pulled away and left the hall, you suspected to her own quarters.

Jungkook pulled his fingers from you and put them in his mouth, licking your slick off while he maintained eye contact with you. He let go of your dress, letting it drop back down to cover your legs, and stood from his chair, walking past the table and looking back at you.

"Come, sweetmeat," he commanded you. Rushing forward as fast as you could in your condition, you slipped your hand into his and allowed him to lead you out into the hall. Jungkook took the opposite turn from the hall leading to his bedroom, instead leading you towards the doors that led into the massive back gardens of the castle, one of your favorite places. You could feel your cheeks flushing with excitement already, knowing he was going to splay you out for anyone wandering the garden to see.

Your packed suitcase was ready beside you, but you ignored it and spent your time fixing Soobin's shirt collar and patting down his hair. He shook his head around, huffing as you fussed over him.

"Mom, I'm not going to be gone so long," he protested, though his voice was soft. You frowned, letting your fingers run through his dark hair one last time before you lowered your hand.

Hana flicked his nose lightly, earning a noise of complaint from the now young adult. "A mother worries, Binnie," she chided him. You smiled lightly when he lowered his head, mumbling an apology to you at her words. He held your hand lightly and pressed a kiss to the back.

"My sweet boy," you said almost tearfully, bringing him in for a hug even though he stood much taller than you. He wiggled uncomfortably, trying not to press too hard against your belly as he returned the hug. "Be safe."

He pulled back with a large smile. "You, as well."

Jungkook arrived, pressing a hand to the small of your back to nudge you forward. "Let us go, sweetmeat," he told you, still using his favorite nickname of yours after so many years. "Yeon will care for the children while we are away."

You looked back, waving to your other two children, who were still so young they couldn't care any less about all of them leaving for about a week's time. "Take care of him, Hana," you said quietly, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.

She smiled pleasantly. "As I always have," she replied, returning your squeeze.

Jungkook ruffled Soobin's hair. "Do give them some trouble," he said wickedly, sharing a similar smile of mischief with his oldest son. He leaned over and pressed a long kiss to his wife's mouth, sliding his hand to the back of her neck to keep her close while Soobin started to put their bags in their carriage. When he pulled away, her lips were plump and red from his.

You waved to them as they got in and the drivers led them away, your own carriage pulling up to the front and the servants opening the door. Jungkook easily tossed the suitcases in and then helped you up, always more caring and careful when you were carrying his children. He slid into the seat beside you, never preferring to be across from you like in the shows you had always seen, even if sitting beside each other was more cramped.

"Do not worry, human," Jungkook told you blandly, not even looking out of the window as the carriage started to move, taking you away from the place you had become so familiar with. "We will only be visiting a few days and then we will be back with our children."

You couldn't help but take his hand in yours, thankful he simply opened his palm and let you intertwine your fingers together. "I know," you said, leaning over and resting your head on his shoulder.

As the carriage continued on, you dragged your free hand down your belly nervously, hoping that all your fears concerning the courts were unwarranted and simply human anxieties.

669 notes · View notes

queen-of-the-avengers · 3 months ago

Text

Break Free

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Warnings: angst, prison!wanda

Summary: Four new prisoners get admitted into the Raft, and you now have four new clients as the resident psychiatrist. Wanda is an interesting person and the more you get to know her, the more you understand the position she’s in. She’s a hero even if she doesn’t see it.

Squares Filled: "I won't let you be hurt anymore." for @scarletwitchbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

When you got into the psychiatric field, never did you think you would be at one of the most dangerous prisons on Earth. The Raft houses the most dangerous criminals known to man. They started letting superhumans into the prison since it’s the only safe place to put them.

Never did you think you’d ever see any of the Avengers here, either.

You’ve seen some of the worst humans known to man, so why the hell are heroes locked up here? They didn’t do anything wrong. It’s no secret that the Accords were put into effect, and you know some of the Avengers signed it and others didn’t. Everyone heard about the fight at the German airport.

If you were on the team, you wouldn’t have signed it, either.

Thaddeus Ross walks with you down the hallway where the Avengers are staying. You’re the on-call psychiatrist where you work with each prisoner one-on-one and provide them with a bit of therapy and medication to help them. Since they’ve just arrived, Ross is introducing you to them since they are now your new clients.

“We will be giving most of the other prisoners to Dr. Farrow so you can focus solely on our new guests.”

“Are you sure this is the best option? They didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ross stops walking and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“They violated the Accords. They’re criminals.”

He won’t listen to reason so you don’t say anything more of the matter. Everyone knows who the Avengers are but Ross takes you to their cells to do introductions anyway.

“Meet Sam Wilson a.k.a the Falcon.” Sam paces the entire cell and only pauses when he locks eyes with you. “Steve Rogers right-hand man. If he gives you any trouble, don’t hesitate to punish him how you see fit.”

“Real mature,” Sam rolls his eyes and goes back to pacing.

Ross takes you from his cell to the next.

“Clint Barton a.k.a Hawkeye.” Clint looks at you but doesn’t say a word. He’s known for being stealthy and not making any noise. He’s not a big talker which is going to be a problem for you. “He’s one of the most notable spies besides Black Widow. Don’t let him manipulate you.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Clint bites out.

Ross takes you to the next cell.

“Look, I have a family. They’re going to be worried about me. I’ll do whatever, just get me out of here.”

“Scott Lang a.k.a Antman. He’s a talker. Won’t shut up. Wouldn’t blame you if you skipped his session every once in a while,” Ross scoffs.

“Come on!” Scott begs, but Ross ignores him.

The final cell he takes you to is the one you’ve been looking forward to the most.

“Wanda Maximoff.” She is sitting on the ground with a straight jacket on and a blank look on her face. She looks so broken. What have they done to her? “The witch.”

“Why is she in a straight jacket?”

