#He wants him to see it so badly he wants to save him so desperately after a lifetime of despair and hopelessness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tikitakatia · 17 days ago

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Escape — A. Putellas x Reader

"You´re the Love That I´ve Looked for"

WC: 10.3k

Summary: Alexia finally got to feel the silence she made you live in, Tofu wouldn’t look at her and you wouldn’t answer. But she stayed, and slowly you start rebuilding what was broken.

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2 , Pt. 3 , Pt.4 , Pt. 5

The door shut so softly it felt cruel. Not a slam. Not a scream. Just… a closing. The end of something that used to matter.

Alexia didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. She just stood there, duffel strap digging into her shoulder, heartbeat loud in her ears, like her body was trying to make noise in a silence that had already swallowed her whole.

Tofu didn’t move. He sat by the door, nose to the floor, eyes trained on the spot you had disappeared through. Perfectly still. Like he didn’t need the door to open to know you were gone.

Alexia let the bag fall first. Then her body followed.

She dropped to her knees like her legs had stopped knowing how to hold her, hands trembling, breath stuttering into something smaller. Quieter. She reached out to Tofu slowly, fingers outstretched like maybe he could fix it. Maybe he would let her hold on to something.

“Tofu,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Chiqui, I- I messed it up.”

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t shift. Just kept his eyes on the door like she didn’t exist.

A sob caught in her throat, sharp and ugly. She buried her face in her hands and tried to keep it in, but it clawed its way out anyway. Guttural, aching, desperate. Her shoulders shook. Her ribs folded. She curled into herself on the floor like grief had a grip on her spine.

“I just wanted her to talk to me,” she gasped to the dog. “I didn’t think she’d actually want to meet me.”

Another sob. Louder now. A broken, bitten-off sound that made her wince even as it left her mouth.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

Tofu gave a low whine. Not in sympathy, but annoyance. Then turned his back to her.

It felt like getting slapped.

Alexia pressed her forehead to the floor. Cried harder.

“I didn’t know how else to come home to her. I thought… I thought if I could be someone she didn’t hate, maybe I could find a way back.”

She turned her head. Tofu still faced the door, ears flicking, body tense.

“She’s gone,” Alexia whispered, throat torn. “She’s really gone.”

She reached for him again, fingertips brushing his side.

Tofu growled loudly and Alexia pulled her hand back like she’d been burned. She sat frozen for a moment, then broke down completely. Quiet sobs wracking her chest, fists pressed to her mouth like maybe shame could be swallowed whole.

This wasn’t how she imagined it. Not the reveal. Not the aftermath. Not this loss. She thought maybe there’d be yelling. Or slamming doors. Or one of those movie fights where someone cried and the other stayed. But this?

This was worse.

No sound. No forgiveness. No hand reaching back.

Just a closed door and a dog who wouldn’t meet her eyes.

She stayed there for too long. Knees pressed to the floor and tears soaking into the cuffs of her sweatshirt. Her phone lay abandoned somewhere next to her, face-down, like it couldn’t bear to be seen right now.

Eventually, she crawled over to it. Then sat on the floor against the couch, legs curled into her chest, staring at the thread that had meant everything.

[lostinthecrowd]: What if I want to see you anyway?

The message that broke the dam and set this ending in motion. She scrolled up, past the dumb jokes, the soft moments, the pieces of herself she only knew how to offer in writing. It all looked different now. Wrong.

She opened a blank reply. Typed:

“I’m sorry.”

Backspaced.

“I didn’t think you’d ever want to talk to me if it was really me.”

Deleted that too.

Her fingers hovered. Then dropped.

Finally, she typed:

“I fucked up so badly.”

“I know I don´t deserve it, deserve you.”

“But I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

She didn’t send it.

She just hit save. Then let the phone fall from her lap to the floor again. Behind her, Tofu paced once, then settled in your usual spot on the couch.

Alexia watched him. “I gave you to her,” she whispered, voice splitting down the middle. “You’re supposed to be hers.”

Tofu barely turned his head when he let out a sharp, pointed bark.

Not startled. Not afraid.

Accusing.

Like he knew exactly what she did.

Alexia´s chest caved.

She didn’t deserve forgiveness. Not from him. Not from you.

She stayed on the floor until the shaking dulled. Until her fingers went numb against the tile. Until the grief stopped screaming and started whispering, meaner and closer. Like it had learned her name.

Alexia didn’t sleep that first night.

She tried. God she really tried. She lay in the bed the two of you used to share, arms crossed over her chest like a corpse, staring at the ceiling with dry eyes and a churning stomach. Your side of the mattress stayed untouched. Cold. Still smelled like the leave-in you always used.

But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stay in the bed you’d walked away from.

So she ended up on the couch, knees to her chest, still in the sweatshirt she flew home in, head tipped back like maybe gravity would drain the ache out of her body.

Tofu had jumped up onto the cushions once. Just once. He stood on the armrest, surveyed the room like a tiny general, and then hopped down with purpose. She didn’t think much of it. Thought maybe he was headed for the kitchen.

But hours later, she found him.

Not in his bed. Not on the blanket you always tucked into the corner for him.

No.

He was lying on the doormat. Right in front of the door. Nose pointed at the seam. Completely still.

Like he was waiting.

Like he knew you hadn’t just left, you were gone.

She crouched slowly, heart lurching at the sight of him.

“Tofu,” she said gently. “C’mon, bebe. Come sleep with me.”

Nothing.

She reached out, hand tentative.

And he growled at her.

A sound that said: You don’t get to touch me.

She recoiled like he’d burned her. Swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. That’s fair.”

She backed away, hands up. Sat in the hallway until the sun started to rise, watching him guard the last place he saw you. Like if he blinked, he might miss you coming home.

The next morning, Alexia tried again.

She got up earlier than she needed to and moved through the apartment like it might bite her. The kitchen lights were too bright and the silence had teeth.

She filled Tofu’s bowl exactly the way you showed her in the photos you used to send. Warm water, just a splash. Not too much kibble. A few careful bites of leftover chicken from the fridge. She even cut them into perfect little cubes, tiny and bland, the way you insisted was better for his stomach.

She placed the bowl down gently. Sat back on her heels.

“Tofu,” she said softly, like a peace offering. “I did it right this time. Just like she does.”

He approached slowly. Sniffed the bowl.

Then sniffed her.

Then turned around and walked out of the room.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just… pointed. The kind of slow, deliberate rejection that didn’t need words to say: I don’t trust you either.

Alexia stared after him, lips parted like she might argue with a dog. Then closed her mouth, leaned back against the cabinets, and let out a bitter little laugh.

“Alright..” she muttered. Behind her, the untouched bowl sat in the quiet. Waiting. Just like everything else in this apartment.

By the third day, Alexia had fully unraveled into someone who talked to a dog like he was her therapist. Or a very small, judgmental roommate with better morals than her.

“Okay, here’s what I know,” she said, pacing the kitchen with a spoon in one hand and a towel slung over her shoulder like she had a plan.

“She left you with me. Which means, in her heart of hearts, she still thought there was something in me worth trusting. Right?”

Tofu blinked at her from his spot curled up near the radiator. His tail was tucked tight. His ears twitched once but didn’t perk. He looked unimpressed. Maybe even bored.

Alexia kept pacing.

“She didn’t say goodbye to you,” she pointed out. “Not really. She just said ‘stay.’ That has to mean something.”

Tofu yawned.

She turned back to the stove. The soup was already starting to bubble and something smelled off.

“Shit,” she hissed, spinning to turn the heat down. “No, no. Fuck!”

The pot hissed in protest as she fumbled for a spoon, knocking over a half-empty water glass in the process. It spilled onto the counter, into the drawer. She groaned, mopping it up with the towel on her shoulder, which immediately made everything worse.

“Okay. Okay. We’re still alive. That’s something.”

Tofu snorted behind her. Not a sneeze. A snort.

She turned around, hair a mess, hoodie stained with broth, damp towel dangling from her hand like a white flag.

“Don’t judge me,” she muttered. “This is grief. I’m grieving.”

Tofu stood up, stretched dramatically like she wasn’t even worth the energy it took, and walked out of the kitchen without a sound.

Alexia stared after him.

“Wow,” she said to the empty doorway. “Incredible bedside manner.”

Silence answered.

So she ate burnt soup alone. And when she left the bowl of kibble out for him later, chicken chopped, water warm and perfect, you still didn’t come back.

But Tofu curled up on your side of the bed that night, a huge space between him and Alexia, facing the door. Just in case.

The first crack came that same night.

Alexia woke up with a start, chest heaving, heart pounding like it had been running in her sleep. Her shirt clung damp to her back, her throat dry. She sat up too fast and blinked into the darkness, pulse roaring in her ears.

The bed was cold.

She reached across the sheets before she could stop herself. Habit, not hope and her hand met nothing but the tucked-in corner where you used to sleep. The ache bloomed again. Dull now, but constant. It was amazing how silence could hum when it wanted to hurt you.

The apartment hadn’t known laughter in so long. She hadn’t either.

She curled her knees toward her chest, burying her face in them, trying not to cry again. The grief was quieter now, but heavier. Not a wave, just weight. Sitting in her lungs. Stretching out behind her eyes. Every breath felt borrowed.

Then, soft. Barely there.

A gentle pressure against her ankle.

She froze.

Lifted her head slowly.

Tofu.

He was standing beside the bed, one paw on her leg, head low, ears flat. He wasn’t curled up like he wanted comfort. He wasn’t wagging. Wasn’t looking for affection. He was just there.

Present.

Watching.

Not forgiving. Not forgetting. But not walking away either.

“I know,” Alexia whispered, throat tight. “I miss her too.”

Tofu didn’t move. Just blinked once and stayed exactly where he was.

And god, it wrecked her more than if he’d snarled.

Because it meant something. Not trust. Not yet. But acknowledgement. She wasn’t forgiven, but she wasn’t alone.

The next morning, that crack became an argument.

Tofu, and her by extension, hadn’t left the house in four days. Every time she clipped the leash, he sat down. Every time she opened the door, he refused to budge. When she tried to lure him with treats, he turned his head away like she’d offered him poison.

But this morning? This morning he barked.

Loud.

Once. Then twice. Then again, louder, sharper, until she came stumbling into the room with her hoodie inside-out and one sock on.

“What? What do you need?”

He whined and walked in a slow, angry circle.

Then barked again. Shoved his nose into the leash where it hung by the door.

“Oh,” Alexia blinked. “You… want to go now?”

Tofu didn’t bark again. Just glared.

And when she reached for the leash, he let her clip it on but growled the moment she hesitated.

She winced. “Okay, okay! I’m going!”

It wasn’t a walk so much as a hostage negotiation. He pulled. She tripped. He stopped to growl at a leaf. She apologized to a trash can. He barked at a bike rack and nearly dislocated her shoulder.

But they walked.

Together.

And when they came back inside, panting and annoyed and soaked from the shoulders down because Alexia forgot to check the weather, Tofu shook out his fur, trotted back to the bed, and claimed your pillow.

Alexia stood there dripping in the hallway, heart thrumming.

By the end of the week, something shifted.

Alexia was on the couch, folding the same sweatshirt for the third time like it might somehow keep her hands too busy to unravel. The TV murmured in the background, some forgettable, low-effort reality show she wasn’t really watching. Just noise to fill the apartment that had been echoing since the moment you walked out.

She almost missed it. A flicker of motion in her periphery.

Tofu.

Not camped by the front door. Not glaring at her from across the room with that weirdly human look of betrayal. He was on the couch, awkward, stiff and clearly uncertain.

Not on your side.

But curled half on top of the hoodie she'd thrown off days before. The one still smelling faintly like her regret, like every night she hadn’t known how to be soft with you until it was too late.

Tofu must’ve dragged it down from the chair. Tugged it across the cushions like some grumpy little dragon hoarding relics that didn’t belong to him. His chin rested on the sleeve, tucked in like he was guarding it. Not in comfort. In loyalty.

Alexia didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.

Her phone sat on the armrest. She reached for it carefully, like a wrong breath might scare him off. Opened the camera and took one photo. Slightly blurred, off-center. But real.

She typed slowly.

[go4goald2]: He misses you. I miss you more.

But she didn’t send it right away.

She stayed on the floor, spine pressed to the couch, staring at him. At the hoodie. At the space where you used to nap, laugh, pull her down beside you like gravity.

Tofu’s breathing was steady. Peaceful. Not for her. Not yet. But not guarded, either.

Her finger hovered.

Then tapped send.

She didn’t expect anything back. Not after what she’d done. Not after the way you looked at her like she’d ruined something sacred.

But her phone buzzed.

She stared at it for too long before daring to open it.

[lostinthecrowd]: He looks cozy.

Three words. Not warm. But present.

Then, another.

[lostinthecrowd]: Thanks for taking care of him. I know he’s not easy.

She glanced at Tofu again, now flopped sideways, one paw tossed across the hoodie like he was dramatically exhausted by the weight of his own judgment. His tail flicked once. Almost lazy.

Alexia smiled. Barely.

“I’m trying,” she whispered, more to herself than him.

She typed:

[go4goald2]: He growled at me for three days. I deserved it.

Then her thumbs moved again.

[go4goald2]: I’ve been trying to get him to eat. Did the chicken the way you taught me. He licked it once. Stared at me like I insulted his ancestors.

[lostinthecrowd]: Sounds about right.

She smiled. It was small. Crooked. It cracked and healed her all at once.

[go4goald2]: But today he sat next to me. Like, actually next to me. No side-eyes. No dramatic huffs. It felt like a miracle.

No reply came for a while.

And she almost let it sit there, like everything else between you.

But then the typing bubble appeared.

[lostinthecrowd]: Maybe he’s waiting for me. But letting you try anyway.

God.

Alexia felt her eyes sting again. She blinked up at the ceiling. Then typed:

[go4goald2]: That’s what this is. All of this. Me trying. Not knowing how to fix it, but trying anyway.

[go4goald2]: I know you don’t trust it yet. I get it. But if there’s a version of us that can still be built... I want to build it. Even if it takes forever.

There was a pause. Then:

[lostinthecrowd]: He tried to steal my spoon the first night I had him.

Alexia laughed.

Like, actually laughed. A breathy, shocked sound that felt clumsy in her mouth.

[go4goald2]: Of course he did. He’s got main character energy.

[lostinthecrowd]: He really does. Threw a sock in the toilet once just to make a point.

[go4goald2]: A menace. A genius.

[go4goald2]: I think he likes being yours, though. Even if he pretends not to.

[lostinthecrowd]: Maybe. He always did want his own storyline.

Then, a beat.

[lostinthecrowd]: How is he now?

Alexia looked over.

Tofu had shifted closer without her noticing. Not touching her. Not curled into her side. But near. Watching her with half-lidded eyes. His ears relaxed.

She took a photo: soft light, tired dog, the sock still under one paw and sent it.

[go4goald2]: Still waiting for you. But not angry anymore. I think he’s starting to believe in me.

The reply came a minute later.

[lostinthecrowd]: He doesn’t do that easily.

Alexia exhaled, slow and uneven.

[lostinthecrowd]: But neither did I.

She let that one sit. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure whether to push or stay still. But the quiet on the other side didn’t feel closed off anymore. It felt like breathing room. A window left cracked.

So the next night, she sent a photo of Tofu sprawled belly-up across the living room rug, paws twitching in some dream-fueled chaos. His tongue lolled sideways. One of her shoes rested between his front legs like he’d claimed it as a trophy. He wasn’t chewing it. Just… holding it. Like he knew it mattered to her.

[go4goald2]: Is this emotional manipulation or just standard pettiness?

The reply came quickly.

[lostinthecrowd]: It’s a loyalty test. You’re failing.

Alexia smiled at the screen. Really smiled this time. Let the warmth stay a little longer than usual.

Later that week, she found him curled up in the laundry basket again. Not sleeping. Just there. Still. Silent. His body draped over one of your old T-shirts, eyes fixed on the front door like maybe if he stared long enough it would open.

She didn’t caption the photo. Just sent it.

The reply came five hours later, in the middle of the night.

[lostinthecrowd]: You’re doing better than I thought you would.

That one hit her differently. Not a punch. Not a sting. Just a shift. Like the first groan of thawed ground after winter.

Her thumb hovered, then typed:

[go4goald2]: I talk to him like you used to. Out loud. Like he understands me.

[go4goald2]: Sometimes I think he does. Sometimes I think he’s judging me with your voice.

The typing bubble blinked, then disappeared, then blinked again.

[lostinthecrowd]: That’s because he is.

It made something flutter behind her ribs. Not joy. Not quite. Just closeness. Something that didn’t feel so far anymore.

She leaned into it.

[go4goald2]: I think I’m getting better at hearing it. Your voice, I mean.

[go4goald2]: Even if it’s just in my head.

[go4goald2]: But I’d rather have the real thing.

There was no immediate answer.

No dot-dot-dot.

Just stillness.

She didn’t push. She couldn’t. Not now, at least.

That night, it rained. Not a downpour, just a soft, consistent drizzle that made the windows hum and the streets glow gold under the streetlights. The kind of rain you used to love. You once told her it made the city sound like it had a secret.

Tofu settled by her feet, chin resting on her ankle like he was claiming it in sleep. Alexia pulled a blanket over her knees, hoodie zipped high, and stared at the window like it might talk back.

She didn’t plan it. Just hit record.

Her voice was quiet. Steady.

“The rain’s asking for you.”

That was it.

She didn’t expect a reply.

But just before sunrise, her phone buzzed.

[lostinthecrowd]: Is the window still broken in the bedroom?

Alexia sat up so fast she startled the dog. Her hands were already shaking as she typed.

[go4goald2]: No. I fixed it last week.

[go4goald2]: It doesn’t whistle anymore.

[go4goald2]: … Do you want to come see for yourself?

Silence.

She waited, nerves crawling beneath her skin.

Then:

[lostinthecrowd]: If I do…

[lostinthecrowd]: Will there be tea?

Alexia bit down a breath that felt like it might wreck her.

[go4goald2]: There’ll be tea. And silence. And your side of the bed still cold.

[go4goald2]: You don’t have to explain anything. Just… be here. If you want to be.

She hit send.

Then rested the phone on her chest like it might feel her heartbeat. Like it might carry the message further than words could reach.

Alexia hadn’t expected a reply after her previous one went unanswered.

But she sent the message anyway.

[go4goald2]: I keep wondering if we would’ve made it if I’d never let it get this far. If I’d just told you the truth right away.

You saw it that night.

Didn’t respond. Didn’t even open the thread right away. Just stared at the preview in your notifications, thumb hovering like maybe the message would disappear if you looked away long enough.

Because yeah. You’d wondered too.

Wondered what would’ve happened if she’d been honest. If she hadn’t hidden behind a screen. If it hadn’t taken pretending to be someone else to finally say the things you needed to hear. Would you have come back on your own? Would you have stayed? Would it still have felt like a betrayal?

You didn’t have the answer. But you knew one thing for sure:

That version of the story, the kinder one, the easier one, it didn’t happen.

So you left the message unread.

And far across the city, Alexia stared at the lack of a reply like it had weight. Heavy. Expected.

Still brutal.

That night, the rain started again.

Not a storm. Just a slow, steady drizzle that tapped against the windows like a heartbeat she couldn’t shut out. She lay in bed, hoodie still on, legs tangled in sheets she hadn’t bothered to straighten in days. Her arm moved before her mind did, stretching across the mattress toward the other side. Your side.

It was cold.

Always was now.

Just a dent in the pillow. Just a memory of weight. No warmth. No hand reaching back.

“I should’ve said it was me from the start,” she whispered into the dark, barely louder than the rain.

No one answered. Not the room. Not the ache in her ribs. Not even the dog curled at the far end of the bed, resolutely not touching her.

The next day, while doing laundry she’d put off for way too long, her hand brushed something soft. Worn. Familiar. She pulled it out slowly, already knowing what it was by feel alone.

Your shirt.

The one with the stretched-out collar. The faded hem. The smell that hadn’t quite faded even though it’d been days. It was the one you used to wear when you needed comfort but didn’t want to say it out loud. She remembered it vividly. And holding it now, Alexia sank straight to the floor, laundry forgotten. Not crying. Not breaking.

Just breathing through it.

Holding the shirt like maybe it could tell her what to do next.

But the shift didn’t happen in her hands. It happened later, in the dark, when she couldn’t sleep again.

Alexia sat on the floor that night, back against the wall, wrapped in the blanket that still smelled like you. Tofu padded over around 3AM. Paused. Judged. And then without any fanfare, curled up beside her. Slowly. Deliberately. Head on her thigh. Like he’d finally decided she wasn’t going to ruin everything.