“We can’t allow her to use her magic. Be careful with her. She’ll get in your head.” Ross takes you back to his office before you can say anything else about it. He must know that what he’s doing is wrong, right? “You’ll be given two hours with each person a day while also tending to some of the other prisoners. I don’t care who you start with but plan your time however you’d like. Any questions?”

“Are you sure they belong here?”

“Yes. They’re criminals. They went against the Accords that over a hundred countries had signed.”

You don’t think the Accords should have ever happened, but you keep your opinions to yourself. You start the day by having sessions with the other prisoners because you’re unsure how you’re going to go about treating the Avengers. They have nothing that needs to be treated but if you don’t do your job, you’ll get fired.

After lunch, you decide it’s time to talk to the Avengers. You wanted to start with an easy one, Scott, but you find yourself in Wanda’s cell with her.

“We didn’t get to meet last time but my name is Dr. Y/N. Can you tell me a little about you?” Wanda doesn’t speak. She looks at you but you don’t think she’s seeing you. She’s distancing herself from the situation. “Wanda, don’t do that. Don’t disassociate.”

“What do you know? You have no idea how I’m feeling,” she says and looks at you.

“You’re right. I don’t, but I do know that disassociation hurts more than it heals. I’ve been doing this a long time, Wanda. I want to help people and understand them better. I believe in the power of medicine which is what I give out.”

“Do you think I need help like that?”

“No. I don’t think what they’re doing to you or the others is right.”

“It’s fine,” she sighs and looks down.

“No, it’s not. It’s not humane.” She looks at you. “I don’t think you did anything wrong here.”

“They seem to think so.”

“For now, don’t think about them. Think about us. It’s just you and me in this room. I just want to get to know you.”

“Because you have to.”

“Because I want to. I could just sit here and pump you full of so much medicine you’ll forget your own name or I can get to know you and understand you as a person.” You hate that she’s in a straightjacket. You fight the urge to take it off her but then Ross will blow a fire under your ass for doing it. “Your choice.”

Wanda doesn’t say anything for five minutes as she contemplates her options.

“What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with your interests. What do you like to do in your free time?”

“Before… Sokovia… I loved going to the movies with my brother. We’d sit in the back and make fun of the characters.” She has a faint smile on her face from the memory. “We’d do everything together.”

“You must miss him.”

You’re no stranger to what happened in Sokovia.

“He was my best friend.”

“What about afterward? How did you cope with the loss of your brother?”

“I didn’t. My home was ruined. My parents were gone. My brother was gone. I had no one left. I was living in a place with strangers. I usually kept to myself. I liked playing guitar. Tony got me one. I watched a lot of TV.”

“What were your favorite shows?”

“The Dick Van Dyke Show. My family and I used to watch those when I was a kid. It makes me feel close to them.”

“What made you feel safe?”

“Vision.”

“What will make you feel safe now?”

Wanda looks at you in surprise. She didn’t expect you to ask her that question. Normally, prisons don’t care about the comfort of their prisoners but you do. She looks down at the jacket wrapped around her and you nod in understanding. She flinches back when you approach her but she doesn’t move away from you. You step behind her and undo her jacket so that her arms aren’t restricted. You take the jacket off her and lay it over your arm.

“I can’t do much but I can do this. You don’t deserve this.”

Wanda looks up at you with unshed tears in her eyes. Your phone rings and you look at the message Ross sends you.

My office. Now.

“I gotta go. I look forward to talking to you again.”

You leave her cell and make your way to Ross’ office. He doesn’t look too happy and you have a feeling it has something to do with the jacket still over your arm.

“Who gave you the authority to remove her jacket?”

“Me. I did what was best for my patient. Isn’t that why I’m here? To help them become the better versions of themselves? Isn’t that why you hired a psychiatrist and not a psychologist so I could prescribe them medicine if needed?”

“Yeah, but--”

“Then let me do my damn job. No one who isn’t clinically insane deserves to be in a straightjacket.”

“I don’t like your tone, Y/N.”

“You want to fire me? Go ahead. Good luck finding someone who will want to come out here.”

“You’re dismissed,” he says through clenched teeth.

You’re the only one here who doesn’t put up with Ross’ bullshit and he knows it. Everyone else is afraid of him but you won’t let him control you like he does everyone else. You respect yourself too much to let him.

Scott is the easiest to talk to since he won’t shut up. You ask him one question and he’ll go off on a tangent that has nothing to do with what you asked him. Clint is more reserved and will only give you one or two-word answers. It��s clear he isn’t interested in talking with you. Sam is more talkative than Clint but loves to compare this to his experiences with the Air Force. Wanda is the only one you connect with on a personal level. There’s something about her that’s pulling you to her, and you know it’s not her magic.

The next time you see Wanda, you’ve brought her something to eat. She is lying in her bed when you enter, and she sits up to greet you.

“I don’t like what they serve. I brought you something from my personal stash,” you wink at her.

“Thank you,” she smiles.

You sit down on the other side of her bed and share your food with her even though you let her eat most of it.

“Tell me, do you like your powers?”

“I’m kind of stuck with them so I have to, right?”

“That’s not what I asked. Do you like them?”

“Sometimes, no.”

“How did you get them?”

She knows you know how she did but talking about it helps the mind come to terms with what happened so that it may start to heal from it.

“Do you want the short version or the long version?”

“Whatever version you’re comfortable with giving.”

“My parents were killed by a bomb hitting our complex. The bomb came from Stark Industries. Pietro and I grew up to hate Stark and anything that he did. We attended every protest against him, did everything we could to try and stop him from making weapons and destroying cities for his selfish purposes.

“Hydra saw us and gave us an opportunity to strengthen our country. They gave us a way to fight back those who had too much power. They had Loki’s scepter. Apparently, I was born with the ability of magic but it was so weak that had I not been with Hydra, it probably would have diminished into nothing. The experiments they did allowed the mind stone to reactivate that side of me. It gave me my abilities.”

“Did you want to volunteer for their experiments or do you think Pietro had to convince you to?”

“I think we wanted to matter. I think we were looking for a reason for why all the bad things were happening to us.”

“Do you think you’d do the same thing if you had the chance?”

“No, I don’t,” she sighs. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you do what you do? Why prisoners?”

“I believe in helping everyone regardless of what they’ve done. Some prisoners think prison is a rehab and use that to get better. Some don’t, but I believe in the power of medicine. I just want to help people.”

“And us?”

“I’d use medicine if I thought it would help. Honestly, I don’t think you guys have done anything wrong. I don’t think you guys deserve to be here. You’re heroes in my eyes, especially you.”

Wanda looks into your eyes and tries to understand what you’re thinking. Her cell has power-dampening technology in the walls so she can’t use her magic. She glances down at your lips. Time stops and the only thing that matters is Wanda. She barely moves an inch when the alarms go off and the red light flashes in the hallway.

“Shit, I gotta go.”

“What’s happening?”

“A prisoner escaped. Finish the food. I’ll be back for it later.”

Wanda watches you leave and she doesn’t realize she’s smiling until she sees her reflection in the glass. Ross got a handle on the prisoner who escaped. One of the nurses came by to administer medicine for him but they didn’t know that the prisoner doesn’t like to be touched without warning. He knocked her out. You’re the only one who knows this about him since he’s worked with you since he came here.

That took the next three hours of your time, so it’s nearing dinnertime when you’re finished. Wanda deserves more than the slop they serve, so you’ll fix her a plate from the nurses’ station. You’re plating the food when you hear commotion come from the other nurses.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Tony Stark is here.”

You drop what you’re doing and head over to the command center where you spot Tony talking to Ross.

“If Sam’s going to talk to anyone, it’s you, Tony.”

“Yeah, let me see what I can do.”

Steve and Bucky are men on the run, and Ross is searching for them since they violated those stupid Accords. Ross thinks if Tony talks to Sam, he’ll tell him where they are. Tony leaves Ross’ office and you rush to catch up to Tony.

“You’re not on Ross’ side, are you?” you whisper.

Tony pauses and looks at you. He doesn’t know who you are and he doesn’t trust you to reveal his true motives.

“Get back to work before you get in trouble.”

Yeah, he’s not on Ross’ side. Tony and Steve are best friends. He’s here because Steve needs him. If he is going to get Sam to tell him where Steve is, then he can’t let Ross know. Tony has a plan. You’re not sure what it is but you’re going to use it to your advantage. If this goes sideways, you’ll get fired but if it works, you can get Wanda out of here. You rush over to her cell and open the door without letting it close.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“I need you to trust me for the next ten minutes. Come on, I’m getting you out of here.”

“What?”

“I don’t have much time. Tony is here talking to Sam. I don’t even know if this is going to work but I have to try. You don’t belong here, Wanda. None of you do. I won’t let you be hurt anymore. Come on.”

Wanda jumps out of bed and follows you out of her cell. She feels her powers heighten inside of her now that she is no longer under the influence of the power-dampening technology. All eyes are going to be on Tony so you’re banking on none of them seeing you and Wanda escaping.

You hold her hand the entire time you’re running with her to where Tony’s helicopter is. Of course, there are guards patrolling the area and moving shipments in and out of the area. If you go now, you’ll be spotted and she’ll be in even more trouble than she already is.

“Shit, that’s a lot of guards. I really didn’t think this through.”

“I got this,” she whispers.

She uses her magic and puts each and every one of the men to sleep. They all fall to the ground like dominoes, and you know you’ll have even less time to get her on that helicopter.

“Yeah, that works,” you nod. “Come on.” You run with Wanda to the helicopter and practically shove her inside. “Keep your head down and don’t let Tony see you.”

“Wait, what about you?”

“I have to stay and make sure they don’t find you. Don’t tell me where you’re going but I’ll find you, okay?”

“No, it’s too risky. You have to come with me.”

You pull her in for a hug and run your hand down her back.

“I have to help the others. It’s what I do, remember?” You pull away but keep your hands on her. “Wanda, you deserve to be free. Now, go before Tony comes back.”

You’re about to leave when she pulls you back into her. This time, her lips plant themselves on yours. You kiss her back feverishly, not knowing when the next time you’ll be able to do this again. You pull away seconds later and run away so that Tony doesn’t spot her. He comes walking out moments later with Ross on his heels.

Wanda peeks her head out one of the windows and looks at you. You give her an encouraging nod and disappear back into the prison. You have to have faith Friday disabled the audio and video but you’re prepared for the ugly alternative.

In case Ross figured out Wanda is gone and you helped her, you have to get the others out as soon as possible. They don’t belong here. They’re heroes and it’s time people start seeing them as that.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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clockwayswrites · 1 year ago

Text

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 7

WC: 1109 Masterpost CW: panic attack, dissociation, past imprisonment

Danny felt like he was on a roller coaster. One moment he would be feeling safe, embarrassingly falling asleep on Hood mid meal, and the next a stool would scrape across the floor. That screech of metal on linoleum was distinct enough that Danny could swear he was back in the lab. His newest wound stung. The collar pinched at his neck. The acidic bite of bleach stung his nose.

They were talking.

They were talking too close to him.

Danny wanted desperately to hide, but there was no hiding in the lab. There was no hiding in the Box. Acrylic walls on all six sides, electrified metal frame, coated in a ghost shield; the box was torture. Danny pressed himself into the corner and squeezed his eyes closed. He didn’t want to watch their faces. He didn’t want to see the cold cruelty in their eyes, not even one more time.

Had it always been there?

It must have.

It was never true, he was never their son.

How had he ever thought that they cared?