She didn’t move. Just let her tears fall quiet. Gentle.

The dog didn’t even flinch.

In the morning, she picked up her phone and typed without thinking:

[go4goald2]: He slept on me last night. Not for long. But he stayed.

She didn’t add anything else. Just let it hang there. Let it exist without expectation.

You didn’t see it right away. You were trying not to obsess over every word. Every tiny signal. But when you did open the thread again, something in you softened.

You typed, slowly:

[lostinthecrowd]: I kept waiting for the moment you’d lie to me again. Or disappear. Or make this about fixing things on your timeline, not mine.

[lostinthecrowd]: But you didn’t. You just… stayed. Even when I didn’t answer. Even when I said nothing back.

You stared at the screen for too long after that. Thought about erasing it. Thought about softening it. But for once, you didn’t.

Because it was the truth.

And then, after a few more seconds of breathing through it:

[lostinthecrowd]: And that’s the part I keep thinking about.

The staying.

The quiet.

The fact that she didn’t try to talk you out of your anger. She just sat with it. Let it be heavy. Let it be real.

Alexia read the messages once.

Twice.

A fourth time. A fifth.

She didn’t type anything back right away.

Her thumbs hovered over the screen, then curled into her palms like if she gripped them tightly enough, maybe the words would settle on their own.

And finally, slowly, like she didn’t want to startle the moment:

[go4goald2]: Take all the space you need.

[go4goald2]: I’ll still be here. However long it takes.

Then nothing else.

No heart emoji. No typing bubble.

Just space.

Offered freely.

Not as pressure, but as proof.

And if you were still out there on the other side of it.

Still reading. Still thinking.

Still maybe, maybe starting to come home..

Then for Alexia, that was enough.

It had been three weeks since the last real message.

Three weeks since the slow stretch of hope gave way to silence again. Not sharp, not final, just quiet. Like space being offered, not punishment.

Alexia didn’t text anything after that night except the updates.

“Tofu still hates my omelets.”

“He barked at a moth for five minutes straight.”

“He sat by the door today. Not growling. Just waiting. Like he knows something I don’t.”

You never responded.

But she kept sending them anyway. Like little postcards addressed to a version of you that might still be listening.

This morning was like the others. Still, cool and gentle around the edges. She pulled on a hoodie, grabbed Tofu’s leash, and let herself walk slowly through streets that had stopped feeling familiar without you in them.

Tofu was better these days. Still picky. Still temperamental. But the growling had stopped. And sometimes when he thought she wasn’t looking, he’d walk closer to her side. Not touching. Just near.

They got home just after eight. Alexia kicked off her shoes, dried off his paws, and set about making breakfast. Toast. Soft scrambled eggs. Coffee that didn’t taste like anything unless you put your whole back into the sugar.

She made Tofu’s food first, humming under her breath as she cut the chicken into tiny pieces. It was routine now, the kind that makes you feel like you’re doing something right just by doing it again.

He wandered toward the kitchen, sniffed the bowl, and miracle of miracles started to eat.

Alexia smiled to herself. A tiny win.

Then,

A sound.

So small she almost didn’t hear it.

The lock turning.

She paused, spatula mid-air. Blinked. Waited.

Nothing.

Then the quiet click of the door closing.

She didn’t turn around right away.

But Tofu did.

He froze. Head snapping toward the hallway. Then without hesitation, he bolted, paws scraping across the tile as he launched into a full sprint, tail high and wild.

Alexia’s chest went still.

And then she heard it.

Your voice. Breathless. Gentle.

“Hi, baby.”

She turned slowly.

Saw it unfold from the kitchen like it was happening in another room, another life.

Tofu crashed into your knees like he was trying to fuse your atoms back together. You dropped your bag right there, sank to the floor without thinking, arms already around him. He whined. Whimpered. Climbed half into your lap. Your hands moved frantically over his ears, his chest, his back, like you were making sure he was real, or maybe making sure you were.

Alexia didn’t move.

She stood there, heart in her throat, spatula still in one hand like a prop she’d forgotten to put down.

Her heart tripped over a beat.

You looked up.

Met her eyes.

The breath she didn’t know she’d been holding caught hard in her chest.

Your mouth moved first. Not a smile just yet. But soft recognition and something like exhaustion.

Alexia blinked. Swallowed.

“Did you…” she started, then cleared her throat. “Did you eat yet?”

You shook your head, still on the floor with Tofu curled into your side like he hadn’t seen you in years.

Her smile came slowly. Uneven. A little shaky.

“Sit,” she said. “I’ll make you something.”

You stood without saying a word. Walked to the table. Sat down like you still didn’t know if was a good idea to be back here so soon.

Tofu followed, laid at your feet again like he’d never moved.

Alexia turned back to the stove. Cracked two new eggs. Burned the toast again but didn’t curse this time. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was louder now, steady and panicked.

Once she was done, she laid it in front of you and sat across from you, slowly, still trembling. Her knee bounced under the table.

“I didn’t know if you’d…” She trailed off. Bit her lip. “But I kept waiting.”

You looked at her, quiet, unreadable.

Then, softly:

“I know.”

The moment sat between you.

Not forgiveness, but the first breath of it.

Like a slow song at 3AM, playing quietly in the background while everything rearranges itself inside your chest.

And God, Alexia would’ve waited a hundred more mornings for this one.

That night, you made your way into the bedroom first. It was your first full day back, and you were exhausted. Emotionally and physically. Your ribs ached like something had been let go too fast.

Alexia came in later, slow and careful. She stood in the doorway with her pillow against her hip like a stranger in her own house.

You were already on the far side of the bed, blanket pulled to your chin, eyes half-lidded but open. Watching.

Alexia hesitated. Then stepped back.

“I’ll take the couch,” she said gently.

You didn’t argue. Just nodded. “Okay.”

She deserved the couch. She knew that. She made it up herself. Blanket, a slightly too-flat pillow, a soft exhale when she laid down like she was bracing for the ceiling to collapse.

Sleep didn’t come easily. Not for either of you.

You turned once in the night and saw her there, sprawled uncomfortably, one arm over her face like it might erase the guilt.

The next few days passed like ghosts. Echoes of what you used to be. You existed near each other, but never quite with. Enough to share the air, but not the weight.

Alexia still cooked.

You still ate.

Tofu wedged himself between the two of you like clockwork. Head on your knee. Tail tapping once against Alexia’s leg like an afterthought. He’d chosen to stay with her. That was your choice. But God, did he know how to keep the tension perfectly preserved. Every time Alexia shifted an inch closer, he countered. A living buffer.

Conversation didn’t come easily, not yet. It was mostly small things.

“Do you need more toothpaste? I think I used the last of yours.”

“No, it’s fine. I brought some.”

Silence.

“There’s clean laundry on the bed,” she offered. “I didn’t fold yours. Wasn’t sure if you still… like your socks inside out.”

You blinked. “I do.”

More silence.

But she kept discovering new versions of you, now quietly spoken: the way you curled your fingers when you were anxious. How you tapped your thumb against the mug handle while you thought. That you still hated mushrooms but now loved cherry marmalade, which made her smile against the rim of her own cup.

You poured her coffee on day three.

With whipped cream and a lot of cinnamon.

She almost cried into it.

By day five, she stopped trying to talk. Just listened. Let you move around the apartment like it belonged to both of you again, even if it didn’t feel that way yet.

You fell asleep on the couch watching a documentary one night. Tofu at your feet. Remote halfway off the cushion. Your head tilted against the armrest in that vulnerable way you used to hate being seen in.

Alexia stood at the edge of the room for a full minute.

Then walked over. Blanket in hand.

She draped it over you slowly. Her fingers brushed your shoulder as she tucked it under your chin.

You didn’t move.

But your hand curled around the edge of the blanket like maybe you felt it. Maybe that meant something.

The next morning, she found you in the kitchen.

Two mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of home-made churros sat side by side.

She blinked. “You remembered.”

You looked over your shoulder, voice soft. “How could I forget?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. Tried not to cry again.

You still didn’t touch much.

But that night, in the hallway, you passed too closely, and her shoulder brushed yours. You didn’t flinch.

She didn’t step away, but she let it linger.

The air between you had changed, it was no longer charged with hurt. Just full. Full of waiting. Full of maybe.

And Alexia?

She could live in maybe.

As long as you were still here to keep filling it.

It started with the laundry. Not dramatic. Not symbolic. Just a pile of shared life folded into fresh corners. Shirts, socks, a hoodie that might’ve been yours but ended up on her side once, back when there was a “her side” to anything. Alexia stood in the hallway, watching you fold a pair of your own leggings with practiced detachment. She hadn’t meant to watch, hadn’t meant to hover, but there she was. Arms crossed, thumb picking at her nail, heart doing that nervous skip it always did around you now.

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t look up.

But you didn’t leave either.

She stepped closer. Careful. Soft.

You didn’t flinch.

Not even when her hand brushed the towel you’d just folded, her knuckles grazing yours for half a second too long. Electricity passed between you like a memory. Like want. Like maybe the version of you that used to lean into that kind of touch was still there, buried under all the ache.

Neither of you said a word. But when you turned away, your shoulders weren’t tight. You let her stay in the room with you. That was new.

And it was enough for now.

The nights stayed quiet, but the silence changed color.

You were back in the bed since the first day, but not in the middle. Not curled into her like you used to be. But finally, your pillow smelled like your hair again, and your blanket had a shape to it.

Alexia still didn’t join you.

She slept on the couch without complaint. Every night. A blanket to her chin, the room always just a little too cold, your breathing just out of reach.

Sometimes, you left the door open.

And sometimes, she lingered in the hallway with a glass of water she didn’t need, staring through the crack at the curve of your leg beneath the covers. At Tofu, curled in the crook behind your knees like a sentry. At the way your lips parted in sleep.

She never crossed the threshold. Not once.

But she always whispered, “Goodnight.”

You never answered. But your breathing slowed a little when she said it.

Evenings meant parallel lives in the same space.

You watched documentaries with the volume low. She scrolled through her phone with headphones in, but her eyes never stayed focused. Not really. Not when she could watch your face instead. The way your eyebrows furrowed. The little exhale you gave when you smiled. The way your fingers curled into your hoodie like you didn’t trust yourself not to reach for something or someone.

One night, she sat closer.

Not beside you.

But not across the room anymore either.

You didn’t look over.

But you let your leg rest just a breath away from hers on the cushion.

When Tofu climbed up and draped himself across both your laps, you didn’t shoo him off. You let him be the bridge. The wall. The truce.

Alexia pet him slowly.

You didn’t stop her.

That was something.

Some nights, you fell asleep on the couch. Exhausted, TV humming quietly, the light from the kitchen still on. You never made it to the bedroom. You didn’t have to.

Alexia always found you. She always brought a blanket. She never woke you. Just tucked it around your legs and let her hand brush your shoulder for a second longer than necessary.

One night, she let her fingers linger near your cheek.

Didn’t touch.

Just hovered.

She whispered, “You looked peaceful.”

Then walked away like saying it out loud made it real.

On day seven, she stood at the foot of the bed, pillow in her arms like a white flag.

You looked up, already under the covers.

Not asleep. Just waiting.

She shifted.

“I’m not staying,” she said quickly, like a promise. “I just can’t sleep without hearing you breathe.”

You didn’t tell her to leave.

You didn’t say anything.

Just scooted over, barely.

She took it for what it was. A maybe. A mercy.

She laid down, stiff and small, the blanket pulled to her shoulders like it might keep the apology inside her from slipping out.

You stared at the ceiling. She did too.

Minutes passed.

Then, like it broke free without permission,

“I’m scared to ask if you hate me.”

Silence.

You turned your head, just slightly.

“I don’t,” you said.

Then quieter:

“But I’m scared to need you again.”

Alexia swallowed hard.

“I never stopped needing you.”

You didn’t move closer. You didn’t run away either.

Your voice cracked when you whispered, “I know.”

That night, sleep didn’t come easy.

But peace did.

In pieces.

And maybe, just maybe, you were letting her earn her way back in.

Not with promises. But with presence.

With patience.

With staying.

The rain came back on a Tuesday.

Soft, steady, the kind that made the city hum quieter. You were curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown over your legs, a book you weren’t really reading open on your lap. Tofu lay at your feet, chin resting on your ankle, completely still except for the occasional twitch of his ear.

Alexia had been pacing the kitchen for a while now.

Not loud. Just… aimless. Restless. Pulling mugs down, putting them back. Opening the fridge like something new might’ve appeared since the last time she checked. Her hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hair pulled back like she’d tried to distract herself with anything practical.

But it wasn’t working.

And eventually, she just stood there.

Back against the counter. Arms folded. Staring.

You didn’t look up, but you felt the weight of her needing to say something.

Then, quietly, her voice broke the quiet.

“I keep trying to earn this house back.”

You blinked. Closed the book. Looked over your shoulder.

Alexia’s eyes met yours.

“And I keep realizing… I don’t care about the house. I care about what it felt like when you were in it.”

You didn’t say anything. Not yet. Not when her voice was already trembling.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I’ve said that before. But I don’t think I ever said it all the way. Not like this.”

She stepped forward. One pace. Then another. Until she was standing just a few feet away, hands shaking at her sides.

“I was selfish,” she said, voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to lose you, so I lied to keep you close. And I know that’s not love. Not the kind you deserve.”

You stared at her. Every part of you tense, ready to harden.

But she kept going.

“I let you grieve alone. I let you wonder if I still saw you. And then I showed up in another skin because I didn’t believe I could be someone worth staying for.”

Her voice broke there. Fully. Like something inside her gave out.

“I didn’t want to trap you. I just… I missed the sound of your laugh. I missed the way you made space for me. I missed being the one you turned to when things felt heavy. And I thought… maybe if I came in quietly, I wouldn’t scare you off.”

You swallowed hard. Still frozen.

Alexia stepped closer again.

“I was scared to be seen. Because you always saw me. Even when I hated myself. And I thought… Maybe if I could be someone new, I could earn you without all the baggage. But all I did was hurt you worse.”

Her hands reached out, then dropped. Like she didn’t trust them not to ruin everything further.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “I’m sorry for not being brave enough to tell the truth. I’m sorry for making you fall for a version of me that should’ve just been me from the start.”

Her shoulders crumpled, and suddenly she was on her knees.

Like her body couldn’t hold it anymore.

“I’m not asking for everything back,” she said, voice barely holding.

“I’m not asking to be your wife again. Not yet. Not if you’re not ready. But please…”

She looked up at you.

And god, her eyes were wrecked and hopeful and utterly open.

“Please just tell me there’s still a version of us that’s possible.”

You didn’t move for a long time.

The silence stretched until it hurt.

Then you stood up.

Crossed the room slowly.

Tofu shifted at your feet but didn’t follow. Didn’t interfere.

You stood in front of her. Looked down.

She didn’t look away.

And then finally, you dropped to your knees, too.

Not in forgiveness.

Not in surrender.

But in meeting her.

You reached forward. Pressed your forehead to hers.

And whispered, “I wanted you to say that. I needed you to.”

She let out a sound that was almost a sob. And not the broken kind. The released kind.

Your arms came around her first.

Hers followed. Tight. Desperate. Familiar.

You stayed there on the floor, wrapped in each other, while the rain traced patterns on the windows and the weight between you shifted into something lighter.

You finally held each other like you both remembered how.

After that first hug, the dam broke. Not into a flood, but into a steady trickle. Small, careful moments began to collect between you like puddles after rain. Nothing rushed. Nothing loud. Just choices.

Repeated. Intentional. Yours.

The morning after that floor moment, the apartment felt different. Not louder. Not warmer. Just... less hollow. Like something had been let back in overnight. Not everything. But enough.

You woke up first. Not because you slept well, your body still curled in on itself like it was waiting for a storm, but because your eyes had opened, and that was enough. The sheets still smelled like unfamiliar quiet. The air still carried the kind of tension that hadn’t decided if it would stay. But you got up anyway. You moved on instinct. Coffee. Eggs. The last of the smoked salmon. Pancakes, because she liked them with crispy edges and you’d finally remembered how to get it right.

You didn’t think too hard about the tray. Just filled it. Balanced it. Carried it to the living room where she was still half-curled on the couch, one arm thrown over her eyes, blanket bunched around her knees like she hadn’t moved all night. Tofu was snoring gently against the back of the cushions, his little gremlin body spread like he owned the place.

You stood there for a second, tray in hand, and considered just setting it down on the table. Saying nothing. Letting her come to it on her own.

But then she stirred. Blinked up at you, hair in her eyes, the sleeve of your hoodie caught between her teeth like she’d been trying to keep herself quiet in her sleep.

You held out the tray.

She didn’t say anything. Just sat up slowly, like the weight of kindness was heavier than anything else. Took the tray. Set it between you on the coffee table.

She stared at the plate for a beat too long.

“You made it like” she started, then stopped.

You didn’t make her finish. Just nodded. “Yeah.”

She smiled, barely. A quiet twitch of the mouth that looked more like disbelief than joy. “Thank you.”

You sat beside her, carefully. Close but not too close. Then paused. Looked at the table. At the space in front of her. Then shifted the tray an inch to the left and pulled her chair closer. A silent nudge.

She blinked. Eyed the new space. Then slid into it without comment.

You sat like that for a while. Eating. Sipping. Phones untouched. Her shoulder brushed yours when she leaned forward for the coffee, and she didn’t pull away. Not when she sat back. Not when your arms accidentally knocked against each other. Not when the silence turned easy.

Tofu snorted awake and rolled dramatically off the couch, landing on all fours like a gymnast who stuck the landing. Then he trotted over, sniffed the edge of the salmon, and sneezed directly onto Alexia´s plate.

She groaned. “Seriously?”

You laughed. Actually laughed. The sound was small and wrecked but real. And she didn’t even mind that her breakfast was now dog-adjacent. Not when you were laughing again. Not when your knee bumped against hers and stayed there.

She glanced sideways at you. Something soft in her eyes. Something quiet.

“Sorry about your breakfast,” you murmured.

You looked at her.

“I can share,” you said.

And maybe that was the moment that landed the hardest.

Not the food. Not the laugh. Not even the shoulder-to-shoulder warmth that neither of you backed away from.

Just the offer.

The I still want you near me, even if it’s messy.

Even if it’s dog-sneezed.

Even if it’s new.

And she leaned in. Not all the way. Not dramatically.

Just enough to let her temple brush your hair for half a second too long.

Just enough to say: thank you for letting me be close again.

The day was kind. That was the only way to describe it.

It was an afternoon that didn’t ask for anything. The kind that just let you be. The kind of warmth that came through the window in honeyed angles, catching on dust motes and the curve of your cheek as you sank onto the living room floor.

You’d been out that morning. A walk through quiet streets, Tofu leading the way with his usual chaos. He barked at a passing leaf. Peed on the same pole three times. Pulled so hard at one point you almost dropped your coffee. Alexia had laughed until she choked, her hand brushing yours every time she pointed out something stupid he was doing. It had been light. Easy. Easier than it should’ve been. But you didn’t question it.

Now, hours later, he was flopped belly-up by the balcony, snoring in a sunbeam. The TV played something soft, one of those comfort movies you’d seen a dozen times and didn’t really need to follow. The kind of film you could drift in and out of, just for the vibes. You sat with your back against the couch, knees drawn to your chest, hair still a little tangled from the wind.

Alexia was behind you, stretched out on the couch, a book open in her lap. Not reading it, not really. She was watching the screen with the kind of half-interest that said she just wanted to be where you were. Her socked foot was tucked gently behind your shoulder, not pressing, just touching. Just… there.

And maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the golden light. Maybe it was that you hadn’t asked her for anything in so long.

But your voice came out low and soft.

“Will you braid my hair?”

She didn’t answer right away.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to.

You just waited.

You weren’t asking for something big. Not a promise. Just her hands.

Just the memory of being cared for.

There was a beat of silence, then the book shut with a gentle thump.

Her legs shifted behind you. You heard the rustle of the couch cushions, the stretch of fabric as she sat up straighter. Then, quieter than anything:

“Yeah. Of course.”

You exhaled slowly as you moved, settling between her legs, back resting lightly against her knees. She pulled your hair over your shoulder gently, fingers brushing the nape of your neck as she smoothed it out. Her touch was reverent. Like your hair was made of something fragile. Like it might break if she didn’t get it right.

She started slowly. No rush. No practiced rhythm. Just her fingertips running through the strands, separating and gathering them like she was remembering how. Like she was trying to relearn a map she used to know by heart.

You closed your eyes.

Her breath caught the first time you leaned back into her legs. Just a little. Just enough to settle.

She didn’t say anything. But her hands stilled for half a second before moving again, slower now. Gentler.

It wasn’t about the braid.

It was about the closeness. The permission.

Her fingers working through the knots. Her knees bracketing your shoulders. Her thumb brushing your temple every now and then, absent, affectionate, like she couldn’t help it.

You breathed deeper. The kind of breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

And maybe she felt that.

Because her voice came out rougher than she meant it to. Barely above a whisper.

“You used to let me do this all the time.”

You didn’t open your eyes. Just nodded slightly.

“Still like it,” you murmured.

She swallowed hard. You heard it.

When she finished, she tied the braid off with the elastic from her wrist. Then her hands didn’t move. Just hovered. One still cradling the end of your hair. The other resting lightly on your shoulder like she wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Neither of you said anything.

You didn’t have to.

The sunlight kept moving. The movie kept playing. Tofu let out a dramatic sigh in his sleep.

And you stayed right there, back to her chest, her hands in your hair, the space between you smaller than it had been in weeks.

You let it be sweet.

She let it be sacred.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself be shaken by the simplicity of being allowed to hold you again.

The couch had never felt this full.

Not just of bodies, but of choices. Of presence. Of something warm trying its best to be safe again.

You didn’t mean to fall into her, not exactly. It just… happened. Tofu made a pleased little groan as he rearranged himself across both your laps, smug and sprawling like a dog with a personal stake in your reconciliation. You shifted to get more comfortable, and your shoulder bumped hers again. This time, you didn’t correct it.

Neither did she.

The episode played on, voices droning low in the background. Something about a mountain trail in Norway, or maybe a food tour in Prague, you weren’t really paying attention. Not when the silence between you and Alexia was turning into something that didn’t ache anymore.

It was soft.

Steady.

Bearable.

Your fingers found the edge of the blanket draped over the back of the couch and tugged it down. You didn’t ask, didn’t offer, just pulled it over both of your legs in one smooth, quiet motion. Your thigh pressed against hers more firmly this time. You let it stay.

Alexia didn’t say anything, but her breath caught. Barely. Just long enough for you to feel it in your own lungs.

You sat like that for a few minutes. Shoulders touching. Tofu slowly sliding further into your lap like he wanted to become a sentient heat pack.

Then, maybe because the moment asked for it, or maybe because you were too tired to overthink anymore, you leaned your head against her shoulder.

Just… let it rest there.

Her hoodie was soft. Her body warm. She stiffened, just for a second. You felt it.

But then,

Her arm moved.

Slowly. Carefully.

And wrapped around your back.

Her palm settled between your shoulder blades like it belonged there. Not gripping. Not asking.

Just holding.

You let out a breath you hadn’t meant to keep.

She felt it. Exhaled with you.

No words. No shift in position. Just her hand, flat and steady against your spine, and the soft brush of her cheek against the top of your head when she let herself tilt just enough to meet you there.

You didn’t say thank you.

You didn’t need to.

Because letting your head fall onto her shoulder was already an answer.

And her arm around you was the reply.

Tofu shifted, sighed, then let his full weight drop across your lap like a sandbag of approval.

You laughed, quietly. Felt Alexia’s chest rise with it.

She murmured, “He thinks he orchestrated this.”

You whispered, “He kind of did.”

And that was it.

No confessions. No tension. No declarations.

Just you. Her. Your dog. A blanket. And the space between you folding itself into something that finally felt like home again.

It didn’t happen with a grand gesture. No whispered "please stay." No late-night sob.

It happened with teeth brushed and lights low, the smell of clean sheets in the air, and the quiet sound of rain nudging at the window like it had a right to be part of this, too.

You stood in the doorway of the bedroom, pajama shirt tugged low over your hips, one hand holding the edge of the door like it might stop time. Alexia hovered behind you, socked feet silent on the floor, thumbs hooked in the cuffs of her hoodie sleeves. She wasn’t looking at you. She was looking past you to the bed. The one she hadn’t touched in weeks. The one that still remembered the shape of your body and not hers. You turned, slowly. Tilted your head toward the room. Nothing dramatic. Just a soft nudge.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. Hope, immediate and terrified, flashed across her face.

“Are you sure?” she asked, voice already splintering.

You nodded. “Just… sleep. That’s all.”

She didn’t answer. Just stepped past you carefully, like one wrong move might make the moment vanish. You climbed into bed first, Tofu thudding to the floor at your side like the world’s most dramatic bodyguard. You tucked yourself under the covers, leaned back into the pillow, and let your breath settle.

Alexia followed slower. Slid into the other side, hoodie still on, drawstrings twisted between her fingers like a nervous habit she hadn’t outgrown.

She didn’t lie back right away.

Just sat there, legs curled, hands in her lap.

You looked over. Waited.

Then, softly, just loud enough to be heard over the rain, you opened the door wider

“You can lie here. If you want.”.

Her head turned.

You patted your chest, just once.

Alexia blinked.

And then she moved.

Careful. Tentative. Like she couldn’t quite believe she was allowed to be held by you again.

She tucked herself down slowly, cheek pressed to your sternum, breath catching the moment your arms came up around her. One over her back. One curled at the nape of her neck. Your fingers slid into her hair, slow and steady.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Because the way she melted into you, limbs folding in, body pressing close like it was trying to memorize the feel of this again, that said everything.

Her hand found the hem of your shirt. Slipped under just enough to rest against the warm skin of your waist. Not possessive. Not searching.

Just anchoring.

You felt her chest rise. Shudder once. Settle.

Then her voice, small and buried:

“Thank you.”

You whispered back, lips brushing her hairline:

“I know.”

And that’s how you fell asleep.

Her head on your chest.

Your fingers tangled in her hair.

The rain still speaking against the window.

Tofu snoring at your feet like a guardian who had finally been relieved of duty.

And in the quiet dark, for the first time in a long, long while, neither of you dreamed of being somewhere else.

It had been a month.

A month of choosing again. Not loudly. Not all at once. Just in the quiet, ordinary ways that mattered.

The way she made coffee how you liked it. The way you bought her favorite cereal again. The way Tofu began sleeping curled between your knees like he belonged there and more than that, like you both did.

And that night, the night it all shifted for good, started the way most did lately: soft. Familiar.

You’d both had long days, but she offered to help with dinner anyway. You didn't stop her.

The kitchen smelled like garlic and thyme. Music floated in from the speaker she’d finally remembered to charge, and the wine, real wine this time, not guilt-poured or sorrow-sipped, was breathing in glasses beside you.

You’d always told her it was better that way. “Let it open,” you’d said once. “Like people.”

Now, she did it without thinking.

She was slicing tomatoes beside you, standing too close on purpose, bumping your hip with hers every now and then like muscle memory. You rolled your eyes. She grinned. She was wearing that hoodie again, the one you secretly loved because it always slid off one shoulder.

You were about to ask her to stir the sauce when the song came on.

That song.

“If you like piña coladas…”

Your head snapped toward the speaker. She froze, spoon mid-air.

You both burst out laughing.

Full-bodied, ridiculous laughter. The kind that made your ribs ache. That stupid song, that absurd, perfect song you hadn’t heard since Chattr. Since before you knew.

“Of course it’s this,” you wheezed, wiping your eyes.

Alexia shook her head, smiling like it was too big for her face. “Of course it is.”

Then she stepped forward, took your hand, and said quietly, “Dance with me.”

You hesitated, fingers twitching in hers.

“It’s our song,” she teased gently. “Tragic and stupid. Just like us.”

You snorted. “Fine.”

You let her pull you close, one arm around your waist, your free hand on her shoulder. You swayed like idiots in your own kitchen, sauce forgotten, burner probably too hot, wine half-spilled and hearts completely open.

And then, somewhere in the middle of that moment, her head resting against your temple, she whispered:

“I’m sorry.”

You looked down at her.

“I’m sorry I made you find me behind a screen. I’m sorry I made you beg for effort. I should’ve said everything straight out, when it mattered most. I should’ve come home honest.”

Her voice was shaking now, low and cracked in the way that only happens when something’s been waiting too long to be let out.

You blinked hard. “You’re here now.”

Her eyes welled. “I don’t want to leave again. I can’t.”

“Then don’t.” Your hand tightened on her side. “Because if you do, I don’t think I can go through that again. I don’t think I'll come back from it next time.”

“I won’t,” she promised, breath trembling. “I’ll stay. I’ll take care of your heart. I’ll protect it like it’s mine.”

You stared at her then, your thumb brushing the side of her face, and the words slipped out before you even had time to breathe them.

“Please kiss me.” you asked softly.

Her answer was to pull you in.

The kiss was not gentle. It was not shy. It was everything else. Desperate, aching, too much and not enough. It was grief and healing and every unsaid thing collapsed between your mouths. Her hands buried in your hair. Yours fisted in the back of her hoodie. Both of you crying, not because you were breaking, but because you finally weren’t.

She kissed you like she didn’t expect to be allowed to stay.

You kissed her like you couldn’t survive if she left.

And when you finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, the taste of tears on both your lips, you whispered, “You’re home.”

Alexia closed her eyes. Let the weight of that settle in her chest.

And then, with a trembling exhale, said, “Only if you are.”

You nodded.

Together, you returned to the stove, hands brushing. Dinner burned a little. Tofu barked once, loudly, like he was annoyed no one had invited him to the emotional climax.

You fed him first.

Later that night, tangled together in bed with her head tucked beneath your chin and your fingers stroking her back in absentminded circles, she murmured, “I still remember the first night I met you. You were holding a wine glass and pretending you didn’t know the words to that song.”

You smiled into her hair.

“I wasn’t pretending,” you whispered. “I just wanted to hear you sing.”

She laughed softly.

And this time you fell asleep together not out of exhaustion, but peace. Because the worst was over and you had found each other again.

393 notes · View notes

luvsupa · 10 months ago

Text

‘SHE’S BUSY.’

tags: roommate! choso x fem!reader, choso has a tongue piercing, smut, ōral (f. receiving), choso is needy at the end, mdni.

a/n: the way this was supposed to be a short hc… w.c: 1.2k

+ likes and reblogs are appreciated 💜

roommate!choso who is madly in love with you but never wants to tell you because he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship you have.

roommate!choso who goes absolutely feral when he sees you dressing up to go on a… date?

“oh,” choso says, defeated, as you mention you’re going on a date with some guy you met through a mutual friend.

“do you think this is fine, cho’?” you ask, giving him a twirl of the dress that nicely hugs your figure. choso gulps at how stunning you look, feeling his heart beat faster.

“yeah, you look really good,” he says, continuing to eye you. oh, how he would treat you much better than that guy.

“i’ll show you the other dress- i can’t decide,” you say, returning to your room and shutting the door to switch between dresses.

roommate!choso who sits patiently in the living room, waiting to see your other outfit. should he make you show up late to the date or—

ding!

choso’s attention shifts to your phone that lit up twice. he wants to look so badly at the text but doesn’t want to invade your privacy, but—

ding!

choso looks around his surroundings as he picks up your phone to see the texts. he feels even more upset when he sees you saved the guy’s contact name as ‘j♡.’

‘ima call u’

just as choso finishes reading the message, you get an incoming call from him, and choso nearly panics. but he starts thinking about how badly he wants you to himself. he answers.

“hey beautiful, i—”

“sorry bro, she’s busy.” choso calmly says as he ends the call.

roommate!choso who knocks at your door as you’re still getting dressed to break the news to you, telling you that your date was spam calling to the point choso had to answer and said, “he canceled last minute.” you didn’t question choso because you knew you could trust him. little did you know…

roommate!choso who comforts you as you feel sad that he flaked on you. choso prepares a mini movie night, getting your favorite snacks and drinks while playing your all-time favorite movie. he makes sure you’re comfortable as he holds you tight in his arms on the couch as you lay on his chest.

“cho,” you say as he continues to rub your head, almost making you sleepy. he hums, “did you lie about him canceling?” you ask, feeling his heart beat quicken.

“yeah…” he says, not having any excuses as you giggle at his honesty.

“do you have feelings for me—”

“so fuckin’ bad,” he quickly answers as you both rise from your position, looking into his pretty brown eyes. at this point, the movie is just background noise as you two forget about it.

“do you want me?” you purr, and he nods rapidly, already getting up from the couch as he drops to his knees, parting your legs to make room for his broad figure.

you stare down at him as he pulls down your pajama shorts and panties, lifting your hips as he quickly throws them behind him. your legs are spread wide, resting on his shoulders, giving him full access.

choso moans as he sees your pretty cunt, giving your folds soft kisses. he’s about to lose his mind as his filthy dreams finally become reality.

you’re growing impatient as he’s basically teasing you, taking his time when you need him now. you tug at his silky hair, pulling it up to make him look at you. “cho—i need you,” you desperately say, and he feels himself grow hard at your neediness.

he doesn’t waste any more time as he dives into your cunt. your whole body jerks forward when you not only feel his tongue enter you but also the metal piercing on his tongue. the cold ball unexpectedly adds more stimulation, making you squirm as he snakes his arms around your thighs to keep you in place, growling into your cunt.

he brings one of his hands to your achy clit, rubbing tiny circles as you arch your back from the couch, moaning loudly from the double stimulation. it’s so fucking messy as choso loudly slurps your arousal, drool mixed with your juices coating his mouth and chin.

“f-fuck, cho, ’s too much,” you shakily say as he pulls away, arousal dripping from his chin as he looks up at you, his expression drunk on you. you unconsciously buck your hips closer to his face, wanting more as he chuckles darkly at your desperation.

he stares at your wet heat and slaps your cunt. your body jolts at the feeling as he repeatedly does it, hypnotized by the way your hole clenches at nothing. choso is starting to lose all sanity as your juices splatter all over his face and the couch. oh, how filthy this was.

“so fuckin’ good, baby, y-you’re so good,” he whines as he lays his tongue flat on your clit, your mind buzzing at the cold metallic ball. choso sucks hard on your clit, the piercing making you cry out in pleasure as it drives you to ecstasy. he slips two fingers deep into your pussy, knuckles deep as he curls them, thrusting in and out, loud squelches of your sloppy cunt echoing in your ears.

you’re already dumb from the intense simulation—the metal ball, his long fingers, his tongue. oh, how he loves your facial expression.

your legs begins to shake uncontrollably, feeling intense waves of your orgasm approaching rapidly as you shudder at the foreign feeling.

“‘m so c-close, cho,” you sob, tears streaming down your face as choso sucks harder at your clit. at this point, he doesn’t hear anything you say—he’s so caught up in his own head, only wanting to pleasure you, forgetting about his raging hard-on pulsating within his briefs.

your orgasm comes intensely as you feel yourself gushing arousal all over his face and the couch. your legs shake rapidly as you continuously spray his face. your vision is blurred as tears flood your eyes, crying out as your climax takes over you.

choso, on the other hand, kneels there, face covered in your cum, everything messy and lewd as his face and your cunt glisten in your arousal. fuckkkk, he thinks as he loses his mind.

“f-fuck, you’re a squirter,” choso moans as he watches your cum dribble down, leaving a pool of your mess soaking into the couch. “mmh, my pretty boy,” you manage to say as you bring a hand to pet his damp messy hair. but choso cannot seem to take his eyes off your sloppy cunt.

after a short tug, he finally looks up at you, quickly rising and smashing his lips onto yours, twirling his tongue around yours as you wrap your legs around his body, grinding his bulge against your bare cunt. you moan into his mouth at the friction, messily making out, tasting yourself on his tongue, your arousal from his face smothering onto yours.

“mhm, i-i’m your pretty boy,” he says as he pulls away from the kiss, looking at you, his face hazy from eating you out. “c-call me your pretty boy again,” he whines, blushing at the thought of being yours.

“my pretty boy—”

you’re interrupted as you hear your phone loudly ring and vibrate beside you. you both groan at the caller id: ‘j♡.’

roommate!choso who sends ‘j♡’ a selfie of both your fucked-out expressions, followed by text,

‘i told u she was busy.’

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso smut #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo smut #choso x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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sylusjinwoon · 10 months ago

Text

{ 195 }

crimson comfort.

sylus x (non mc)fem.reader

warnings: blood mention; self indulgent bc i’m on my period right now and am in pain 😭

your breathing comes out as labored, uneven breaths, with you curling up in a fetal position as waves upon waves of pain was felt coursing through your very veins.

sylus was out on a business trip for who knows how long, and you were left suffering through the throes of your own womanhood, feeling the blood staining at the sheets below you, rendering you unable to even move. sweat was felt staining at your skin, and you bury yourself beneath your burgundy comforter while trying to even out your breathing.

you desperately wanted sylus by your side, to help with easing your pain as he held you oh so tightly within his embrace-

but you knew that such a wish may be impossible to come true. he was away at the moment, and you didn’t wish to trouble anyone. as you began to feel even lonelier at the thought, you tried to distract yourself and decided instead to look out the window-

only to let out a gasp when you saw two crows settled on the windowsill.

as your eyes gaze at the birds with an almost forlorn expression, you were dimly aware of a series caws coming from each of them. you frown at such a strange sound, as if they were communicating with something-

or rather, with someone.

your eyes go wide at the sudden realization.

as if sensing your agony, you felt a strange shift in the air as dark feathers surrounded your periphery, revealing your lover stepping out of what looked like a crimson vortex. he hums, anger painting his handsome features as he looks down at your weak form on the bed.

“my men should have taken care of your every need.” sylus lets out a low hiss, allowing his crows to disperse as he takes you out of bed and into his arms. you tremble, letting out a sigh of relief when he places the palm of his hand against your abdomen, rubbing comforting circles as you felt the pain ease just the tiniest bit.

“i thought you… had a meeting and would be gone for a while…?”

sylus grunts upon hearing your words, delving his fingers into your hair as he pulls back slightly to look at you. “and watch you suffer in silence? those bastards can wait. you are my sole priority.”

you couldn’t help but smile, feeling sylus fully embrace you as he gently crushes your body to his chest, all while grumbling at how ‘incompetent his men are’ and how he should ‘teach them a lesson that they’ll never forget.’

and truthfully, hearing his grumpy words would have placed a smile on your face had you not been in so much pain. a whimper was heard escaping from your parted lips, making sylus act fast as he lays you back down against the plush mattress. he brushes back your hair and remains hovering above you, frowning while witnessing every moment of your pain.

he lets out a gentle coo of your name, pressing a kiss against your forehead before laying down next to you. he takes you in his arms as words of protests come from you. “wait… i’m still bleeding pretty badly. i might mess up your suit.”

“fuck this suit. i’ve got a million others to replace it. keep still and let me help ease your pain, whining about it won’t change anything.”

your back was pressed against his broad chest, and you could feel the way sylus’s hand was pressed against your abdomen. his large palm felt massaging against your stomach eases the cramps, allowing you to relax while in his embrace as you let out soft moans in response.

the more he kept gently massaging you, (revealing an uncharacteristic gentleness he saves solely for you), the more you felt your pain being eased by his almost reverent touch. you hum and purposely move away from him, earning a grunt of protest from the powerful man as you managed to let out a soft giggle in response.

“relax, i just wish to see you.”

remaining true to your word, you turn around so that you were now fully facing sylus, catching sight of his scowling features as he immediately wraps a hand behind your back, bringing you achingly closer to him. not allowing you to move away from him again, sylus makes a point in not just keeping his arms around you, but his legs as well. the man purposefully traps you against his chest, your bodies becoming a tangle of limbs in the process.

you meet his gaze, finding comfort within the rufescent quality of his eyes. your lover continues to meet your gaze, expression appearing neutral-

yet you knew him well enough to notice the tiny curve at the corner of his lips, indicating that he was genuinely smiling at you. you could feel your own smile brighten when you tell him (in a bit of a cheeky manner), “i should moan and whine more often if it means you’ll come home sooner.”

sylus scoffs upon hearing your words. “don’t you dare be a brat about this; you and i both know that this is a one time deal.”

you had to bite back a giggle, knowing that this man was lying to you-

for this was never a one time deal. in fact, in the past when your period pains got so bad that it teetered on the edge of agonizing, sylus would always always always stop whatever he was doing and return back to your shared bedroom (like he was doing at this exact moment) to comfort you.

as if knowing your thoughts, sylus lets out one last huff of your name, appearing even grumpier when he places a hand behind your head and hides your face within his chest (so that you couldn’t see the light blush that dyes his cheek). “sleep, i’m not going anywhere anytime soon; i’ll stay by your side.”

with one last giggle, you lean closer to press a kiss against his chest, basking in the spicy scent of his cologne as you steadily slumped against him, falling into a peaceful slumber while knowing how sylus would forever protect you.

a.n. - lmaooo i guess i’m writing more sylus stories now (/ω＼)

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #lnd #lnd x reader #lnd sylus #lnd sylus x reader #jin woon x reader #sylus x you #jin woon x you #lnd x you #.stories

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ihearthayden · 4 months ago

Text

HOLO-HOOKUP

ANAKIN SKYWALKER

MDNI SMUT 18+

PAIRING: master!anakin x padawan!reader

WC: 2.9k

SUMMARY: you and anakin are in a secret relationship, since it’s against the jedi code. you couldn’t go on a mission today with your master and his team, because you got the fever. he decides to call you during a break, just for a quick check up—but the conversation will last longer than he expected.