He was so stupid, stupid, stupid—

Something pressed into his hands. Something soft and warm. The smell of herbs burst around him, chasing away the scent of bleach. Danny clutched at the warmth, curled around it. It was never warm in the lab, not unless they were experimenting on him with heat. And that was never warm like this.

“There you are, Kid.”

Kid?

“That’s nice, isn’t it? You can kept it as long as you need. Just keep breathing for us.”

Who?

“You’re in the safe house. Your wounds are treated. The collar is off.”

Danny felt around his neck with shaking fingers. The skin was tender under the bandages, but there was no collar.

“It’s just me, Red Hood, and Nightwing. Nightwing is getting you a drink. Do you think you can drink something?”

No, no he didn’t. His throat felt tight.

“That’s okay, Kid. How about a suck’em candy?”

Warm fingers brushed against the back of his hand, actual skin touched his. Danny shuddered. He let his hand be turned for the candy to be placed in it.

“Pop that in your mouth.”

Danny listened to the warm voice. He wanted to bury himself in that warmth. Why was it so warm here?

Tart citrus bloomed over his tongue, chasing away the rotting taste of stale recycled air and bile. He moved the candy around his mouth. Each breathe filled his nose with the lemon scent mingled with the herbs. The tension went out of him so suddenly that he collapsed.

Those warm hands caught him. He was pressed against a whole band of warmth and Danny let out a sigh. The earthy scent of death joined the other smells. A liminal. Red hood. He was… safe. The safe house.

They took turns staying awake that night. While they likely would have anyways, what with it being the kid’s first night with them, the panic attack pretty much guaranteed they would sleep in shifts. Dick slept first and it was only training and a strong cup of coffee that had him alert and ready for his shift. He was glad for the second cup when he heard stirring from the bedroom.

It was early, early enough that the sun wasn’t up yet, but the kid was standing on slightly shaky looking legs, peering out of the door.

“Hey there,” Dick said softly and with a smile. He approached the door but left a good few feet between them. “Did you sleep well?”

The kid nodded. “Better… than in a long time, yeah.”

“That’s great! Are you hungry.”

He nodded again before glancing to the side. His hand flexed where it was holding onto the door jam.

“Is there something else you’d like before food?” Dick asked gently.

Another nod.

“It’s okay to ask. We want you to be comfortable.

The kid’s mouth worked for a moment before he managed to ask, “A shower? It’s just that… Hood mentioned one and…”

“Of course! I bet you’d like to be clean,” Dick said. “I’d like you to use the shower chair we have and to leave the door open, in case you slip or something, but I wont look in unless I hear something concerning.”

“Okay,” the kid agreed quickly; quickly like he was afraid Dick would take away the offer. They had a lot of work to do.

Dick stopped at the closet and grabbed a bath towels, two wash cloths, and the med kit. He set the towels down on the closed toilet seat and the med kit on the small sink counter. “We’ll put a water proof bandage on your new stitches and get you wrapped back up after the shower. Be gentle around it and your neck, but you should be good to clean up well!”

“I will be. I won’t make you redo your work.”

“Hey, no, that’s not what it’s about,” Dick said quickly. “We just don’t want you to hurt yourself, okay?”

“I… okay?”

Holding back a sigh, Dick instead turned with a smile and bandage. It was good to see the stitches didn’t look too bad and they were soon covered up with the temporary covering. Dick explained how the shower worked, pointed out the shampoos, conditioners, and body wash, and then left the kid alone. He took up watch just outside the door. If the kid slipped, he wanted to be able to be there at a moments notice.

“Kid already awake?” Jason rasped from the couch after the sound of running water filled the apartment.

“Yeah. He’s in the shower now. The wounds look good.”

“Credit goes to Tim, he did the stitching.” Jason stood and stretched with a pop.

He had taken off most of his uniform, as armored as it was, to be able to sleep. Still, he looked stiff and rubbed uneasily at his arms. Dick would have to make sure the other took some pain meds once they were at the new safe house and that he got some more sleep.

“I’ll be sure to pass it along,” Dick said instead of voicing any of his current thoughts. He was sure they wouldn’t be welcome right then. “I figured we’d do breakfast here?”

“Yeah, I want to get some food in the kid since we didn’t really get another chance yesterday,” Jason agreed as he made his way to the pitiful kitchen.

Dick closed his eyes and listened to the running water and Jason clanking about.

They could manage this. They were through the first night. They just had to handle it an hour at a time.

---

AN: I'm so out of it I almost forgot Trauma Tuesday! Luckily I had this written on Saturday. Poor Danny had a hard time of it, but his brothers are there to help!

I no longer tag, but you can subscribe to the masterpost.

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons #trauma tuesday

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pascaloverx · 20 days ago

Text

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future.

PREVIEW TWO

ONE

The tension in your hospital room is palpable, Detective Lois and Dr. Mayhew locking eyes as if each were ready to strike. You’re bewildered, unsure of whom or what to believe. But one thing is clear: Dr. Mayhew is your husband. He appears to be the quickest path to recovering your memory—even though Lois seems convinced he’s the reason you’re in this condition.

“Detective Tryon, as eager as you are to drag a statement out of my wife, she’ll be of no use to your scheme of blaming me for your incompetence,” Dr. Mayhew says, running a hand through his hair with a clear hint of tension. “She remembers nothing, and your persistence will only confuse her further.” He sighs heavily, while Lois watches him with a mocking smile, as if her patience has completely worn thin.

“Your performance is so convincing. You must have taken acting lessons at some point in your life,” she says, stepping toward him with a threatening air. “I can’t allow you to harm this woman before she has the chance to tell the world who you really are.”

“Enough!” you exclaim, frustrated by their bickering. Both turn to you, their expressions shifting to something like concern. “Detective Tryon, I appreciate your efforts to keep me safe. But if this man truly is my husband, that must mean something,” you say, almost on instinct. Perhaps you’re being foolish, even hasty. But there has to be something to this. Taking a risk is all you have left—now that you don’t even belong to yourself.