CW: phone/hologram sex, masturbation [ f and m ], improper use of lightsaber/lightsaber play, degradation, dom!anakin, age gap, dirty talk, master kink, semi public, slight edging, name calling/pet names

A/N: hey guys! this is my first post/fic so i’m pretty nervous, but i hope you will like it. [ btw my inspo came from CW S7E2 ] my requests and dms are open so feel free to txt me, i’m in a need of hayden/sw enthusiast moots lol btw english is not my first language, so i’m really sorry if something is grammatically incorrect.

now enjoy the story! <3

The halls of the Jedi Temple were eerily silent as you rested in your quarters, the faint hum of Coruscant's bustling cityscape a comforting lullaby in the background—although it was muffled by the thick walls. From the bed, you could hear the distant whir of passing speeders, and their voices always made your mind wander into its blurry maze—to craft different imaginary scenarios. They fed your delusions with the false hope: maybe your master had finally arrived home from his mission. You were supposed to station on Anaxes with the rest of the team, but a morning fever confined you here, far from the frontlines, far from him.

The aftereffects of the illness weighed heavily on you, your body was sluggish and weak, yet it was your heart that ached the most. You couldn't stop thinking about Anakin's suffocating absence and how he should have been caressing your overheated frame instead of fighting on a different planet. You fantasized about him wiping away the beading sweat from your shivering, fragile body with his caring, large palms. You sighed, leaning back against the cool pillow. Every fiber of your being yearned to be by his side, battling droids and facing the galaxy's chaos together, but your condition had left you stranded here.

The hum of the holo-communication device broke the silence of your desperation. You froze stiff as a statue—just like the ones surrounding Naboo's lakeside, and your heart leaped into your throat. You rushed to the device, fingers trembling as you activated the connection.

And there he was.

The flickering light revealed his face, your heart ached at the sight of him. His face bore new scrapes and smudges of dirt, his hair tousled from the battlefield, but his eyes—those molten orbs of fire and tenderness—were fixed solely on you. You got goosebumps as a shiver went down your spine, but the medicine had already started to work, so the fever didn't cause it.

"Ani," You whispered—a breathless relief flooding through you at the mere sight of him. You hadn't even realized how badly you needed him until now.

"Chee-ska anota," he murmured, the Huttese term for "my dear love" falling from his lips like a prayer.

"I didn't expect to hear from you. I thought you'd be too busy saving the galaxy." You teased him softly, but deep down, you were glad you were on his mind as much as he was on yours. He chuckled—the tone low and warm—a balm to your frayed nerves.

"What's the point of saving it if you're not there to see it?"

But before he could continue his sentence, his words faltered for a second as his eyes traced over your face.

"You look—your face is still red, and your eyes..." He shook his head, his brow furrowing. "Your eyes are shining, but not in the way I want them to. You're still burning up, aren't you? Fuck." You noticed him curling his hands into a fist, his fingers dug into his palms. "I could already barely focus on this duty because of you, but this was the last straw. I'm going home."

Even though his concerns melted your heart, you didn't want to ruin their mission by making their strongest Jedi vanish or risk the option of the others discovering your little secret relationship.

"Honey, my fever is already gone. I just need to regain some strength." You were hoping this would change his drastic decision, but it only made him raise his voice at you firmly.

"It was already a huge mistake to leave you alone in such a helpless state. But I promise you, Chee-ska, I won't abandon you again. Ever." Worry pooled in his eyes, a silent storm brewing beneath his lashes.

God, he's always so stubborn.—you thought to yourself.

Your body craved every molecule of him to be close to you—but you knew you had to do something to calm him down and make him stay there with the troops. You brushed your curly locks away from your face and leaned forward on the bed so that your robe opened slightly in the front, revealing the lacy top of your satin nightgown, along with your rosy cleavage.

His features immediately loosened up, while a small sigh escaped his mouth—since he's aware that you never wear any lingerie under it.

"Don't try to manipulate me, Snips. I'm still your master, which makes me the one in charge. I make the rules." He tried to appear serious, but he couldn't mask the sound of longing that filled his voice.

You knew that he wouldn't be able to resist you—since he could never hold himself back. When you find a way to flick the switch in him, he sheds his cautious, caring personality and transforms into a predator. When he got aroused, he became a bloodthirsty beast—and you embodied the prey in his eyes. Just like a starving animal, ready to maul and devour any living creature in sight.

Since your goal was to push him over the edge, you bit the pink flesh of your pouty bottom lip and reached out to his other lightsaber—which was accidentally left lying on the nightstand next to your bed. It was the only thing that resembled his present, and as you slowly ran your fingers over its surface—you quickly figured out your plan.

"If you are the one making the rules, why don't you make them fun?" These words left your glossy lips as you drove the weapon up to the right corner of your mouth.

"Stop being a brat and fix your behavior, youngling. I command you as your superior, not your partner." His tone carried the weight of authority, a warning you might have believed—if not for his eyes, smoldering and unashamed as it lingered on your chest.

You loved to lure out his raw dominance with your attitude so he would use you to fulfill his sickest, secret, intimate desires. His mechanical arm and the force combined allowed him to take advantage of you and have more control over you than anyone else could ever do—and you enjoyed it more than anything.

"Are you sure that is what you want? Because if you change your mind and stay, you could see me doing this." You kneeled and grabbed the saber with both of your hands so that you could lick it all the way from the bottom to the very top of it. You started swirling your tongue around the tip of it and throated every inch of it without any warning. It wasn't a challenge to take it—your esophagus had adjusted from everyday use to Anakin's significantly bigger size—but it still drew a quiet gag out of you. Your teary eyes never left his surprised gaze, which hunger quickly overtook.

You saw him reach out one of his hands towards your hologram—to pretend to grab your hair—and started bobbing it in the same rhythm as you did with your head. You noticed his growing bulge through the thin fabric of his Jedi uniform—and you couldn't help but sit back on your heels and start rocking your hips a little for some stimulation. This lustful view strikes a tingling sensation in your abdomen. Your brain flooded with the picture of his trembling, overstimulated tip as it stained his pants with his sweet, milky, smeared precum—waiting for you to clean it up with your tongue.

You snapped back to reality, and a streak of saliva remained attached to the object as you released it from the hot cave of your mouth—while trying to catch your breath.

"I wish that it would have been you. Even though it's your lightsaber, unfortunately, it still can't cum down my throat like you." You said with sad puppy-dog eyes while trying to stop panting, but an unexpected statement struck your ear.

"Ride it."

A naughty grin appeared on your face as you tried to tease your boyfriend for a tiny bit longer.

"I thought you were worried about your sick little girl, but now you want to use her?" You said with a mocking tone, but he immediately growled at you.

"I said ride it." The harsh order made you stare at him momentarily, but he instantly broke the silence.

"Don't play stupid now. Just obey." He aggressively unbuckled his belt with one hand and rolled up his sleeves while he continued his monologue.

"I lied to the team that I came to this empty warehouse to strategize, so be a good slut for me and don't waste our precious time." He gently ran his fingers over the prominent outline of his size, which made his voice tremble with desire.

"I saw my needy baby grinding while putting on her little show, so don't you dare to deny how fucking wet you are for me." You squeezed your thighs together, and they remained stuck from how sticky he made you. "You knew exactly what you were doing, so now it's your job to finish what you started, sweet little thing."

You realized how Obi-wan or even the enemy could catch him at any millisecond, so you quickly tossed the lightsaber on the bed, placed your hands in front of yourself and positioned your tiny body above it.

"Yes s-sir!" You stuttered, but before you could start masturbating, you heard him say—

"Stop. Did you just go dumb on me already? You forgot something. Words, sweetheart, words. What do good girls say?" His serious side always made your core drool. You remembered the missing essential and said it without hesitation.

"Thank you, master!" His mean face finally released a small smile.

"Now you can continue."

You shifted until your painfully throbbing slit hovered directly over the part that was covered in ridges. As you slowly sank into it, the cold touch of the remaining saliva sent a jolt through your body. You started humping on your little "toy" back and forth, dragging your clit across the whole length of it. The friction made your breath come up in ragged gasps. You tried to glare into his lustful iris but couldn't make contact with his gaze—Anakin had already rolled his eyes back. A heavy moan escaped from your plump lips as he revealed his fully erect member, slamming it against his muscular abs. A puddle of precum pooled around the base of his dick, and some of it already ran down to his thighs. The liquid glistened as the light reflected off it, but he spat in his palm to lubricate it even more. He started gliding his hand on his most sensitive area while watching you chase your high. The holopad was set up to make it look like he was towering over you, ready to finish on your face.

"You are the filthiest whore in the whole galaxy. I mean, look at you, tiny Padawan of mine…skipping your stationing duties to pleasure yourself at home." He kisses his teeth, making a quiet 'tsk' sound." You're fucking pathetic." He threw his head back as he degraded you. You tried to fasten your pace, but your legs started to shake unintentionally to let you know you wouldn't last long. A knot began to form in your stomach, but Anakin shouted at you.

"Oh no, don't even think about it. Don't you dare to cum yet. I didn't give you permission. Don't be greedy."

You whined, your fingers curling desperately into the sheets, the fabric twisting between your trembling hands as you fought against the inevitable. Every muscle in your body was drawn tight, quivering under the weight of restraint, but it was futile—you were at your master's mercy. The heat between your legs was unbearable, pulsing, demanding release, but you knew better than to give in without his approval. Your breath hitched, a pathetic whimper slipping past your lips. You felt helpless, wholly unraveled under his control, but deep down, you knew his cruelty had a purpose. He wasn't denying you out of malice—he was building you up, drawing out your pleasure until it consumed you, until you shattered so thoroughly you wouldn't recover for days. The way he edged you was deliberate, precise, and designed to wreck you in the best way possible. Every second he made you wait, every teasing word, every denied climax—it all led to something greater. He wanted you mindless by the time he allowed you to break. He wanted to pull every last drop of prurience from you until you were gasping his name like a prayer. And when that moment finally came, when he finally let you fall, it wouldn't just be pleasure—it would be devastation.

"See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? At least not for such a good girl. Now, my princess gets rewarded for finally being obedient." He looked up at your face, then down to his old weapon in your hands, and his lips curved into a smirk.

"Slide it in your pretty pussy. Ride my lightsaber as if it was my cock." Anakin's penis was aching, his whole body was shaking while he jerked off.

"Spread your legs wider, angel, will you? I want to see what's mine. Your warm cunt belongs to me." After his request, your hole pulsed as if it had its own heartbeat. You aligned the "dildo" to your entrance, and with one sharp movement, you rammed it into your opening. You reached up to your chest to cup both of your breasts in your hands and gave them a rough squeeze before you pinched your nipples as Anakin's replacement kissed your cervix. You saw that he trusted into his palm faster than before and became much more vocal.

"Yeah, that's it, that's my girl. You are taking it so good for me." His praises helped your orgasm to build up even more.

"A-ani, mhh, I'm close; I can't take it anymore! " He heard your shutter, which made him look up from under his eyebrows. You could see that pearly sweat streaks started to run down from his forehead, and their route followed the scar mark on his eye.

"Do you think you deserve it? Beg for it. Can you do that, little one?" He questioned. "How much do you want it, hm? Show me. Make me proud."

His hips hadn't stopped since the call started; he fucked his palm restlessly, so you knew that you had to trigger his weakest spot to get the job done.

"I promise that I'll be your slave, your fucktoy when you come home, okay? I'll let you use me as a cumdumpster anytime, just please let me finish already. Anakin, it hurts! " You whimpered while tears ran down from your cheeks to your chin. You started rapidly circling on your swollen clit and pumping into your soaked folds, sliding in and out his "stunt double" that rubbed against your G-spot repeatedly. This was all he needed to hear and see.

"K-kay, let it happen baby, cum for me. Cmon, give it to me. Give me what's mine." He commanded, his words are law.

Your back arched with grace as you went crashing over the edge. You collapsed on your bed into a puddle that your squirt made, mind blank as waves of pleasure rolled through you. The world around you blurred into nothingness, consciousness suspended in the aftershocks of ecstasy. This meant the main attraction to Anakin, the sight of you undone, the way your body trembled and spasmed. His breath hitched, muscles tensing as climax washed over him. His cock throbbed violently in his grasp, spilling thick ribbons of his release over his fingers as he choked out your name. Ropes of his load painted his v-line, dripping down toned his stomach and pooling in his lap.

"Fuck, you are something else. Good job, kid." He panted as he dragged his pants back on.

"See, I told you that you don't need to leave work for me." You stuck out your tongue while giggling and kicking your feet.

"You are not sick anymore, that's for sure. The only sick thing is what you promised me in return for your orgasm." He winked at you with his ocean-blue eyes. "Good thing that Rex's helmet recorded everything, so I will have proof."

Your eyes widened, and you couldn't believe what you heard.

"OH MY GOD—ANAKIN SKYWALKER, YOU FUCKING FREAK! Why didn't you tell me you made the call from his helmet?" You screamed in anger, but your boyfriend just laughed in your face.

"More risk, more fun, doll."

Before you could respond to his answer, a sharp knock echoed from his end of the connection. You could see the sudden shift in his expression, the way his shoulders stiffened. From offscreen, you heard Rex's voice, low but clear—

"General Skywalker, you've got company."

Anakin cursed softly, his free hand running through his already messy hair. He turned back to the holo-projector, his face conflicted.

"The team found me, I have to go. I'll be home soon, so don't forget our deal. Ni chuba du," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words in Huttese heavy with meaning. "I love you."

Before you could respond, the connection flickered out, the blue light vanishing, and you were left staring at the empty space where he had been.

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suiana · 3 months ago

Text

thinking of a guilt ridden reader and a silly manipulative yandere who looks exactly like someone from reader's past.

maybe you did something bad to a friend, perhaps ended a relationship on bad terms with someone who never deserved to be treated badly. whatever it is, just the mere thought of that person causes you to physically curl up and pray for forgiveness.

so you spend the rest of your days like a dead man walking, the guilt of your actions clawing at the depths of your heart. it makes it hard to do anything, let alone think. because when you are left alone with your thoughts, all you can imagine is their expression when everything went wrong. oh how you'd give up anything just to change the past and your actions.

as if your guilt wasn't enough, he just had to skip into your life looking exactly like that person. like them.

at first, you thought of this as a curse. this... this stupid guy? looking exactly like them? then as you sort of warmed up to him, you still think it's a curse. because what gave him the audacity to come into your life, looking like them, and telling you how much he wants you? especially claiming that it was love at first sight and that you two were fated to be?

"i love you."

"can i be yours?"

"we'd be so good together."

you keep pushing him away. you know how this will end up, with you messing up just like last time. wouldn't it be better to just keep him at a distance? unfortunately for you he doesn't seem to think so. and it's like a curse. a demon from your past coming back to haunt you in the form of your greatest mistake.

if anything, your costant rejections only seem to keep him wanting... more?

"please, just one chance. that is all I'm asking for."

"no? you don't want to entertain me even the slightest bit?"

"how cruel, i never realised you were this heartless."

you eventually end up giving in. he just has that sort of effect you suppose. or maybe it's the guilt that's constantly eating you alive that's causing you to make this decision. after all, he looks so much like them and... you don't know what you'd do if he looked at you like that. not ever, not again. maybe this would be your way of making up for your wrong doings.

he couldn't be happier obviously. finally! the person he's been pining over finally accepted his confession! even if it took a long time, it all worked out. you're happy, his happy, everyone's happy!

until he found out you're not actually happy and you're just doing this because you feel guilty.

"what do you mean? am i just a replacement to you? a way to correct your mistakes?"

"hah! you're so- ugh, I don't even want to think about you anymore."

"save it, those are just excuses."

he's always been a manipulative person. he knows. and he knows that you know it too. yet he continues to manipulate you through it all. i mean, it's your fault for even treating him like a second option in the first place! what? he's the one that's been pestering you? no no, you could've just rejected him. it's not his fault, it's yours. you're not stopping him anyway so like, you're basically admitting you're in the wrong.

"yeah you should be sorry. how mean do you have to be to think of me just as someone you've hurt? I'm my own person too."

he says that but continues to use the fact that his familiarity elicits something in you. and he'll continue abusing it, continue taking advantage of your weakened state. why? because he can and because he wants to.

plus, it's amusing in it's own right to see you bending head over heels just to appease him. huh, guess the guilt runs deep, doesn't it?

oh it's whatever. he'll slowly condition you to start showing him the affection he so desperately craves anyway. he just needs to hold on a little longer. break you down a tiny bit more and then you'll be all his. he can feel it.

you two will be truly happy together. no other people, no guilt in your heart. just you and him, alone and content with one another.

that would simply be salvation, wouldn't it?

#yandere #tw yandere #yandere drabbles #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere concepts #manipulative yandere #manipulative yandere x reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

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shaisuki · 4 months ago

Text

✞ noncon/somnophilia with little stepbrother! yuta okkotsu (full fic coming soon)

in the silence of the night – a dark shadowy figure looms in the room. it's like a perfect pause from how still the things are. except for the breathing coming from the person nestled in the comfort of her bed. oblivious to her surroundings.

the door made a muffled creak sound. careful not to slam the door and alert of the intruder lurking in the room. if he was still younger and you, this wouldn't be a problem. everything's fine. he can always reason he's afraid of the dark — or he can't sleep and many reasons that he goes to this particular room. seeking the warmth and comfort of the person he deeply loves.

he's been restless. the dark circles under his eyes was evident. the lack of sleep and thinking late night was the caused of it. dark blue eyes bore holes at the sleeping figure. the reason for the dark bags and the restlessness and the forbidden desires that keeps him awake.

slowly, he stalked towards the bed. light muted steps akin to a cat stalking a prey. he mastered how to walk, to creep in like he was shadow. still and quiet. a part of this room. blending in his surroundings like he did many times. always in the background. always watching.

the bed dips at the added as he climbs up. hovering over his sweet stepsister's sleeping body. his breath hitching like there's something stuck in his throat. sleeping so soundly without a care or you could just be tired. he knows how hard you work.

the scent of your perfume exudes something warm and comforting. beckoning him to come closer. in which he did, leaning towards your neck. placing his palm on the sides of your arms to steady himself. careful not to wake you as he indulge himself in his desire to be closer to you. to be near as he basks in the scent of yours.

yuta lets out a sigh. oneesan. his mind cried. staring at his stepsister sleeping. a couple of years older than him. you look so beautiful. the moonlight paving through in your windows — casting a soft glow. making the dark locks of your hair seemingly a halo around your head. a angel. yuta thought. falling from the sky to be with him. heaven sent for a sick person like him. saving him from all of the disgrace and he hopes you won't find him in this position.

straddling you — staring at you from above. drinking at the sight of your plush body covered by the blanket which he tossed aside. leaving you bare for his eyes to see. his breath quickens, drawing shallow breaths. his heart beating fast in his ribcage. he licks his lips, trying to draw moisture as his mouth turns dry.

adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows. entranced at the sight that is laid below him. no matter how many nights he visited you and saw you in your sleepwear, ranging from your cute pajamas and to the nighties you wore that leaves nothing for the imagination, always leaves him breathless and tonight, like any other nights — it wasn't any different.

yuta's hand trembles. slowly reaching out to the swell of your breast. gently cupping them and feeling the weight of it. admiring how it perfectly fits in his palm and his other hand grabs your round belly straining from fabric of your oversized shirt. so soft. he mutters under his breath.

touch gentle as a feather, yuta slowly descends to your stomach and then to the hem of your shirt, stopping at your mid-thighs. he slowly raises the shirt up and yuta swallows. the familiar tightness creeping up on him. his cock pressing in the confines of his boxers at the sight of your creamy thighs pressed together.

your panties showing, covering the mound that yuta desperately wanted to taste and fuck his cock into it. if you'll allow him which he will gladly do so but for now, he makes sure you won't wake up. he badly needs you.

yuta gulps. a slight trickle of sweat rolling down in his forehead. he had done this so many time but he feels nervous. what if you'll wake up? and find him defiling your own body for his own pleasures. will you get angry? disgusted? repulsed? curse at him for such being a sick person? or worse telling him that he should stay away from you. the options are infinite and yuta didn't know if he could take your anger at him but the temptation is too strong to resist and yuta's weakness was you.

i'm sorry nee-san. yuta thought before pulling down his pants and then his gray boxers followed suit, stained with his precum. spitting on his palm and stroking his cock with his spit. making sure your thighs are well lubricated before slipping it in between your thighs.

your panties weren't enough. no matter how many time he jerks off with your used panties in his nose. his hand tightly wrapped around his shaft, wishing it was your tight pussy instead of his hand. he always cry from frustration. staring at his hand — stained with his spent.

a shiver went down his spine. bucking his hips to get more of that softness of your thighs — suffocating his aching cock. precum leaking all over it and leaving trails in your thighs. a shaky moan passing his lips. grunting at the pleasure he was feeling.

“oneesan..... your body is so soft....” yuta huffs. soft puffs of his breath coming in shorts as he continued to plunge his length inside your thighs. fisting the sheets besides you to avoid waking you up and find him violating your body.

the dark short strands of his hair falls down while he leans to steal a kiss from you. framing the youthful look of his handsome face. “hmmm” yuta hums in appreciation. his lips perfectly melding in your soft, plump lips and it was one of the many kisses he stole from you. his first kiss too. he gave it to you but you didn't know it. you were asleep.

“oneesan.” he whispers. his eyes glossy as he still continued to fuck your thighs. his hips moving into a slow rhythm while his lips continues to descend in your neck. pressing his nose in the juncture of your neck and inhaling your scent. he could drown in this. it was intoxicating. no matter how many times he smelled it, he will always be coming back for more. he was utterly and deeply obsessed with you. his stepsister.

while he indulge himself in drinking to your very own body. a small thought creep up on his mind. everything's wrong about it. he shouldn't have touched you this way or violate you in your sleep without your knowledge. the thoughts later dispersed.

yuta's breath hitched. his hips moving in an urgent manner as his release gets nearer. “neesan. neesan. neesan.” he repeatedly chant in whisper. burying his face in the crook of your neck while he works closer to his release.

a guttural groan rips off from his throat as he reached his peak. his hips stuttering like a bow string being pulled taut — plunging his cock deeper to your creamy thighs and with a gasp, thick ropes of hot cum splattered between your thighs. yuta rocks his hips forward. prolonging the pleasure he was feeling before it was gone.

his chest heaves with exertion. his breath coming in small puffs. panting from the mind-shattering orgasm he experienced. it was always the best with you.

yuta's dark blue eyes glazes with adoration and lust as he stares at your still sleeping form. good thing you were a deep sleeper. you were oblivious to his perverseness and yuta could do this for many nights.

he lays besides you after cleaning you up. making sure he didn't leave evidence for you to suspect cause it's all wrong. wrong to touch his sweet big stepsister. he can't have you hating him.

yuta admires your sleeping figure. turning to the side and running his knuckles to the expanse of your round cheek. the soft whoosh of your breathing can be heard and yuta smiles — without a guilt and somehow it transforms him to being a child once again. always admiring his big stepsister. always looking out for him.

the years were kind to you and to his. despite the setbacks of his youth. being bullied for his way too shy to speak, soft-spoken and bullies doesn't like when someone's different from them. it didn't help that he was looking frail. he visited the hospital more than he did on the playground.

yuta was a wimp but the eyes of his big stepsister — he was someone far from it. you adored him and doted like he was your very own little brother.

after his mother divorced his father, yuta was left alone until his father remarried with a woman who was a widow and had a child. a few years older than him. the gap being five years and without him realizing you were the center of his world.

between the frailness of his health and missing his childhood, yuta didn't mind all of it cause you made up all of his memories. when you visit you always read stories to him and entertained him with stories from your day. it temporally stopped when he met rika in the hospital. giving him the chance to bond to his new friend. that turned months and yuta was engrossed with his friendship with rika until the latter's untimely death.

yuta seek the comfort of your embrace. he rests on your chest while you hugged him. shaking like a leaf in your arms and your hands rests on his back. drawing soft circles while he grieves. the sound of your voice was his comfort. telling him that it was okay. that it hurts when losing a loved one. similar to your father who passed away too soon.

“oneesan.” he softly mutters. staring intently at your sleeping face. “i love you so much.” he whispers, his voice a little shaky hoping that you would hear him. reciprocate his feeling that he harbored for you.

yuta rests for awhile besides you. his hand descending to feel your soft curves under his touch. he can feel his cock hardening again. throbbing in his boxers and yuta left before he can steal another one from you and he knows he won't last long and who knows what he will do again. maybe he could go all the way but that will surely wake you.

he left quietly just like when he entered.

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thatonesonicfanfictionwriter · 4 months ago

Note

Platonic, Sonic and sibling reader, Sonic reacting to Shadow showing signs of liking reader, and just him being an over protective older brother about it. Also extra funny because imagine your sibling just casually holding hands with your biggest rival

i love crack

“Not On My Watch!”

Pairing(s): Sonic the Hedgehog & Sibling Reader (platonic), Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: No one knew Sonic had a sibling, let alone a twin sibling that looked nothing like him. So why did Shadow feel so strongly for someone related to that faker?

Notes: This one has potential to be both funny and cute so I’m excited to write this one! Also sorry for always introducing Reader in the same way-

(Reader will be gender-neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

It was your typical day for Sonic and Shadow.

Get into a race, start sparring, somehow get stopped by Eggman, be forced to work with the faker, save the day.

Except this time, it was different.

They defeated the robot like they usually do, but Shadow was badly injured, and a large piece of metal from the robot almost fell on him. Shadow could barely move, so he squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the hit, only for it to never come.

He opens his eyes, expecting to see the faker’s smug face, but instead, it’s someone else’s.

Yours.

You’re a hedgehog just like him and Sonic, but you seem to excel in strength rather than speed.

And he’s mesmerized by you.

“You alright?” you ask him.

“I’m fine,” Shadow states, turning his head away and avoiding eye contact, controlling his blush that threatens to cover his face.

You shrug and place the metal down next to you.

“You sure? You look like you’ve been through hell and back,” you tell him.

“I said I’m fine,” he spats.

He feels your gaze on him, causing him to feel uneasy.

“Yo! [Name]! What brings you here?” Sonic asks after rushing over to you and Shadow.

“([Name]…I’ll have to remember that.)” Shadow thinks to himself.

“I happened to be in the area and thought I’d come see my…” you start, dragging out the ‘y’ before you pull Sonic into a headlock, giving him a noogie. “Annoying twin brother!”

“Ach! Assault! Shadow, help me!” Sonic says dramatically. “I’ve been ambushed!”

“Fight your own fights, faker,” Shadow tells me. “Since when did you have a sibling?”

“Uh- Since birth! Duh!” Sonic says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Did you really not tell anyone about me???” you ask him. “I think that earns you another noogie!”

“Noooooo! Spare meeeee!” Sonic says, laughing as you give him another noogie.

“Anyway! I’m gonna keep exploring,” you tell him, releasing Sonic and pointing finger guns in their direction. “Make sure you get that cute friend of yours bandaged!”

“(Cute?!)” Shadow thinks to himself, desperately trying to keep the blush from rising to his face and ears.

You wave goodbye to them both and jog off.

Sonic waits until you’re out of earshot to say anything about your comment.

“Did they just call you cute???” Sonic questions. “There’s no way my sibling called you cute.”

“I don’t understand it myself,” Shadow mutters.

“Are you blushing?!” Sonic asks.

“No! You’re seeing things!” Shadow states, his face tinted green.

Sonic lets out a groan.

“Touch my baby sibling and I’ll kick your butt,” Sonic threatens.

“Oh no. How threatening,” Shadow says sarcastically. “Why don’t you let them date who they want to date, faker.”

“I’m not having them date some faker!” Sonic states, causing Shadow to roll his eyes.

Unfortunately for Sonic, Shadow had the world’s best love-advice giver living with him.

Rouge the Bat.

“Sooo, spill the beans. What do you like about them?” Rouge asks.

“Well, they’re just generally attractive,” Shadow starts, Rouge nodding along. “Not to mention they risked their life for mine, they’re a strong person, and…I feel like we’d make a good match.”

“I could set up a date for you if you’d like…For a price,” Rouge states.

Shadow pulls out a decent-sized diamond from his quills, causing Rouge to gasp.

“DEAL!” Rouge states.

A few months and many dates later, it’s official. You and Shadow started dating.

Now Sonic had to deal with you talking constantly about Shadow and see you two hold hands.

How’s that for a faker, Sonic?

#sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic fanfiction #sth fanfiction #sth oneshot #oneshot #sonic oneshot #sonic oneshots #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow the hedgehog #sonic & reader #x reader #platonic #romantic #etc #insert tag here #sonic characters x reader #sonic character x reader

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youraverageaemondsimp · 2 years ago

Text

“Be Quiet.” // DILF!Aemond Targaryen x Babysitter!Reader // PART ONE.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 500 FOLLOWERS! (+200 now) so here is the awaited fic, celebrating a milestone <3 based on this poll, dilf aemond won at the end haha 💞

MDNI

WARNINGS: unprotected p in v sex, dubcon(?), oral (both f and m.), blowjob, cum eating, cum play(?), breeding kink, multiple orgasms, age gap (9ish years), DILF aemond, single father aemond, power imbalance(?), throat fucking, cunnilingus, lots and lots of kissing, + not proofread

WC: 7.1k (yeah...)

« part two // 🎄 special »

Getting fired from your job while trying to pay rent and gathering tuition fees isn't exactly ideal, you wanted to pursue a bachelor's degree after high school, but you didn't have enough money, coming from a family that was barely held by, nor were you eligible to apply for student because there were legal issues.

You moved out of your parents not wanting to financially burden them anymore, renting a decent apartment with just enough space for you to call it a 'home' you've been working for the past 2 years, a decent paying job but it was enough to get by and save up on the fees too, everything seemed to be going perfect until you suddenly got fired and your landlord decided to increase the rent.

You knew you'd have to cut into your savings to pay rent now, but you didn't want that, you halfway there to your goal, you were expected to get promoted and get higher pay, you calculated it, that it would only take one more year for you get enough amount to pay for the first few sems, and then maybe you'll be able to apply for a student loan by then.

But fate had different plans, and here you were on your couch scrolling through multiple apps to find any type of job, extremely desperate.

And that's when you saw it.

“Babysitter needed.” you thought how perfect of a job it would be considering the degree you wanted to so badly was based in psychology, child psychology specifically, and interacting with kids will probably give you some type of experience?

You quickly clicked on it and found the contact number, and decided to call it, you bit your lips nervously hoping they'd pick up.

“Hello?” you heard a cool voice say which sent shivers down your spine.

“Hello- yes uhm, Hi! I am calling because I saw the post on the app that said you needed a babysitter for hire?” you stumble over your words and mentally facepalm yourself for it.

“Yes, indeed. Are you interested in applying?” he asks and you quickly reply with a yes.

“Do you have any prior experience?” he asks and you reply with a quick yes, you've babysat a few kids throughout your highschool era for quick cash, as a way to not rely on your parents for menial things.

“Mhm alright, I don't want to bring your hopes up by saying you got a job, I'd like to have a personal interview first, if you do not mind.” he says and you say, thanking him and he hangs up the call.

You were fucking shaking.

It felt like applying for the first job of your life all again, the nervousness, the anxiety, the everything.

Aemond had saved your phone number and sent it to his assistant, Floris, asking her to run a background check on you, and to see if you had any criminal background, he read your name on the file that got delivered to him, sipping on his coffee while he scanned through your details.

You just turned 21, recently.

‘So young’ he thought, ‘Let me guess, she's probably looking for jobs in order to afford education.’ he guessed and he was exactly on the money with that one.

He wasn't that old himself, barely 30

He inherited his father's business at just age 23, being the only one capable of handling such pressure, his elder siblings couldn't stand a chance against him, and since then, he's maintained the Targaryen name perfectly.

He remembers falling in love with a woman older than him, he was 24, she attended one of the business parties he dreaded going to, Alys rivers was her name, they dated for 2 years before deciding to pace things up and get engaged since everything was going perfect for both of them.

Until Alys got pregnant, Aemond was overjoyed when he heard that news, but he didn't know that the child would suck the life out of her.

She died giving birth to their son, and he was devastated, being heart broken by her death, however he never once blamed his child, it was their choice to birth him, and it failed miserably.

But 3 years had passed since her death and he had moved on from her death, ready to love once again, yet it was extremely hard to find someone that wasn't after his money.

He knew he couldn't just live in the misery of heartbreak, and Alys would've wanted him to move on too.

His son, Aenys, recently turned 3 too, he inherited Aemond's purple eyes and silver blonde hair, typical targ features, but he saw how the softness of his nose, sharpness of his eyes resembled his mother.

But back to you at hand, he went through all your papers deeming you fit for the interview, he called a day later telling you the address where the interview would be held, his office.

Yes, his fucking office, as if you were applying for a job at his company, he justified it by saying that you were technically his employee.

When you got out of the taxi and looked at the company in front of you, it finally clicked in your brain that your employee was none other than Aemond Targaryen, and it only made your anxiety worse.

You went to the receptionist and told her your name, and she typed it in, giving you a small smile, telling you that you were exactly on time. She called his office to tell you that you were here and led you to his office. You looked around and noticed how big this company was, a bunch of employees working in their cubicles, typing away.

“Mr. Targaryen?” she called out and you heard a small ‘come in.’ Before stepping inside and pushing the door open for you to enter, you did and she stepped outside, closing it gently behind you, leaving you alone in the room with the man.

Aemond hadn't looked up from his files until the door closed, and when he did, he felt his breath caught in his throat.

“You may sit.” he says and you nod, sitting across him on the opposite side of the table, you felt so small under his gaze, it was so intimidating but you put up with it.

He began the interview by asking questions about yourself, and all relevant things, but there was one question that caught you off guard.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks and you furrow your brows, “Excuse me?” you question, noticing how odd of a question it is.

“Don't get me wrong, the previous babysitter had one, and she used to bring him to the apartment and…” he cleared his throat and you immediately caught on to what he was implying, “Oh! No! I do not have one, and even if I did I would not do that!” you reassure him and he gives you a nod.

He was fucking lying.

But you didn't know that.

The previous babysitter was an old lady, who Aenys liked a lot, but sadly she had to leave the city.

“I hope you know that you're expected to work full time? I leave for the office at 9AM and return back at 7PM, and you'll need to be ready to work those long hours, and sometimes I might not even return till late at night if there is extra work.” he says and you nod, and before the question can leave your mouth he cuts you off.

“Do not worry, you'll be paid for those extra hours.” he confirms and you nod smiling at him.

And then came your terms, which he agreed to, he made you sign a one year contract, and you did it without hesitation.

Frankly the pay was so high you would barely need to work 6 months to reach the full amount, but you still did an extra 6 months considering how having extra money at hand doesn't hurt.

And with a handshake, he accepted you.

You were practically going to spend most of your awake time with the kid, it sounds hectic but the pay was too good to pass up on, I mean, $80 per hour? fuck yes, you'd be having around $230k by the end of the contract. Aemond was filthy rich.

It was finally your day to go to his house and you already knew it was going to be big, but you were still shocked when you arrived to the destination, it was a 20 minute drive from your house, and it was located in the richest neighbourhood to exist in the city, you felt embarrassed getting out of your taxi at an area where everyone probably had their own cars, heck, a collection of them even, but you paid the fare and the guard got up to question you, you told him and he quickly nodded before letting you inside.

It was early in the morning, you came quickly so Aemond could show you around the house and introduce you to his kid, you stood there nervously as you rang the doorbell, Aemond had checked through the security camera before the door opened, revealing the house interior.

You quickly stepped in and he closed the door behind you. You expected him to have maids and a bunch of staff, but you were surprised when you found none. No wonder he asked if you can cook, you'd probably be doing all the work here besides the cleaning.

“Aenys is in his playroom, let me take you there.” he says cooly and you follow him, taking in your surroundings.

He opens the door to the playroom and you immediately find a kid, who you assumed to be older than 2, playing with his dragon toys, making rawr sounds, and yelling the word ‘dracarys.’ you smiled at the cuteness.

Aemond cleared his throat which caught the attention of Aenys and he smiled brightly before he jumped in his arms, “Papa!” he yelled, before he turned his attention to you and looked at his father in question

“Hey aeny, do you know how the previous babysitter had to leave town?” he asks gently and Aenys nods, “And papa needs to be away for work top right? So I got you a new babysitter who will take care of you.” he points towards you, explaining and Aenys looks at you tilting his head slightly

“Hey, Aenys.” you give him a small, waving your hand, he shyly waves back before he hides his face his fathers chest, you chuckle at the cuteness.

“I'll go give her a house tour okay? And then I will visit you once again before I leave, have fun darling.” He says and puts his son down, and Aenys looks at you once again, inspecting you, observing you, you smile at him once again, and this time he gives you a shy smile.

Aemond leaves the room and you wave a quick temporary goodbye to Aenys and follow him.

“Aenys, doesn't have a mother, or at least he had to grow up without one” Aemond randomly begins and you look at him confused. “My fiancee-” he sighs before halting his footsteps, “She- she had died while giving birth to him.” you watch as he takes deep breaths, “It's okay if you don't want to talk about it now, we have a lot of time anyway, just open up to me when you are ready, sir.” you tell him and he looks at you, giving you a nod and resumes the house tour.

It was fucking big.

Just like he said, he visited his son once more before leaving for work and the entire day you spent it with Aenys, getting to know him, observing his behaviour.

You noted that he was extremely shy at first but then he eventually warmed up to you, he still had his guard up of course since you were fairly new and a stranger in his life, you introduced yourself and he did the same.

He showed you all his toy collections, which you were genuinely fascinated by, he had so many dragon figurines and remembered each one by their name, his favourite was vhagar.

“It waass papa's once, when he was jus like mee.” he babbled cutely, the way he pronounced the words were so cute too, you swear you could die at it.

“Vhagar belonged to your papa?” you felt awkward saying the word papa, but you knew you had to considering that it was the term Aenys was used to, he nodded, smiling.

“Yesh! He gwave it to meh.” he says and you smile.

Aenys had quite a developed vocabulary for his age, though he pronunciation was a bit off, but you knew it would improve with time.

And just like that, you and Aenys grew close, he was always cheery to see you, you cooked and looked after him, feeding him vegetables in a way he would enjoy, and Aemond was surprised when he found out, considering Aenys refused to eat vegetables.

You put Aenys to sleep one day, singing him a lullaby and caressing his hair as he fell asleep in his bed, he watched you with big doe eyes, which were slowly beginning to get droopy as sleep overcame him. He closed his eyes and his brows were relaxed. You sat there for a while, watching him sleep, and you look at the time, 8PM, Aemond was running late, but you didn't mind, by the time he usually fell asleep, Aemond would've been there, listening to you sing to his son and when he finally fell asleep, you would leave, politely saying goodbye to Aemond, but this time you had stayed, since Aemond was late.

You noticed how Aenys eyebrows furrowed before you saw tears coat his eyelashes

“Mam… mama… I want mama...” he mumbled in his sleep and you swear you felt your heart wrench at that, then you heard small sniffles.

He was crying in his sleep.

Is this what usually happens after you leave? You felt extremely sad, you remember how Aemond had told you that Aenys grew up without a mother, how she had died during childbirth. You never really thought about it much but you realised how tough it must've been for Aenys, then suddenly you remembered all the times you played together or watched cartoons, how he would say the word "mother" longingly when he was referring to a mom dragon, or how he stared in a daze when a cartoon showed a mom taking care of his child.

He was beginning to notice an absence of a parental figure in his life.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sniffling getting louder, and Aenys was beginning to borderline cry out, you quickly picked him up and carried him, pacing around the room gently as you patted his back, his hand clung tightly onto the sleeve of your arm and he rested his cheek on your shoulder.

“Shhh, Aenys, it's okay.” you try consoling him but he kept repeating the words 'I want mama, mama.' in his sleep over and over again.

Not knowing what to do, you began to feel bad, so you did what you thought was the best.