"Are you really willing to risk your life to be near this man, Y/N?" Detective Tryon holds your arm, her grip nearly desperate, as though trying to pull you away from Dr. Mayhew. The force of it makes you uncomfortable, and you wince, letting out a low sound of pain.

“Release my wife, Detective,” Dr. Mayhew snaps, his tone finally sharpened, his calm composure cracking. “I remind you that if we report your misconduct to your superiors, your entire baseless case will fall apart.” He steps between you and Lois, his hands slipping into his lab coat pockets, the stance a clear challenge.

"What would truly please you, right?" Lois challenges, staring straight into Dr. Mayhew's eyes. You watch them silently, still feeling the ache in your arm where Lois had grabbed you.

"Would you like to know what would actually please me?" Dr. Mayhew whispers, moving closer to Lois. "I’d be pleased to have my wife with me again, without the interference of a lunatic so obsessed with her own failures that she needs to ruin my life just to sleep at night. Careful, Lois. You’re becoming obsessed with me." You're uncertain of his intentions, but the authoritative tone in his voice and the way he carries himself is undeniably alluring.

Lois narrows her eyes, her expression darkening as Dr. Mayhew moves closer, his tone laced with mockery and barely concealed venom. “Is that so, Dr. Mayhew? Obsession, you call it?” she scoffs, a bitter smile playing on her lips. “Let’s not confuse dedication to justice with obsession. But perhaps you’re simply too accustomed to manipulating the truth to recognize it when you see it.”

You watch the exchange, torn between skepticism and an undeniable draw toward him. Despite the sharp edge in his words, the way Dr. Mayhew stands his ground, unyielding and unafraid, stirs something within you. Even as his gaze shifts to meet yours, there’s an intensity there that unsettles yet captivates you—a magnetic pull that defies reason.

“Why not focus on your own affairs, Detective,” he murmurs, his eyes still on you, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, “and let my wife and I… reconnect. Unless, of course, you’ve truly no other purpose in your life than meddling in mine.”

Your confidence is remarkable, Charlie," Lois remarks. "Mrs. Mayhew, if you need me for any reason, here’s my number. I’ll also be visiting again soon to see if there’s been any progress in your memory recovery." She hands you a card with her contact information, then smirks mockingly at Dr. Mayhew. "And don’t worry, Charlie, I’ll let Megan know you’ll be unavailable." With that, she finally exits your hospital room.

Charlie stares at you, irritation burning in his gaze. "Do you believe her?" Dr. Mayhew demands, advancing toward you with sudden intensity. You feel as if the air is being drawn from your lungs with his nearness, his gaze piercing. "Honestly, I don’t know whom to believe," you murmur, leaning back against the hospital bed behind you, your eyes locked onto his.

"Fine!" he exclaims, voice laced with indignation. He turns to leave, but then hesitates, his hand lingering on the door frame as if torn between staying and leaving. After a tense pause, he steps back inside, his tone shifting from anger to something raw and vulnerable.

"Y/N… if you can’t trust me, then at least remember what we once were. Remember the promises we made." His voice drops to a murmur, almost pleading. "I’m not the monster she’s painting me to be." The intensity in his words sends a shiver down your spine, leaving you more conflicted than ever as he finally, reluctantly, exits the room. What makes it all worse is that neither of them is truly thinking about you. Neither one noticed that you’ve only just discovered your own name, that you're lost and confused. They don’t see that you don’t want to be manipulated—you want to be understood.

“You are like him…” you murmur, recognizing that you’re no longer in your hospital room. Everything around you is intensely white—the walls, the bed you're seated on, every corner spotless and untouched. A cross hangs on the wall behind the priest, casting a shadow that flickers slightly, as if from candlelight. The room feels steeped in something sacred, almost otherworldly, like a faint echo of a memory stirring within you. The priest looks at you with a serene expression, though there’s an unmistakable weight behind his gaze. As he steps closer, the almost sacred atmosphere around you amplifies the tension. You try to process the overwhelming resemblance to Dr. Mayhew—even the contours of his face are identical, but the priest’s shorter, more traditional hairstyle highlights the difference. Your mind wavers between doubt and recognition, as if your subconscious is trying to unveil something long forgotten.

“You keep searching for answers outside yourself, yet everything you need lies within,” he murmurs, his deep voice echoing through the room like a quiet revelation.

“Father, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, what to feel,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you meet his gaze. Tears slip down your cheeks, and a quiet, aching desperation fills the space between you. The priest, unmoved yet tender, holds your gaze.

“Faith moves mountains, and as long as it resides within you, you will be safe,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle command that resonates deeply. “Find your faith, and you will know what—and whom—to believe.”

Despite the haziness, a strange comfort wraps around your heart, soft yet unexplainable. His words, laced with a familiar warmth, guide you into a calm acceptance, though the reason remains unknown. Then, leaning closer, he whispers in your ear, “Now, kneel and seek forgiveness.” Almost instinctively, you find yourself on your knees before him, grasping the folds of his robe at his knees, your head bowed as though in reverence.

“Father, forgive me,” you whisper, your head bowed. His fingers lift your chin gently, compelling you to meet his gaze. “How can I grant you absolution, when your hands are stained with blood, my sweet sinner?” he murmurs, lowering his face near yours, his breath warm against your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

You’re shocked, frozen beneath his intense gaze, but unable to break away. As you glance down, horror floods your senses—you see your hands smeared with blood. Stumbling backward, you gasp, eyes wide in disbelief. The priest rises from the bed, stepping slowly toward you with an unwavering gaze, a faint trail of blood marking his face. You’re overwhelmed with fear, a scream building in your throat until it finally erupts, piercing the silence. And then—just like that—you awaken from your haunting dream, heart racing, as the unsettling remnants of the nightmare fade into the dim light of your hospital room.