“Aenys, Mama is here, it's okay hush now..” you coo gently into his ear and that's when he finally stops sniffling, 'mama?' he mumbles and you hum, “Yes, it's mama, do not cry anymore okay? Mama is here.” you caress his hair and he finally relaxes, you were so entranced in comforting him that your brain managed to ignore the presence of Aemond himself, who had arrived when you picked him up and paced around in a panic, he was going to interfere but then he heard you say those words.

You stopped dead in your tracks when you noticed him, heat climbing up your face as you realised he probably heard everything and also you were stricken with fear too cause you likely overstepped.

You gently placed Aenys down on the bed and got out of his room, anxiety coursing through your veins as you realised what you had done

But you were only trying to comfort him.

Aemond soon followed you out the room as well and you turned around to face him when he closed the door.

“I apologize— I'm so sorry—” you began.

“Don't. It's fine, I can understand why you did that.” he cuts you off, and you wince.

“He- he's been noticing.” you began and Aemond nodded, “I've noticed too.” he replies and sighs.

“Aenys has changed a lot since you've started babysitting him in a good way , and I've noticed it, he's becoming more and more aware of the world around him.” He moves to the living room, sitting on the couch and you do the same, sitting on the one opposite to him.

“I've made sure that he never felt a lack of anything in his life, but I guess it's only natural for a person to desire something he can't have.” he says.

“Aenys can have a mother, if you remarry, that void will be fulfilled somewhat.” you suggest and he looks at before chuckling “I've thought of that too, my mother said the same thing, but i cannot trust anyone, especially considering how many are after my money, who knows if they'll be kind to him, or whether Aenys will like them or not.” he sighs.

“That is true.” you agree with him and he looks at you.

“Unless… ” he begins, eye scanning your entire being and you look at him, your heartbeat quickening, just as he was about to say something, your phone rings and it cuts off the trance-like state you were in, and you look at it to see who it is.

It was a spam call.

But then your eyes bulge out of your sockets when you look at the time, “Holy shit it's late, I'm sorry sir but i have to leave now, or else it will be too dangerous.” you say and quickly apologise and he nods, dismissing you. That was the first night, sleep came to Aenys peacefully.

But it didn't to Aemond, he was lost in thought about everything, but then his mind wandered off to somewhere it shouldn't go.

The way you comforted Aenys stirred something inside you, the moment was perfect, you cooing in Aenys' ear that you were here, pretending to be his mother.

It was so perfect.

Almost as if you were made for that.

Aemond felt his heart flutter.

For the first time in years.

He couldn't help but accept the pull he felt towards you.

Aenys doesn't seem to remember the incident, probably cause he was literally just sleep talking so it was left at that, but you and Aemond however grew a bit close after that incident, he came back home early as he can, so he could spend time with his son and you, he was subconsciously trying to get his son used to both of them being around, both present in his life as parental figures.

You obviously weren't able to leave early just because he got home early because those were your mandatory hours, so it became your new normal to spend time with him and Aenys.

You couldn't deny that there was something definitely blooming in between you and Aemond, he would often throw appreciative comments in your way, which made your belly pool up with heat.

You noticed how he wanted to stay by your side, physical touch lingering, he had suggested that you 3 should go grocery shopping, and you found it odd considering he could literally order his clients to fetch them for him, but you agreed anyways, using it as a chance to get outside and let Aenys interact with other people. Aemond was heavily against sending him to the daycare, because he was scared for his son, it was understandable but it also set Aenys behind a bit.

“Mama, I want this!” you hear a kid yell at his mom and you watch as she refuses it gently, telling him no and that she will buy him the next time they come back here, and the kid just pouted, you chuckled at the sight.

You turned your attention to Aenys who was staring at the scene too, and you realised how he was in a daze once again as well, you looked at Aemond who also seemed to notice.

Aenys quickly ran in another direction and you panicked and almost ran after him before he was back in front of you again, grabbing the same toy the other child had grabbed earlier and showing it to you. “Ma-” he cut himself short before pushing the toy to show you “I want this!” he says and Aemond was confused at first and he was about to agree to buy that toy for Aenys until you butted in, “No Aenys, we can't buy it right now! We'll buy it next time when we come back here okay?” you say and he smiles sheepishly at you, before pretending to pout and put the toy back in a random shelf.

You chuckled at the childishness, he just wanted to feel the same type of experience that others do. Aemond knew it was just you both playing around, he didn't miss the way Aenys almost called you his mother, and it spurred him on further, the way you acted as a genuine mother.

Those type of random moments became often, and it pushed Aemond further and further to the edge, the way you would act like such a perfect mom made him want to bend you over any surface and fuck you, filling you up with his cum.

Aemond then suddenly started joining for lunch, he would usually eat at his office, but he made extra effort to drive home so he could eat with his 'family.' He loved your cooking, you made it taste like home, he would watch as you cut smaller pieces of fruits and vegetables for Aenys so he could properly chew and eat. He imagined how perfect you would be as his wife and like an official mother to his child, or better, children, all of these small things were pushing him to the edge

And soon it would push him off it.

Aemond cursed himself when he drove through the rain, already running late, he looked at his watch and read the time, it was 10PM, the meeting in the afternoon stretched over two hours long which set back the rest of his schedule by a lot, he quickly parked his hair before making his way inside his house, open the door with the extra key carried before shutting it close.

“Look Aenys! Dada's here.” he heard you say and he was immediately spun around, he didn't expect you to stick around this long, but then he realised it was raining heavily and you always went by taxi, there probably would've been no taxi available in this weather.

“Aenys didn't go to sleep yet?” he asks, undoing the suit he was wearing before throwing it on the couch, approaching both of you, taking Aenys into his arms.

“He wanted to wait until you got home, he was worried for you, though he seems tired hmm.” you pinch his nose playfully and he scrunches it up, “I'm not twired…” he says but then yawns earning a chuckle from both you and Aemond.

“I'll put him to sleep, you go freshen up.” you say and Aemond nods, giving him back to you.

Fuck everything about that interaction felt too domestic.

And Aemond had lost his resolve.

He found you sitting on the couch, scrolling through something, he sat down next to you.

“What are you doing?” he asks and you look at him, “Trying to book cabs, but there are none available at the moment due to the weather.” you sigh before placing your phone down.

Aemond should've offered to drive you home but instead he offered to let you stay.

“You know you can stay over, I do not mind it.” he says and you look at him “Really? I don't wanna be a bother—”

“Oh please, you are never a bother.” he cuts you off and smiles at you. “You should freshen up for the night, you've been here since morning.” he says but you pout. “I do not have any clothes.” you say and he simply shrugs, “You can wear mine.” he pushes the buttons, wondering how far he can get away with it, he knew offering you to let you stay at his house already broke the employee boss relationship, hell, the moment he desired you was when it already broke.

“Mhm okay! Where is the guest bathroom?” you ask and he shakes his head, “The water heater is broken in that one, it's better if you use the attached bathroom in my room.” he says.

The water heater wasn't broken.

He was lying.

And you believed him.

He watched as you got up and made your way to his room, which was right next to Aenys', considering he has to react if something happens to him, he followed you inside opening the cupboards and giving you his hoodie and fresh pair of boxers which you thanked him for.

He left the room to give you privacy, but oh gods his mind was racing with all the thoughts.

He paced around, trying to contain himself, and he stood there in front of the door.

And then you opened it.

His hoodie reached to your thighs, and you looked at him, shocked to find him in front of the door, lips parted.

He snapped.

He quickly pushed you inside and shut the door behind you, slamming his lips against yours, and kissed you fervent hunger, you stumbled back and you almost fell but he caught you by your waist and pushed deeper into the kiss, moving his lips hungrily against your.

He pulls away, silently giving you a way out if you need it.

You should refuse this.

You should push him away.

But you don't, instead you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a deeper kiss, he groans when he feels you kiss him back, he pulls away once again, before grabbing you by your arm and pushing you onto the bed, making you fall on your back, your hoodie rising up, revealing your stomach, which he kissed lovingly before he pulled the hoodie even more further up, exposing your tits and pressing kisses to the nipples, causing you to gasp.

He pulls the hoodie off of you completely, and you raise your hands to assist him, he pulls off his shirt too, exposing his naked chest, and you bite your lip at the view, next he takes the boxes off you, doing the same, leaving you both completely bare to the room.

He pushes you upwards to the bed and crawls on top of you, kissing your face, neck, collar bones and valley between your breasts, his hands grab the flesh of your tits before he kneads them, massaging them, thumbs flicking the nipples making you arch your back.

One of his hands trails down to your core, dipping into the heat, he outright moans when he finds you practically leaking, collecting the arousal and bringing it upwards your bud. Rubbing small circles which makes you gasp.

He pulls his hand away and brings it up to lick at the wetness that has accumulated on the fingers, humming in satisfaction before he pressed kisses which travelled downwards until his mouth stopped right at your core, giving a small kiss to it to, you shivered when you felt his hot breath against it, the way the air he exhaled would hit your clit. He kissed the inner part of your thighs first, making you needy with want, wishing he'd just take you into his mouth.

And then he does, his tongue strides upwards from your opening to your clit, giving you one long lick before he captures your clit with his mouth, suckling on it, causing you moan his name loudly, both of his hands wrap around your thighs and he pulls them further apart, his fingers digging into the flesh as he hungrily devours your cunt, tongue flicking the bud constantly, you grip his hair and buck your hips, practically rutting against his face, you felt his tongue travelling down and lick at the wetness, the tip of his nose pushing against your clit, you felt your core tighten as the movement of his tongue sped up, causing you to topple over the edge and your orgasm hit you like a truck, making you whine loudly.

He greedily licked everything up before he placed wet kisses on your thighs, the residue of your wetness sticking to them before he sat back on his knees between your parted legs, you watched as he got up slightly, making his cock come into view.

Your eyes widened slightly, which didn't go unnoticed by Aemond, this stroked his ego very much.

He was big, bigger than any you've seen before, it was pale with a tip that was flushed pink due to the blood pumping, oozing precum out of it, he pumped his cock in his hand to ease the area, coating his dick in his own precum before he positioned it against your entrance, you bit your lip in anticipation but then you felt him slide against your folds, covering his dick in your wetness as well before slapping your clit with the tip of his dick, making you whimper.

He then lined himself against your entrance and pushed in, and you arched your back at the stretch, it was so delicious, you felt so full.

He leaned on top of you and gave you a passionate kiss, you could taste yourself on his tongue, making you taste the tanginess, he supported his weight on his elbows which were on either side of you, gripping yours, fingers intertwined with yours. You were locked in a missionary position, a position that felt intimate.

Then you felt him move, thrusting in and out at a brutal speed, causing you to moan his name, the thrusts made you jolt up the bed, breasts bouncing due to the force emitted from it, his grip tightening as he grunted on top of you, rutting into your wet heat, his hair dropped his shoulders, cascading around his face, and you gasped at how godly his looked like this.

Then you felt his tip hit your gspot, constantly, which caused you moan extremely loudly, “Fuckk! Ahh~ Aemond!” you mewled, closing your eyes and throwing your head back, his hand left one of yours to cover your mouth as he continuously slammed into you.

“Shh, be quiet, or he'll wake up.” he whispers, referring to Aenys who was sleeping in the next room and you nodded, you felt him pull his hand away but his thumb traced your lips, you opened your mouth which made him put his thumb inside and you sucked on him, and you felt him groan, then he pulled it out, hand going back to grip yours, and you bit your lip to hold back your moans from slipping out.

You felt your core begin to tighten again and it snapped once more, causing you to arch you back, pushing your breasts against his chest and he muttered 'fuck' feeling the way you clenched around him.

His thrusts begin to grow sloppy and lose their rhythm, indicating that he was close, “Fuckk, I'm gonna cum inside you.” he says and you whine, “I'm going to get you pregnant, watch you grow round with my kid…” he growls, thrusting into you again and again, “You're going to give Aenys little siblings, You will, right? He looked so lonely, I think he'd appreciate that.” he grunts and you nod quickly, mind too hazy to even comprehend or acknowledge the complications behind you agreeing to this.

“Good girl.” he says before he finishes inside you, and paints your walls white, shooting up his seed far into you, riding his orgasm out.

You felt him pull out and thought that was the end until he pushed you over onto your back, and sat on his knees, he grabbed your waist and pulled it up, and you immediately switched to supporting your on your knees as you arched your back, stretching like a cat, your hands on the side of you.

He groaned when he watched his cum drip down your thighs before he scooped it up and put it in his mouth, tasting your combined essence.

He was still hard.

So he wasted no time, shoving himself back inside you and you whined at the way your walls felt overstimulated, not knowing if you can handle one more orgasm consistently.

He sheathed himself inside your walls, and moved with fervent speed like before, his balls slapping against your thighs, the room was filled with erotic noises, he gripped your waist for support, until his hand travelled slightly upwards, catching one of your tits before gripping it tightly, and rolling the nipple in between his fingers.

“I can't wait to watch them swell.” he grunts.

“You'd look so pretty with my child in your belly, the way your tummy will swell? Gods fuck, that is a vision.” he moans

“Look at you, taking my cock so well, like you are meant to.” he notes, thrusting in and out, watching as the previous cum leaks out.

He clicks his tongue

“So much is going to waste, tsk, it's okay I'll fill you up again, make sure you get pregnant.” he groans and you moan, “Ye-yes fill me up.” you say, and he smirks at that, “Good girl, taking my cock like one.” he leans against you, your back pressing to his chest as he leaves kisses on the back of your neck, and you once again, topple over the edge for the third time.

He finishes too, inside you again.

You both fall besides each other on the bed, and realise the weight of the situation after the adrenaline and excitement of the moment fades away and the breathing becomes more stable.

“I- fuck.” Aemond begins not knowing what to say and you lay there quietly.

“Listen, ever since that day you walked in, I felt some type of pull towards you, I wasn't sure what it was, but it was as if we were meant to me, and I couldn't ignore the feelings brewing inside me.” you watch as he speaks.

“I- to put it in simple words, I fell in love with you. I really did, though it's fine if you do not share the same feelings, we can go back to pretending this never happened.” he confesses.

“I am in love with you too.” you confess, “I pushed these feelings away, because it wasn't appropriate.” you say and he looks at you this time.

Silence falls between you two.

A comfortable silence.

He pulls you closer and wraps his arms around you, hugging you, and you hug him back, the he places loving kisses atop you.

You felt something hard pressing against your inner thighs and you looked down, shocked to find him hard again, you chuckle.

“Again?” you tease and he playfully glares at you, “Yeah, you're so fucking irresistible.” he kisses your neck, hips mindlessly grinding against you. “I'm so sensitive.” you pout, but you get an idea, you quickly push him onto his back before getting on top of him, and then crawling down in between his legs, before taking his cock in your hand.

“Fuck!” he moans when he feels your warm hand wrap around it, before you gently tug on it, pumping your hand up and down, watching as the precum leaks out, you collect some with your tongue, poking the slight hole making him groan and grip the side of your head.

You trail kisses down to his balls, before giving them wet kisses as your hand pumps his cock, you lick a long stride up his length before taking him in your mouth, as best as you can, hands resting on his thighs to balance yourself.

You bob your head up and down, swirling the the tongue around him, pulling away time to time to breath before descending onto him once again, the grip on the side of your head tightened and you watched as he sat up slightly leaning on his elbow, before his hips thrusted upwards, and so you let him take control.

He collected your hair into a makeshift pony before gripping the back of your head tightly and thrusting his entire length into your mouth, the tip teaching the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, causing tears to well up in your eyes, you closed them and tried to breathe through your nose as he thrusted upwards and fast, essentially fucking your throat.

You felt him twitch slightly in your mouth, knowing he was close, you sucked him and hollowed your cheeks, he threw his head back at that, he felt steady pleasure rising within him before such a force expelled from his body, causing him to peak, shooting out ropes and ropes after cum into your mouth, you felt it hit the back of your throat, causing you to swallow unknowingly, before he slightly pulled out, cause the remaining to fall in your mouth.

He pulled out completely and watched your face, flushed and hair dishevelled, you held his cum in your mouth, waiting for his command, “Swallow.” and you did, obeying him, opening your mouth to show that there was none left, he groaned as he watched the remnants of his seed drip from the side of your mouth before he collected it with his index finger and shoved it back into your mouth, and you click his finger clean, he grunted before you upwards and kissing you, tasting himself in your mouth, hands squeezing your ass before he gave one of them light slaps, causing you to wince.

You pulled away and breathed heavily, he smiled down at you, before he left the bed to clean both of you up, collecting the clothes and getting dressed before he pulled beside him in the bed, going to sleep while hugging your form.

You dreaded the next morning, wondering how you'll explain your relationship to Aenys, you woke up to an empty bed, you read the time, it's was just 8AM, you felt sad but then you quickly got up and went outside finding Aemond and Aenys awake, sitting at the table conversing, your heart warmed at the sight, Aenys spotted you and ran over to you, lifting his arms up, asking you to silently to carry him, and you did, you picked him up before placing a small kiss to his forehead.

“Mama!” he said and you froze, before you looked at Aemond, who gave you a small smile and nodded and your eyes softened at it, it seems he had done the explaining.

“Mama! Mama!” Aenys grabbed your face making you look at him and you chuckled, “Yes Aenys, it's mama.” you say and he smiles brightly.

“I'll go get ready for work.” Aemond says, getting up from the spot he was sitting on and coming over to both of you before he pressed a kiss to Aenys forehead, and doing the same to you and going inside his room and getting ready.

You put Aenys down on his chair and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, you made simple eggs on toast, and just on the time, Aemond came out of his room, looking all ready and you placed three plates down, along with fruits cut into small pieces of Aenys.

“I made breakfast.” you say and Aemond smiles at you, before sitting down and the three of you ate breakfast.

Applying for this job was the best thing you've ever done.

Who knew your life would change the course of it in the span of just a few months.

There were other things to discuss, and you knew it was plaguing Aemond's mind as well, but you both decided it will be best if discussed later and so you both basked in this moment, listening to Aenys babbles.

“So i hwave a mom now rightt?” he asks Aemond who nods, “Are you happy?” he asks and Aenys nods quickly, “Yesh! Aenys is wery hwappy! But…” he trails off and you feel your heartbeat quicken.

“I want a sibling too…” he murmurs

Oh gods.

Your eyes flickered over to Aemond who stared at you, you blush and look away as you remembered the details of last night.

“I wwant a swister… ! or a bwother!!! Hmm any is fine…” he babbles on, not knowing what he is asking for.

You look at Aemond again, who didn't seem to take his eye off you at all.

He smirks.

Oh fuck.

You quickly get up and collect the empty plates before going behind the kitchen counter and placing them in the sink, washing your hands, focusing your attention on them, until you felt arms wrapped around your waist before one trailed upwards towards your breast giving it squeeze, you quickly looked up to see Aenys was watching until you realised he was nowhere to be seen.

“He's in his playroom.” Aemond whispered in your ear, grinding slowly against your ass.

“Heard that? He wants a sibling so badly, surely you can't deny him right?” he asks, pinching your nipples through the fabric causing you to gasp.

He places kisses down your neck, before he spins you around and kisses you on the mouth, making you wrap your arms around his shoulder. He pulls away before kissing you on the cheek.

His phone rings and he notices the time, 9:15AM, he was running late which was the first for him, and it was his assistant calling him.

“Fuck, mood spoiler.” he grunts before shoving his phone back in his pocket before placing a kiss to your mouth once again.

“Don't think I'm done with you yet, it's gonna be one hell of a ride when I get back home.” he presses one final kiss to your neck before pulling himself away from you, granted it was so fucking difficult considering how he wanted to fuck you on the kitchen counter just moments ago.

You nod and follow him to the front door.

“Have a nice day, Aemond.” you say, and he smiles at you, coming to kiss you but then Aenys comes running towards you both.

“Is dada going to work?? BYE DADAAA” he screams and Aemond chuckles, before waving a small 'bye' to Aenys, and leaving from the front door.

He barely left and he already couldn't wait to get back home from work.

And you gulped, nervous in anticipation.

Oh seven hells.