Dr. Mayhew, startled awake in the chair beside your bed, immediately reaches for you. “Hey, Y/N, are you alright?” he asks, his voice filled with concern as he stands and wraps you in a firm embrace. His arms encircle you with a warmth that feels protective, grounding you in the present moment, as if he’s trying to shield you from whatever haunted you.

“I… I had a nightmare,” you whisper once you catch your breath, the tension beginning to ease as you lean into his hold. And everything feels like déjà vu. Just like before, you wake from a nightmare involving the priest, and once again, Dr. Mayhew is by your side. You can't help but wonder if there’s a connection between his presence and the terrifying, bloody dreams that haunt you each night.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Dr. Mayhew murmurs softly, his hand tracing gentle circles on your back, his touch soothing. The warmth of his embrace gives you an unexpected feeling of lightness, as though he’s holding you together amidst the lingering fragments of your nightmare.

“Can we leave this place?” you ask, your voice trembling as you try to stifle the tears that have flowed since you woke. He holds you a little closer, and you feel a subtle tension in his grip, as if considering your question carefully.

“We will, soon,” he assures, his tone steady, though a flicker of something unreadable passes over his face. “For now, rest. I’ll be here.”

"Stay here; I need you to answer me—while looking into my eyes," you insist, tugging at Dr. Mayhew's clothes, almost dislodging his tie. Though he’d intended to return to the hospital chair, he remains by your side, his gaze steady yet guarded.

“Will you even believe my answer?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a hint of doubt, as though unsure anything he says would hold weight with you. His eyes search yours, wary yet attentive, as if weighing what he’s willing to reveal.

"You'll have to take the risk and believe that I will," you say softly, though you're unsure if you can truly trust anything he says. Dr. Mayhew's hand reaches gently to touch your face, but you instinctively pull back, murmuring, "I’m sorry."

“Ask me whatever you wish, Y/N,” he says, his voice tinged with impatience, perhaps confused by your conflicting actions—clinging to him, pulling him closer, yet retreating from his touch. You, too, are struggling to understand what you’re feeling, torn between wanting him near and pushing him away.

“Do you love me?” you ask, your gaze unwavering, trying to find answers in the depths of his eyes. His stare holds yours, as if the question should be irrelevant, as if he has already shown you everything you need to know. His expression softens, but the weight of his response carries something more.

"I’m your husband, Y/N," he replies, his voice steady, but there's an intensity in his eyes, a depth of meaning that you can’t ignore. "Doesn't that answer everything?" His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken emotion, and for a moment, you wonder if the truth lies somewhere in the space between his claims and the confusion that churns in your heart.

"Answer me, Dr. Mayhew, do you love me?" you ask, using a more assertive tone, making it clear that you are not satisfied with his previous answer. He smiles, as if he can't believe it. "I love you, Mrs. Mayhew. I would die for you if necessary," he responds confidently. His eyes are fixed on you, as if waiting for something.

"Then even if the truth disappoints me. Even if you think it's going to hurt me, I need you to be honest. About these murders, about Megan, about everything." You speak firmly, staring into his eyes.

Dr. Mayhew's expression hardens as you mention the two things he surely wishes you would forget. For a moment, he looks at the hospital room wall without saying anything. "Honesty is a double-edged sword. As you inflict it on someone, someone can inflict it on you," his gaze darkens, his demeanor heavy, almost demonic. "If honesty is what you want; honesty is all you'll get."

He stands up, lifting his face to yours, now standing directly in front of you. "You think the truth will set you free, but sometimes it only binds you to something far worse," Dr. Mayhew says, so close to your face it feels as though he's about to kiss you. His words are heavy, yet his gaze is devilishly captivating. For a moment, you sense that he's savoring the expression of fear in your eyes. "Then let the truth bind us both, if that's what we deserve," you reply, challenging him, even though a part of you trembles with fear.

He straightens his coat, his hand running through his hair with a sharp, almost angry gesture, as though attempting to pull himself together. "Rest, Y/N. The truth will find its way to you, sooner or later. But I can promise you this: I am, and will always be, honest with the woman I love—even if she doubts me." With those words, Dr. Mayhew places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, a gesture of tenderness. Then, without another word, he exits your hospital room, leaving you in a heavy silence.

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e-m-ma-lmfao · 1 year ago

Note

Hi hii, I've seen your requests are open and I was wondering if I could request somewhat one-sided Astarion x reader/Tav/he catches feelings first kinda situation??? Pretty please, love your writing 🙏

Too Generous Too Kind

pairing : astarion x (gn) reader

summary : astarion has travelled by your side for weeks and it makes his stomach churn when he grows to trust you, the trust turns into something more and he feels even worse.

warnings : astarion's scars, reader is injured.

For weeks Astarion had been travelling by your side. And for weeks he was under the impression he was only using you to get to Baldur's Gate safely. You were a powerful ally, an asset to his plan of revenge.

He would stand by your side, of course, and watch your back as you had always watched his. But he couldn’t hold back how aggravating you were, you didn’t care whether he approved of your decisions or not. You made your own, walked your own street, and he was forced to follow it if he wanted to keep you around.

And for weeks he had watched you talk your way out of situations, or convince a trader to give you free supplies. A master with your words. He watched as you lied and manipulated, and it made his faith in you soar.

But then you would turn around and help a helpless child or a person that meant nothing to you, and his respect for you waivered. Why did they deserve any of your help? It’s not like they helped you in any way. And they definitely wouldn’t help you the same way you chose to help them if it were you stranded on the side of the road with no help. They would leave you, he was sure of it. He would, just like everyone had done to him, no one was deserving of your help if they had nothing to give you in return.