———

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond x reader smut #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #reader insert #x reader smut #hotd x reader #x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic

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acid-ixx · 5 months ago

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— masterlist !

i swear, as i'm writing for chapter 5 for again &. again, i realize just how truly fucked up the comfort scene with jason and the reader will go through because one thought his death was neglected, whilst the other suffers through the consequences of their father's neglect because that same father cared too much for his second child to even notice the one that came after him.

and both siblings will slowly come to realize that and display different reactions. jason's too desperate to keep you close to him from now on because he can't afford having you go through anymore pain despite it being too late, despite you having long since slipped out of his grasp. his sweet angel has grown up too soon and too early, and he always wanted to be an older brother, now look at you—!

you're crying, in his arms, yet you're pushing him away at the same time. but you're too unstable, too hurt and in so much pain— you're going through the same lapse of breakdowns as him. he sees himself in you, and sees a broken child who wants nothing but comfort all throughout. you cry and tell him that you fear him, him and his guns and metal helmet, he's not your brother, you say, yet your head lays atop his jacket stained with your tears and you beg him to never mention this moment of weakness to your family.

how could he not protect you after all this? how could he let you go so easily after everything you've spilled? every secret, every confession— how could he not?

even if you tell him he's not family anymore, even if you tell him to treat you like every other gothamite he saves from crime, even if you pull yourself away just as quickly from his tightening hold; he couldn't just leave you be.

not when you're all broken because of him.

but you don't want his care, not anymore. you've long since given up on any sliver of love from your family that you're convinced he's simply doing this out of wishing to repair whatever relationship he has with you. you cried because you're at your limits, but you don't want his comfort, you don't want any of your family's, you simply did with him because he was the only one available, that's solely it.

but will he understand? no.

even if he takes you back to a location a few blocks away from your apartment, ensuring that he wouldn't follow you for the sake of your privacy (hah! as if), even if he promises you that he'll keep your meeting with each other a secret from everyone else, even if he wants to so badly come running to you to watch over his angel for the night— he needs to plan things, he needs some time to think for himself, on how to convince you to at least - if you refuse to reconnect with others, which he understands - trust him, and only him.

and if it weren't for bruce calling him through comms after watching your form slowly disappear into the distance, shoulders and torso cold from the absence of your body after just some minutes, with his jacket still damp from your tears and his thoughts running ablaze— he swore, he could've gone insane.

— i hope u guys don't mind me rambling rather than posting something longer. sometimes, my mind functions way too fast and i have to capture the opportunity to write something out whilst the thought is still fresh in my mind. i do hope the excitement and love for my series doesn't die down anytime sooner because of the amount of delays. and ofc, doing this all because jason todd appreciation !!

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xotaemintol · 7 months ago

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READ YOUR MIND • JAEHYUN X FEMBLACK READER

“I can read your mind baby, I know what you’re thinking …”

WARNING: this one shot includes: oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, fingering, masturbation, and a slight breeding kink. If you are a minor GO AWAY! Thank you.

Female reader, plus size friendly. Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated it ♡

3.8k wc. Jaehyun is absolutely whipped for the reader and adores literally everything the reader does because he loves them so much. Lots of “good girl” and ‘my girl” is used.

Sorry for any mistakes, it’s ovulation week and I wrote this while thinking about Jaehyun making me a single mother but I’ll save that for another day 😭

Desperate couldn’t begin to describe how you felt. Your body was trembling, your breathing slow and heavy, and your heart was pounding. Everytime Jaehyun looked at you it felt like you were going into heat.

The way his cheek dimples appeared as he laughed made your pussy throb. You almost doubled over when he looked at you and smiled politely. You couldn’t even smile back; you could only manage to stare at him in disbelief—amazed by just how good he looked while doing so little.

You felt like your clothes would evaporate every time he spoke; his voice was like silk and sex itself—you were seconds away from begging him to rip your clothes off and fuck you on the table. Not caring about Johnny being present.

“Baby, could you do me a favor please?” As he spoke you inhaled deeply, trying not to moan in response. You sit up straight and raise your eyebrows, but your expression came off as frustrated. “Yeah?” With a charming smile he asked; “Could you please get me that watch I bought in Madrid?”

You paused for a moment and looked him in the eyes. A terrible mistake. You exhaled deeply, trying your hardest not to pounce as you bit your lip and smiled.

All you offer as a response is a nodded as you slowly stood up.

“Thank you, my love.” Your knees buckled a little but you laugh it off, nervously. You slowly walked away and made your way to the bedroom to find the watch he bought during his trip.

Your brain felt so foggy you almost gave up on looking for it; but when you took a second to calm down you noticed that it was right in front of your face the whole time. Frustration set in quickly as you grabbed the velvety box and made your way back to the living room.

“Here you go…oh…” You paused seeing Jaehyun standing in the living room alone. “Whered he go?” You asked. You wanted to care about where Johnny had went off to—you wanted to so badly, but deep down you were praying that you’d get a second long enough with Jaehyun to settle the fire between your legs.

“He said something came up, something about work.” You nodded and looked around awkwardly with the box in your hand. Not knowing what to do or say due to the arousal, it was so intense that you couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t involve him fucking you. So instead you stood there, smiling like a high schooler waiting for their boyfriend to notice them.

“Could you hand me that box?” You hummed and looked down at the box in your hand and then at him. “Oh! Right!” You laughed feeling a little anxious as you approached him. With every step you felt more and more anxious—becoming increasingly horny just from the way he looked at you.

You stopped directly in front of him, you kept just enough distance between the two of you for you to breath. “Here you go.” You extended your arm expecting him to grab the box right away, but instead, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer to him. Pressing your body firmly against his own.

“W-What are you doing?” You asked with a laugh. But on the inside you were dying. “You know, after all these years you still haven’t change…” Jaehyun said. You looked up at him with a confused expression; a mixture of passion and genuine curiosity in your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

He smirks. His eyes low and his face slowly turning red as he looks down at you with his head tilted downwards toward you.

“Everytime you get excited you make it so obvious,” he said, “It’s still so cute, it makes me want to spoil you everytime.” You exhaled deeply—feeling almost breathless. Pushing against his chest you turned your head away and began giggling—giggling like a dummy as he placed his hands on your plush hips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about jae.”

“You don’t?” You almost rolled your eyes at the sound of his deep voice. The way he teased you with his words made your knees feel weak. “Baby, you know, I know you like the back of my hand. You could try to hide it, but I can read you like a book every time.” You hesitantly looked at him, the smug look on his face made you feel insane.

“Is he actually gone? Or did he just step out?” He laughed. “Why? You looked like you didn’t care who was watching at first, do you think I shouldn’t have asked him to leave?” He asked while pulling you even closer—so close that there was absolutely no space between your bodies.

You licked your lips and brought your arms up to rest on his shoulders.

The lack of distance made you feel so helpless. Your eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips; you couldn’t decide if you wanted to kiss him until your lips were aching or if you wanted to drop to your knees and suck the skin off of him.

“Was it that obvious?” You asked in a low tone. He nodded his head, answering back in an equally low tone; “But it’s okay, you know you don’t ever have to wait, I’ll give you whatever you want, whenever and where ever you want it baby.” You nodded your head and tapped your fingertips against the back of his neck.

“You know baby?” He asked, leaning in just a little closer to you he lowered his hands to your ass. You couldn’t even manage to get a singular word out, the feeling of your lips brushing against each other was excruciatingly intense. You couldn’t take it anymore. You tried to lean in and close the small gap between your lips, but just as you did he backed away a little.

“You know that, right baby?” This time you couldn’t help but whine. He was being so petty. “Yes, I know.” You said in a desperate tone. Jaehyun grinned. “That’s my girl.”

Finally—after what felt like forever, he kissed you. His lips felt as soft as butter but as warm as the sun. Your eyes closed immediately and you tightly gripped his shirt in an attempt to stop yourself from losing control so quickly.

It didn’t matter what you tried though. The way Jaehyun kissed you told you that he was going to drive you crazy no matter what. His tongue slipped into your mouth and his hands groped your ass, you could tell he was just as excited as you were.

Kissing him felt like heaven, your lips were almost aching—throbbing from how good it felt. He’s always been so good at kissing. You wanted to cry when you felt his grin against your lips.

“You’re so cute baby…” He said as he pulled away—pecking your lips gently in between every word. The smile on his face only made him sexier, his confidence and pure love for you is almost sickeningly attractive. “So fucking cute.”

He kissed you again—this time, slightly more rushed and lustful. He moved his hands up to your face and gently caressed it, taking a step back in hopes that you’d catch on to what he wanted. Just as he expected, you did right away and took a step back in the direction of the couch. Neither of you breaking the passionate kiss for even a second.

His tongue felt so hot in your mouth and his body was burning up. You tried to continue your way to the couch but as the back of your knees hit it you were forced to pull away.

“Whoa!” He laughed breathlessly as he held you up straight. His gentle hands holding you close against his chest once again. “Do you wanna go to the bedroom instead?” You immediately shook your head.

“No, no no no no no no.” You shook your head again and caressed his face, “I’m telling you right now,” You ran your fingers through his hair in a caring and loving manner—watching him smile and close his eyes as he relaxed into your tender touch. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I might just go crazy.” He chuckled and nodded his head.

“Okay?” He continued to nod as he placed his hands on top of yours, “Okay.” He repeated. He gave you one more kiss on your lips; this one more playful and sweet than the last two. “Get on the couch for me baby, let me take care of my girl.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile on your face and let go of him. Slowly, you backed away from him and sat down on the couch. That shy look in your eyes so enduring to him. He couldn’t love you more if he tried and if he did he’d likely drive himself mad.

With a loving grin on his face he motioned with his hands for you to scoot back, shooing you with his hands. You pushed yourself back and turned your body to lay your head against the arm rest.

“You nervous?” You looked up at him and shook your head. “Excited..” Jaehyun nodded his head and stood in front of you. “Show me,” He said. “I wanna see how excited my pretty girl is, okay?”

You bit your lips and nodded your head. You didn’t need any other instructs of what to do, you knew what he meant. Moving slowly you peeled away your pants and slowly spread your legs.

Jaehyun watched your every movement carefully. His eyes were glued to you, admiring the way you shyly removed your underwear and the way you touched yourself. He felt weak in the knees watching your eyes fluttering close, watching your chest rising and falling slowly and then just a little faster. He could watch you forever and never get bored—if it were up to him you’d be put in museums instead of paintings, it outta be a crime for him to be so in love with you.

“Look at me baby…” He sat down on the coffee table and spread his legs. “Look at me.” Shifting his body he raised his hips a little and gently chewed at his bottom lip. Waiting for you to finally open your eyes and look in his direction.

The moment you did, slowly turning your head to him—he broke on the inside. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, feeling unbelievably frustrated. He licked his lips as you struggled to keep your eyes opened, the sound of you moaning made him want to eat you alive.

“Does it feel good baby?” You nodded your head and closed your eyes. “So good…jae…” He cursed under his breath and stood up. He couldn’t just sit there and watch any longer.

“Let me make it better.”

Jaehyun grabbed your hand and climbed onto the couch himself, you watched with low eyes as he positioned himself between your legs. Your breathing hitched in your throat as he hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled your lower body closer to his face.

The anticipation couldn’t even build—without saying another word Jaehyun buried his face in your pussy and began eating as if he had been starving his whole life.

You gasped and immediately reached to grab his hair, gripping his platinum locs with all your might. He moaned into your warm and wet flesh, his tongue focusing on your clit as he closed his eyes.

He pressed his face against you and let go of one of your thighs, moving his hand between your thighs along with his face. Finding the right position he slowly slid one finger inside of you and opened his eyes to gauge your reaction.

He watched your pretty face twist in pleasure as you cried out his name and reached back to grip the arm rest behind your head instead of his hair. You gasped for air as his fingers curled upward and slowly moved in and out, pressing against your g-spot with every movement.

“Oh god…Jae-Jaehyun!” You turned your head away from him and your toes curled, your legs shaking beside his head. You could feel that same grin he had when he kissed you against your pussy. Of course he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from smiling even when he’s eating you out.

Again he closes his eyes and focuses completely on making you feel good. Every flick of his tongue and caress of his finger intentional. The sound of your sweet voice and the feeling of your love spilling and building up turned him on so much he felt like he could cum just from pleasing you.

Your velvety walls flutter around his finger, and when he added another he felt your whole body shiver. He sped up a little, applying a little more pressure with his fingers. He pulled away from your clit and moved upward so he could kiss you again.

The taste of yourself on his lips and tongue, but you didn’t care—it only made the kiss all the more erotic and passionate. The way he hungrily kissed you as his fingers worked endlessly to bring you closer to a sweet release made you feel like you were going to explode.

He pulled away, breathing heavily against your lips and asked; “Is that good baby?” His voice deeper than before as he spoke. “You like it?” You practically purred as you nodded your head mindlessly and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“So…so good…so good Jaehyun!” You leaned your head back and softly whined, pushing your hips against his hand as you felt the pressure building in your lower stomach. “Yeah? It’s good? It’s good baby?”

You fell silent as he went faster and slammed your hand against his shoulder, the feeling had become overwhelming—if felt like you were going to burst.

“Breathe baby, breathe…” His voice was steady but you could hardly focus on it as your mind went blank. You began panting. Your legs trembled and your back arched deeply.

Jaehyun could only watch in amazement as you got closer and closer. But to help you reach that point he grabbed your face gently with his other hand and forced you to look at him as he called your name.

“Look at me, okay?” You struggle to open your eyes for a second, but eventually you manage and hold them open. “Good girl.” Your eyes almost rolled back when he said this but you fought against it as hard as you could. “Now breathe for me…slowly…” You nodded your head and inhaled deeply and then exhaled deeply.

Jaehyun mimicked your actions dramatically and chuckled saying; “That’s right, just like that…that’s my girl, good girl.” In a purr while speeding up.

Your body tensed up and your breathing became uneven again, you tried to follow his instruction—but when he suddenly went back down to continue eating you out you held your breath; waiting to feel his Heaven sent tongue again.

The moment you felt it against your clit your breathing stopped completely, your walls clenched around his fingers and your eyes rolled back. The pressure in your stomach had finally released and you could only lay there—helpless as an intense orgasm ripped through your body.

Jaehyun kept going for a second longer—pushing you through your orgasm until you began trying to push his head away.

Only when you tried sitting up did he finally stop—he sat up with a laugh and licked his lips as you laid there breathlessly.

You smiled back at him, opening your arms to let him know you wanted him to come closer. “Was that enough for you baby?” He asked as he went into your arms. You scoffed and shook your head.

“Enough?” You licked your lips and lifted your hips against his waist. “Ask me after you get done fucking me…” He let out an exasperated laugh and nodded his head.

“You want me to fuck you?” You nodded your head. “I’ll fuck you baby…” He leaned up and took his shirt off muttering; “I’ll give you exactly what you want.” You bit your lip and watched him discard his pants.

You could see his dick pressing against his boxers, just begging to be freed. Your mouth watered at that sight. You were ready all over again.

“You ready for me?” You nodded your head and spread your legs a little wider. Jaehyun bit his lip and held his length, he pressed it against your entrance and immediately whined.

The heat and the wetness was already so much. Just rubbing himself against you felt like he was melting.

“Shit…” His eyebrows knotted together and his jaw clinched, the moment he slipped into you—the head of his slightly thick cock stretching your warm walls as he enters you, he felt like he’d cum just from that.

You gasped softly and prepared yourself, taking every inch until he had fully engulfed himself inside of you.

“Oh my god!” You threw your head back and covered your mouth. Jaehyun didn’t move for a second, just allowing you to feel it pulsing inside of you and letting you get comfortable. He waited for as long as he could, trying to make sure you were comfortable; but when you thrusted your hips against him with a desperate look on your face—the same one from before, he just couldn’t wait anymore.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” He lowered his body and kissed you before slowly pulling out of you, you could feel his length dragging and pressing against you—applying intense pressure to your g-spot and making you even more sensitive than before.

When only the head of his dick was left inside he paused for just a second before snapping his hips forward and slamming down into you. You gasped and pressed against his shoulder, trembling as he began slowly thrusting into you.

Every stroke was so long and so deep, it felt like you were turning into mush underneath him. Your head lulled back and your eyes watered, you hooked your legs around his waist and dug your nails into his shoulders.

“So good, so fucking good.” Jaehyuns words were slurred against your lips, he was beginning to loose himself inside of you already. He wanted to keep that slow pace, but that chill up his spine and tingling sensation all over from his back to his brain—turned him into a wild animal.

As he sped up he began practically fucking you into the couch. He pulled away and buried his face in your neck, biting down on your shoulder as he panted into your sweaty skin. You did the same, hiding your face in the crock of his neck you quietly moaned against his skin.

“Oh my god…” He called out. You wrapped yourself around him even tighter and closed your eyes tightly. “You…feel…oh god you feel so good.”

He gripped your hips and thighs so tightly, accidentally scratching them as his hands fumbled around. The feeling of your soft lips on his skin made him want to cry, you felt so good around him that it could bring him to tears.

Your excitement leaked onto the couch creating such a mess, but that didn’t matter—he only went faster and harder and deeper. He wanted to look at you but he couldn’t rip himself away from you, smelling you as he fucked you lip this was just too good.

But when you put your hand in his hair and pulled it said to him in a sultry, coaxing tone; “Put a baby in me jae.” He forced himself to look at you.

He broke the moment he looked at you, a croak left his mouth—his voice cracking as his moaned and nodded his empty head.

“You-You wanna…you want me to…f-fuck…” He leaned up and pulled his legs underneath his butt, afterward he grabbed your hips and pulled you closer until his thighs were underneath your ass. As he began fucking you again his expression became so desperate. His eyebrows were turnt upward and his face was completely flushed. From his neck to his ears.

“Y-You want me to put a b-baby in you? Huh?” He pushed your shirt up with one hand, all the way until he could see your breasts and licked his lips. “I-I’m…I’m gonna cum so…so deep baby, so deep.” He messily strung together sentences, becoming almost incoherent as he moaned. “Look at me baby, please, please look at me baby…” You once again found yourself struggling to make eye contact.

Your back was arched so deeply and one hand pressed against the arm of the couch while the other reached to press against his torso. It felt impossible to keep your eyes open and on him for longer than a second like this.

But you managed. And it drove him to a point of no return.

“Just-fuck, just like that.” He could hardly finish his sentence before he let out a cry of pleasure and pulled your body upwards, making you climb on top of him.

He kicked his legs from underneath himself and leaned against the other armrest and began fucking you as you sat on top of him.

“Jae-Jae!” You cried out in bliss and threw your head back, scratching down his chest as he groped yours. “Kiss…Kiss me, kiss me please.” He didn’t have to beg, you were quick to fill his request and kiss him. The second you were close enough he held your body closely and began fucking himself into you like a madman.

You could only lay on top of him as he drove you wild with pleasure. His arms held your body so tight, squeezing you as if you’d fall apart.

“M’gonna cum…” You kissed his lips in a messy manner, Jaehyun just couldn’t take it anymore. The pleasure was just too much, he could feel his body becoming weak as he lowered his hands to your ass and pressed your hips against him—stopping completely as he came inside of you.

You could feel every drop of his love spilling into you, the warm feeling made you feel so full and comfortable. You shuddered as he pulled away from the kiss and buried his head back into your neck, trying to catch his breath as his orgasm shook his body.

“S-Shit…” You both lay for a few seconds longer, enjoying the warmth of the other until finally he clears his throat and shifts a little.

You lean up and peel your body from his, slowly raising your hips until finally his dick came out of you; a trail of both your juices coming along with it.

“We should shower…” Jaehyun nods and closes his eyes. “Let’s take a bath instead…I don’t think I can stand right now.”