So constantly you would find yourself in front of him, as he yelled at you and glared down at you with fire burning behind his eyes. He was tired of wasting time with people who didn’t matter. “Must you stop to help every worthless person we find on the side of the road?” His voice is venomous and unimpressed. It’s not the first time he has made a complaint, and him continuing to be unacknowledged was becoming more and more irritating each time he tried.

“You’d regret saying that if it was you on the side of the road, and we left you to grovel in your own misery.” Your arms are crossed, disciplinary stare on your face like he’s a child. He hates it.

It’s not like anyone ever stopped to help him in the past.

Too generous. Too kind.

Sure it gave you allies, and more often than not they would reward you for your good deed. But still, you could’ve killed them and taken it from their cold, dead body. Or he could’ve pickpocketed them for you, no time wasted.

Astarion only feels his opinion change when your actions begin to affect him and not just the strangers you pass by through your travels.

Suddenly he feels himself growing overwhelmingly close to you. Close enough that he feels he’s safe to tell you about Cazador and the threat he may play in your life in the future, and in a moment of privacy, just you and him, he offers to show you the scars on your back. You're not sure what to say at first, you just stare and it makes his skin crawl with insecurity.

He shivers when your fingers meet his back to trace along the lines, “He did this?” He can only nod, embarrassed by this moment of transparency and weakness. God forbid he try to speak and all that comes out is a wobbly, pathetic cry where a snide comment laced with sarcasm should be.

You grab his shoulder to turn him around, holding both his hands in your own with a tightness that has his skin crawling in a different way. “I won’t let him hurt you again, we won’t, all of us, you'll never have to fight him alone. We’ll help you, no matter what,” Your thumbs swipe across the skin of his pale and shaky fingers and it sends heat up his cold arm, “I’ll help you.”

It’s so genuine and so sincere, it almost makes the air catch in his lungs.

His eyes widen, and he has to force himself to hide how grateful he is to hear the words leave your mouth. He hadn’t realized that he’d forgotten what it was like to feel safe. To have someone who cares for him so much that they would put their life in danger to protect him. You were always kind to the helpless and needy, he just never thought he would allow himself to fit that description again, especially not in front of you.

You barely know him. You barely know his story, you’ve only seen his scars once and briefly heard of his former master's cruelty. But you’re ready to lay your life down for his cause. For him. To protect him. He feels lighter, holding the weight of Cazadors power on two pairs of shoulders instead of his alone..

Too generous. Too kind.

For a while, he finds himself to be less annoyed by the way you stop to help. He doesn't mind as much when it inevitably slows the journey down. It still bothers him but finds it easier to manage when he sees the satisfactory smile you wear after. The sight almost makes a proud smile appear on his own face, smile lines subtly deepening before he wipes the evidence away.

You impress him, through it all. You hold your own while managing to deal with everyone else��s problems on your back, and while he hates the way you try to help everyone, he admires the way you handle it all.

Again his opinion changes when you reach Moonrise Towers. Whilst exploring, you meet a woman named Araj, a drow, who offers a potion of immense power in exchange for Astarions teeth sinking into her skin. The mere idea has you scoffing, the potion would be nice but you would never jeopardize Astarions freedom in exchange for something that would only benefit yourself.

But she pushes, even after Astarion declines. He is clearly uncomfortable and her continuous attempt to convince him has your blood boiling, face beginning to develop a red tinge from frustration.

“Excuse me if I’m mistaken but I’m sure I just heard him say no..”

“And I’m sure you can tell him to change his mind, he is yours, correct? I assume he follows your orders.” Your eyebrow raises at the suggestion that Astarion was anything but his own being. Your party is murmuring behind you, Karlach’s hand finding a place on your shoulder to tell you to calm down before things get out of hand.

Even Astarion feels himself becoming concerned for how this would pan out. He’d never seen you so angry. A part of him was touched that you could be so angry on his behalf. But the majority of his mind is conflicted on if he should step in before you rip this woman's head clean off her shoulders.

You feel your mouth open to shout at the drow in front of you but Astarions fingers slip within your own, squeezing in warning. Your mind clears a little, and you take a deep breath to calm your breathing. Karlach and Shadowheart stare at the scene in silence, but Karlach’s fingers give your shoulder another reassuring squeeze before slipping away.

“I don’t own him, if that’s what you're trying to imply. He’s his own person. Who can make his own decisions, and he said no. That’s the last I’ll hear of the matter.”

A vampire spawn, a slave to Cazador for so many years, suddenly with the ability to act on his own and think for himself. His heart swells. He can’t think of any other word to describe how he feels but grateful. But maybe something else is lingering deeper underneath? Whatever the feeling is, it clouds his mind and puts a weight on his chest.

Later at camp he dwells on it, it’s hard not to see how your tired eyes consistently meet him. What could you be thinking? He can’t stop focusing on the way you speak to everyone but him, and jealousy is beginning to fester around his tent. What did he do to make you ignore him? When you finally reach him to say goodnight, his jealousy from earlier returns and he wants to send you away, but he can’t.

“Thank you..” He’s cut you off before you can say goodnight and walk away from him, and you're stunned. His voice is soft, much softer then he wanted it to be, but he allows his tone to stay the same. Trust. Trusting you without realizing.

“For what exactly?”

“For what you did at Moonrise. You could’ve forced me to go through with that..but you didn’t,” Astarion feels his eyes soften, stomach turning, “And I’m grateful.”

He gets anxious in front of your eyes when you don’t say anything. But his body becomes lighter when your arms wrap around him. He is certain it’s not a hug for your own comfort, but for his. And going against every instinct in his body that tells him to push you away, he hugs you back, wrapping his arms around you..

“I want you to know I will never put you in a position where you don’t have free will. You control yourself, Astarion, I will never jeopardize your freedom for my own benefit. You're a member of my party..you're my friend. I could never do that to you.”

Friend? He couldn’t remember the last time he had someone to call a friend. If ever. But the words have him squeezing you closer to his body, face slipping into the crevice of your neck.

“I was worried you might’ve been mad at me for refusing her, you were ignoring me. I wasn’t sure what I had done..” His words pull at your heart, you hadn’t meant to make him feel that way..

“Astarion..”

“Hm?” He doesn’t move, he’s not sure if he wants to. Astarion is sure that he could hold you like this for as long as you would let him.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you.. I was actually deciding how I should apologize..”

“Apologize for what, dear?” He scoffs in your ear, he’s so close and the pet name flows with ease from his lips. If it were any other man you wouldn’t have noticed.

“For how I handled her today. I should’ve stayed calm. I just..I got so angry and she kept pushing and I was scared that she would do something to you..”

The feeling is back in his chest, heavy and heating his face. His arms tighten and it silences your rambling, “Don’t apologize for being angry. You did nothing wrong… I actually quite appreciate your anger on my behalf. You didn’t have to but I appreciate that you denied her. I was certain you were going to kill her.” A chuckle stumbles from his lips, breath heavy on your ear.

“I might’ve if you didn’t step in.” He pulls away from you, hands still resting on your arms, and disappointment fills your body.

Astarion feels it again when your eyes look up into his with comfort painted across your face, a jab at his heart, and he is certain. He’s smitten and he can’t help the way his eyes fill with adoration.

You wear a small smile on your face, filling him with comfort, but a sadness lingers in his mind. The fact is , you don’t feel the same and it causes his heart to become heavier. His hands fall from your arms, waving you off with a gentle goodnight before entering his tent. You stay standing in confusion, it sends your thoughts spiraling as you leave towards your own tent.

Too generous. Too kind.

The next few days he is dazed, distracted and it shows. He misses his shots, when you speak to him his mind is elsewhere and the words you deliver slip through his ears. Everyone is clearly annoyed.

But he cannot see it. He truly can’t see or hear anything, his thoughts are screaming at him about you. He cares for someone other than himself. He is depending on someone who is not himself. He’s worried for your well-being, and he knows you’d be better without him by your side. He’s a burden with his mission to defeat Cazador, and he thinks about leaving.

And he thinks about you again. Every time he draws his bow, the thought of losing you fills his head and his fingers slip, arrow flying with unfocused aim. You trip and his previously unattentive eyes fly to your body, catching your arm in his tight grip to keep you from falling. The only words he speaks are soft, “I’ve got you.” He doesn't wait for your acknowledgement before he slips back into his clouded mind.

He is unaware of his surroundings. He isn’t paying attention. Even when you’re fighting and he is tasked with shooting, he isn’t fully there.

But when a cry leaves your mouth, hand clutching your side where you’ve been stabbed, he suddenly sees all. He’s breathing heavily as he rushes to your side to hold his hand on your wound, putting pressure on it. “I’ve got you..I've got you. please..you're gonna be okay..”

His eyes don’t leave yours as Karlach lifts you. He holds your fingers in his own as she carries you to camp for the night. He doesn't leave your side , even after everyone has gone to sleep, and your eyes have closed he remains.

“Astarion?”

Eyes wide, he looks up tiredly from where his eyes were staring at your wound. “Oh..gods. I’m so sorry..” His forehead falls onto your thigh in a huff.

“W..what?” You let your hand fall onto his head, concerned and not fully awake yet.

“I’m so sorry..I..I let you get hurt. I was distracted and you got hurt because of me, my love.”

“Astarion, what are you talking about? What..” You wince as you try to sit up, Astarion lifting his head from your lap instantly when he hears the hiss leave your mouth.

He slips his fingers into your hand, squeezing tightly. “I..I couldn’t stop thinking..and I wasn’t paying attention. If I was..you never would’ve been hurt.”

His words would almost make you laugh if they weren’t so somber, “Astarion please..this is not your fault.”

“I knew this would happen..”

“What?”

“I’m only putting you in danger, being in this group, I’ll only be a burden on you. This will keep happening..”

Your heart sinks, “Astarion..”

“No..”, His eyes won't meet yours, “I can’t stay any longer. I need to find Cazador.” You open your mouth to speak but he already knows what you're about to say, “Without you.”

“No..no way!”

“Please..just..” His fingers squeeze around yours again, “I can’t keep hurting the person I love. I can’t do it..not to the only person who's ever allowed me to feel safe.”

“Astarion..” You place your other hand over his, sitting up straighter to put your face in his, “If you think for a minute that you can get away with telling me you love me, just to run away and leave me, you’re mistaken.” Your foreheads meet, head falling to touch his while lifting your head to cup his cheek in your palm, thumb rubbing over a dried patch of blood on his face.

He stayed by your side when he could’ve gone to rest and clean himself off, and it makes your heart swell in your chest. You figured you would be alone when you woke up but here Astarion sits in front of you with dried blood covering his face and making his strands of his hair hard under your fingers, eyes tired but still open.

“Besides I told you, you’d never have to fight him alone..ever again.”

“I can’t do this to you.” His eyes close, lips pursing.

“You're not doing anything to me, we're in this together. I promise. ”

“I..”

“Astarion. I said we're in this together. You can leave but you better believe I will follow you until the end to keep you safe. Just like you keep me safe..”

Too Generous. Too Kind.

He opens his eyes to look into yours. They’re so soft, searching your eyes for genuinity. He is unsure whether you mean everything you're saying. But Astarion is sure then as he searches, you’ve never been more truthful in your life. You mean everything. His barricade is broken and he slowly moves in to plant his lips softly to yours, hands shaking against your skin.

It's soft and unsure. Just like he is. And he doesn’t stay there long in fear of making you uncomfortable, or god forbid he irritates your injury. You can’t help but smile at the genuine smile that peeks out at his lips.

“So..the person you love?”

“Careful..I can still take it back.”

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