438 notes · View notes

monicfever · 18 days ago

Note

Hiiii 👋👋👋 could you write hcs about punisher n daredevil characters finding reader badly injured? Like in the brink of death. Maybe in a scenario where reader is a vigilante, your choice :)

you’re critically injured 𝜗𝜚 daredevil & punisher headcanons

r e q u e s t e d ♡

characters used ᝰ .ᐟ matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani / muse / wesley

⏜︵ MATT MURDOCK. 𐂯

the first thing matt notices is the smell of blood. sharp, metallic, thick in the air. his heartbeat spikes as he’s running through the alley, scanning the shadows with a heightened sense of panic. he hears the faintest shift of breathing, shallow, labored, and he knows. he knows it’s you.

his heart sinks into his stomach when he finally locates you, crumpled against a wall, blood staining the concrete beneath you. you’re barely conscious, barely holding on. his hands shake as he drops to his knees beside you, instinctively checking for a pulse. it's weak, but it's there.

he’s trying to keep it together, but the fear in his chest grows. his senses are overwhelmed: the sharpness of your blood on the air, the brokenness in your breathing, the way your body is trembling under the weight of what you’ve endured. matt’s fingers graze your skin, feeling the warmth of your body despite the chill of blood pooling around you. his usually steady hands tremble as he pushes your hair back, his voice soft but firm. “stay with me. please, don’t do this. please.”

his mind is racing, calculating, desperate. every second matters. he can feel the damage, but he knows there’s no time to waste. he’s no doctor, but he knows the signs of severe blood loss, and he won’t lose you like this. his grip tightens on your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles, even as his thoughts are whirling in a thousand directions. you’ve always been the one to keep fighting, to push through the impossible, and it kills him that he can’t be the one to save you this time.

the guilt hits him like a punch to the gut. he should’ve been there. he should’ve known. he’s supposed to protect you. but he didn’t. now he’s staring down at you, blood staining his hands, the overwhelming scent of iron mixing with the faint scent of you. his radar sense is a mess, overwhelmed with every small sound: the crackle of your shallow breaths, the faint tremor in your heartbeat, the sickening thud of blood dripping onto the pavement.

every instinct in him is screaming. no. no no no. not like this. he’s scrambling, trying to hold you together in his arms, his voice urgent and strained. for the first time in a long time, he’s terrified. he’s scared. his world is spinning out of control. you’re in his arms, slipping away.

you open your eyes just enough to meet his gaze, and that small, fleeting moment of connection — your weak, barely-there smile breaks him in ways he can’t explain. he hates himself for not seeing this coming, for not being there sooner. “i’m sorry,” he stutters, his voice shaky, barely a breath as he presses his forehead to yours. “i’m so sorry. i should’ve—” he cuts himself off with a sharp, frustrated sound. he’s shaking, his control slipping further as he feels your blood seep through his fingers, your body limp in his arms. the sound of your heartbeat is slowing, and every second that passes is like a knife in his chest.

without thinking, he scoops you up. he’s already calculating, running through every alley, every shortcut he knows, his mind fixated only on getting you to the hospital, getting you help before it’s too late. matt’s mind is already running, already picturing the faces of the scum who did this. they don’t get to hurt you and walk away. he bursts through the hospital doors, a breathless, wild mess, the doctors rush to take you from his arms.

as they pry you away, matt lingers in the doorway, his heart still in his throat. he’s torn between wanting to follow them, make sure they’re doing everything right, and wanting to tear through the streets and hunt down the monsters who put you in this state.

⏜︵ FRANK CASTLE. 𐂯

the second he sees your body slumped in the dirt, blood staining the concrete beneath you, something inside him snaps. not breaks — snaps. like a wire pulled too tight finally giving out. a deep, terrible silence settles over him for half a second. then it’s gone. replaced by fire.

“no, no, no.” he growls, running to you. his knees hit the ground hard but he doesn’t even register the pain. all he can see is you. broken. bleeding. your gear torn. your skin pale. your chest barely rising. the world around him turns red. frank’s voice is low and frantic as he presses his hands to your wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. “you stay with me. you stay with me, goddamnit.”

you’re still alive, barely. he can hear it. the ragged hitch of your breath, the faint stutter of your heartbeat. it’s the only thing keeping him from completely losing control. just barely.

he scoops you up in his arms, movements stiff with rage, with desperation. there’s no subtlety, no care for being quiet — he’s a storm tearing through the night, carrying your broken body like a soldier carrying a fallen comrade out of hell. the hospital is too far. too slow. he takes you to someone off the grid — a medic he knows, someone who won’t ask questions. and even then, even when they start patching up, frank can’t sit still. his fists are clenched. jaw tight. body vibrating with fury. he stares at the blood on his hands like it’s proof that he failed you.

he doesn’t say it out loud, but the guilt is unbearable. he should’ve been there. he should’ve known. the second he took his eyes off you, someone tried to take you from him. and now all he can think about is revenge. he demands a name. doesn’t care if you’re awake enough to answer. he’ll find out anyway. he always does. and once he does, that name becomes a death sentence.

there’s no hesitation. no mercy. whoever did this is already dead, they just don’t know it yet. frank will hunt them, one by one, slow and brutal. no warnings. no speeches. just bullets and blood and silence. he’s not out for justice. this isn’t about balance. this is personal. they tried to take you from him. they crossed a line, and frank castle has never let something like that go unanswered.

the second they say you’re stable, just stable, not awake, he’s gone. no words. no goodbye. just the heavy sound of the door slamming behind him and the fire in his chest finally given permission to burn the world down. the rampage doesn’t start with guns. it starts with intel. names. faces. affiliations. once he has them it’s over. brutal. no survivors. they’re not just dead, they’re erased. to frank, this isn’t about sending a message. it’s about making sure they never touch anything he loves again.

the bodies pile up fast. each one worse than the last. there’s no pattern except brutality. knives. bare hands. point-blank execution. he’s not even covering his tracks — he wants them to know who’s doing it. he wants the fear to spread. he leaves behind chaos. and a message, unspoken but loud: you fucked with the wrong person.

in the rare moments he’s not out hunting, he’s sitting beside you. still bloodied. still burning. he watches your chest rise and fall like it’s the only thing keeping him alive too. sometimes he talks to you. quiet, raspy words like confessions. he wipes the sweat from your forehead with a rag, gentle in a way that doesn’t match the carnage he left behind hours before. his thumb brushes your cheek, he breathes deep. you’re still here.

he doesn’t sleep. doesn’t eat. not until you open your eyes again. and when you finally do, even if it’s just for a second, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment he found you bleeding in that alley. “i got ‘em,” he says, voice low, gravel-rough. “every last one. they won’t ever touch you again.”

but even when you’re awake, he’s not the same. there’s something darker in him now. something permanent. he’s more aware that you are easily a target and can get ripped from him at any point. depending on the strength/length of the relationship, the next time you see him once you open your eyes may very well be the last.

if he has to become the devil to keep you safe — so be it. he’s already halfway there.

⏜︵ FOGGY NELSON. 𐂯

he’s not supposed to find you like this. he’s supposed to be waiting at home, maybe pacing with a mug of coffee gone cold, maybe falling asleep on the couch with the tv on low. but instead, he’s running through a dark alley, heart in his throat, phone in his shaking hand, following some half-panicked tip from someone who "saw someone in your suit" go down hard. he rounds the corner and sees you crumpled on the ground. at first, he doesn’t even register that it’s you. the blood, the way your body is twisted, your mask half torn. it doesn’t look real. it looks like a nightmare he’s having with his eyes open.

“no,” he whispers. it’s the only thing that comes out. then louder, frantic: “hey! hey, baby, come on. stay with me.”

his knees hit the pavement. he doesn’t care about the blood or the dirt or the way his hands shake as he pulls you into his lap. you’re too still. too quiet. your breathing’s shallow. he presses his hand to your side and it comes away soaked. he nearly vomits. “you’re okay. you’re gonna be okay. we’re gonna — shit, okay— i need to call someone.” but he can’t even dial. his hands won’t stop shaking. his voice keeps cracking. “you’re gonna be fine, i swear. you’re not dying. you’re not dying. you’re not dying.” - he tells you, but it’s more for himself.

foggy has seen matt come home busted up. he’s patched bruises, stitched wounds. he knows what this life does to people. but this —you — he never imagined this. and now that it’s happening it’s like time is moving too fast and too slow at once.

he finally calls someone — matt, karen, someone who knows what to do. he blurts out the location, doesn’t even know if they can understand him through the panic in his voice. “they’re hurt, they’re — shit, they’re not waking up.” when help does arrive, he won’t let go.

at the hospital he’s a wreck. pacing, snapping at nurses, tears in his eyes. trying to keep it together but failing miserably. there’s blood on his clothes. he hasn’t sat down in hours. he keeps replaying it over and over — how pale you looked. how quiet. how close he was to losing you. when the doctors say you’re stable, he sits down for the first time and just cries. full-on, head-in-hands, silent shaking sobs.

he doesn’t leave your hospital room. not for food. not for sleep. not even when they ask him to. he’s curled up in one of those uncomfortable chairs, arms crossed tight like he’s physically trying to keep himself from falling apart. his eyes are on you constantly, watching your chest rise and fall. counting the seconds between each breath like it’s a lifeline.

the doctors tell him you’ll be okay. they say it a few times, gently, like they think it’ll finally sink in. but foggy doesn’t believe it until you open your eyes. when you finally do, he lets out a breath so heavy it sounds like he’s been holding it since the moment he found you. “hey.” he greets, voice cracking just on that one word. he tries to smile but it’s broken around the edges. “you look like hell.” you say, and then his eyes get glassy again because even half-dead, you’re still you, and he almost lost you. the tears come quietly this time. no drama. just him brushing your hair back with shaking fingers, but he’s not himself enough to joke. he just leans down and rests his forehead against your arm, letting the silence say what he can’t.

when you’re strong enough to come home, he sets up everything. extra pillows, blankets, meds. he googles like ten different recovery guides and keeps your favourite soup on the stove. he jokes, tries to keep things light, but you can see the fear still living behind his eyes. he flinches when you wince. apologizes for things that aren’t his fault. checks on you every few minutes, even when you’re asleep. “i know i said i could handle this,” he whispers one night while you’re resting, your hand in his. “but this, what happened, I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

he won’t ask you to stop. not out loud, because he knows this is who you are. he’s proud of you. scared for you. but proud. still, of course he wishes you would quit. he’s not a fighter. not in the way you or matt or frank are. but he’d go to war for you all the same, and you know if he had gotten there a minute later that night, he would’ve never recovered.

⏜︵ KAREN PAGE. 𐂯

it’s not the first time someone she loves has bled out in front of her. but this hits different. it’s you. and karen has already buried too many people. she told herself she couldn’t do this again, couldn’t love someone who runs headfirst into danger. but then there was you. and now you’re lying on the cold floor, broken, barely breathing, and she can’t stop shaking.

she stumbles when she finds you. almost slips in the blood. her hands go to her mouth before she can stop them — silent shock. her heart is in her throat. she drops on the floor next to you, her hands hover over you, afraid to touch, afraid she’ll hurt you worse — but she has to do something. she presses down on the worst wound, even though her hands are slick with blood. her fingers are slipping. she’s talking to you the whole time, voice trembling, like if she stops talking, you’ll slip away. “hey, hey, i’m here. you’re gonna be okay. just keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

her phone’s already on speaker, the dispatcher talking her through what to do. she’s holding pressure, crying without realizing it, trying not to fall apart because you need her. and she’s not going to let you die — not when she just started to believe maybe, just maybe, you were the one she wouldn’t lose.

when the ambulance arrives, they have to pull her away from you. she fights it at first, grabbing onto your jacket, her bloodstained fingers clutching the fabric like she can keep you tethered to this world just by holding on. at the hospital, she’s stone-faced. too still. too quiet. people keep asking if she’s okay, but she just stares straight ahead. she’s not okay. she’s watching nurses rush in and out of your room, scrubs soaked red, machines beeping. it all feels too familiar. and the worst part? she doesn’t know if she can do it again. the waiting. the not knowing.

when they tell her you’re stable, she doesn’t cry. she just walks into your room like a ghost and sits by your bedside. she doesn’t touch you at first. just watches you breathe. listens to the steady beep of the heart monitor and lets it stitch her back together, one slow beat at a time. eventually her hand finds yours. she stays the whole night, doesn’t sleep. just sits in that hard plastic chair, watching the sunrise paint shadows across your face. her eyes are red. her soul is tired. but she’s there. because she always is. because you’re worth the pain.

when you wake, she smiles — small, watery, but real. not forced. relived. “hey,” she says. “you scared the hell out of me.” she doesn't ask you to stop. she knows she can't. but her voice goes low, soft, trembling with something fragile. “next time, come home. don’t make me find you like that again.”

after the worst is over, after the colour starts returning to your face, karen shifts. she goes quiet, withdrawn. controlled. because that’s how she survives this: by doing something. by finding out who did this to you and making sure they can never hurt you again. she starts digging the second she leaves your hospital room. doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat. just her laptop, a folder full of crime scene photos no one should have, and a growing web of connections on her wall — sticky notes, red string, scribbled names and locations.

she’s not reckless. she’s methodical. she calls in favors, slips into police records she’s technically not supposed to have access to, traces shell corporations and burner phones. if the people who came after you thought they were ghosts, they picked the wrong woman to cross. every night she comes back to your bedside like nothing’s changed. she talks to you softly, like she hasn’t spent the entire day tearing through criminal networks with a pen and a stare.

her version of revenge isn’t bullets or fists. it’s facts, it’s evidence, it’s exposing everything they’ve done and nailing them to the wall in court. she’s seen what blood-soaked justice does to people. it nearly destroyed frank. nearly destroyed her. so she’s doing it her way this time. but even she has limits, and when she finally tracks down the name of the person who ordered the hit on you, when she sees their face, reads their file, realizes how close they got to killing you - - there’s a split second where she considers just sending that name to frank. or matt. or taking a gun and doing it herself. she doesn’t. not yet. but the thought lingers.

there’s steel in her eyes when she looks at you. love, yes. but fire too. a dangerous kind of loyalty. she almost lost you. she kisses your forehead and brushes your hair, “you just focus on healing,” she says softly. “i’ve got the rest.”

⏜︵ ELEKTRA. 𐂯

she finds you by scent first. blood in the air, and her instincts flare. everything in her stills. her fingers twitch toward her sai. her heart? it drops, immediately. she knows it’s yours. her body starts moving before her brain catches up. the sight of you nearly guts her. crumpled. gasping. blood soaking into the street like it’s trying to swallow you whole. her face doesn’t change, not yet. but her heart is screaming.

“you idiot.” she breathes, kneeling beside you. her hands hover, uncertain. for a second, she looks down at you like you’re already dead. like she’s staring at a body and trying to convince herself it’s not real. then she snaps into action, fast, precise, pressure on wounds. a whispered curse in greek under her breath.

she doesn’t call for help, she is the help. she picks you up, cradling you close to her chest, and moves like a shadow through the night. rooftops. alleyways. no hesitation. she gets you somewhere safe, somewhere secret. a place no one but her knows. her hands are stained red by the time she’s finished patching you up. it’s messy, but she doesn’t flinch. doesn’t stop moving. if she lets herself feel even for a second, she’ll come undone.

and then she disappears. without a word. you’re alive — so now someone else won’t be. she hunts with the kind of violence that comes from fury. she doesn’t ask questions. doesn’t give warnings. she carves a path through the people who touched you like she’s making a statement in blood and she smiles while doing it. not because she enjoys the kill — but because it quiets the ache. for a moment, revenge is the only thing louder than her fear. she doesn’t care who they are. a gang, a syndicate, a hand of god — it doesn’t matter. they’re in her way and they die for it.

when she returns, days later, she’s cleaner. calmer. like she’s shed the blood and stepped back into her skin. but when she looks at you, still pale, still healing, that mask slips just a little.

she doesn’t sit by your bedside like matt or foggy or karen. she watches from the shadows, perched near the window like a ghost. barely breathing. doesn’t want you to see how shaken she is. doesn’t want you to know how deeply she feels this. how much of her identity unravels the second she admits: you’re not just another casualty. you ask her where she went, her gaze sharpens. “handled it,” she replies flat. but her jaw is tight, her knuckles white. you know what that means.

the night you wake up crying from pain, she’s already there. no sound. no warning. just a gentle hand on your ribs, shushing you softly. “breathe. it’s just pain. you’re alive.” but you see her eyes shimmer for a split second. not with tears — she doesn’t cry. with something that looks like grief curling inward.

when you ask if she’s okay, she laughs. cold and low. “you almost died, and you’re asking me?” she cups your face then, thumb brushing your cheekbone. the softest touch from the most dangerous hands. she doesn’t promise you’ll be safe. she never lies. but she does promise one thing, with venom in her voice: “if anyone tries this again, they’ll beg for hell by the time i’m finished.”

some nights you wake to find her pacing. barefoot. silent. a blade spinning in her fingers out of habit. it’s not restlessness, it’s restraint. she’s still seething beneath the surface, waiting for another name, another threat, another reason to hurt something in your name.

she starts training with you again before you’re ready. not because she’s cruel — because the thought of losing you again is unbearable. her touches are rougher. her critiques sharper. but her eyes never leave you. she’s watching, making sure it never happens again. you confront her, tell her she’s pushing too hard, that you need time. her jaw clenches. “time didn’t stop them from almost killing you.” she snaps.

she doesn’t ask you to stop being a vigilante. she’d never try to take that from you. but she does expect blood if anyone touches you again. it’s not a question. it’s a fact.

and still, on the quietest nights, she curls into your side like a girl afraid of the dark. because she’s seen death. been reborn by it. but the only thing that’s ever truly terrified her is the thought of living in a world where you don’t exist.

⏜︵ BEN POINDEXTER. 𐂯

he finds you by accident. it’s not a tip. not intel. he’s just out — tracking someone else — when he turns the corner and sees you. the second he recognizes your body slumped on the pavement, he freezes. mid-step. breath locked in his throat, eyes wide. everything goes quiet in his head. no noise. no inner voice. just a sudden, terrifying blankness that only ever comes with trauma.

and then it all slams back in. heart pounding, breath shaking, footsteps too loud as he rushes to you, dropping to his knees hard enough to bruise. his hands are shaking. “what the fuck —no, no — hey. hey. look at me,” he snaps, voice cracking as he lifts your face roughly. “you don’t get to do this. you don’t get to leave me.”

he presses his hands to your wounds, barely noticing that he’s getting blood all over himself. his suit. his arms. his face. he doesn’t care. he’s muttering now, voice slipping fast between anger and panic. “you’re fine. you’re fine. you’re gonna be fine.” there’s a twitch behind his eye, the way it always starts when he’s unraveling. the restraint is gone. he’s fighting the part of him that wants to go find whoever did this and carve their eyes out with a fucking pen.

he carries you himself. doesn’t trust anyone else to touch you. gets you to a safehouse, not a hospital — he doesn’t trust them, either. “i got you,” he keeps saying, over and over like a mantra. “i got you. i got you. i got you.” he patches you up with the kind of surgical precision only someone trained to kill would have. he’s been taught where to stab, where to shoot, where to break. now he’s using that same knowledge to keep you alive. hands still shaking. breath uneven. eyes wide and glassy.

when it’s over — when the bleeding’s stopped, and your breathing evens out — he just sits next to you. hands covered in your blood. staring at nothing. numb. it doesn’t last. the next day he’s gone. doesn’t say where, doesn’t leave a note. when he comes back there’s blood on his collar. a new rip in his jacket. a dark look in his eye. he doesn’t say a word. just washes his hands in the sink, slow and quiet. “they screamed,” he mutters later. voice low. flat. “when i found ‘em.” he doesn’t ask for forgiveness. not for the blood. not for the kill. he needs you to know what he did. in his mind, that’s love. that’s loyalty. that’s what he is.

at first he tries to hold it together. stiff jaw. blank face. but it cracks fast the moment he hears you groan in pain, or sees you wince when you move — it’s like a glitch in his programming. he paces. mutters. his breathing gets shallow. hands in his hair. “fuck. fuckfuckfuck.” he can’t stop replaying it. you on the ground. the blood. your eyes going glassy. the way your body felt in his arms — too limp. too quiet. it haunts him. he’s twitchier than usual, zoning out mid-sentence, jaw clenching like he’s trying not to scream.

when you sleep he stands at the door with a gun in his hand. all night. doesn’t blink. doesn’t rest. he hears every sound, every creak, every car outside — and for every single one, he’s ready to kill. he will not let it happen again. you wake up and find him cleaning weapons on the kitchen table. obsessively. over and over. something in his expression isn’t right. too calm. too blank. eyes dead.

you tell him you’re okay now. he snaps. kicks a chair so hard it splinters against the wall. slams his fist into the fridge. breathing too fast. too shallow. “you almost died.” he shouts, turning toward you, eyes wide and wild. you try to calm him. he steps back. shakes his head like he’s trying to shake the panic out of his skull. “i can’t lose you. i can’t—” voice cuts off. he’s choking on it. shaking. “if you leave, i’ll fucking burn down the world.”

he becomes obsessive. even more controlling — not in a cruel way, but in that desperate, self-destructive, bpd way where his fear of abandonment becomes everything. he checks on you every hour. double locks the doors. hides weapons around the apartment. watches you sleep like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. doesn’t want you going out with anyone that’s not him. “i don’t trust the world with you,” he tells you. “only me. only i can keep you alive.”

god help you the moment you try to suit up again. he begs. angry, terrified. “please don’t go.” his voice goes so soft, like he’s reverting back to the little boy inside him who just wanted someone to stay. he will beg you to quit, to stop, to give up that part of your life completely. if you go anyway he unravels. waits at home, pacing, crying, screaming into his hands, punching walls, whispering your name. “please come back. please come back. please come back.” when you finally do, and you’re safe, he grabs you, pulls you into him so tight it hurts, and presses his face into your neck. he’s trembling. sobbing.

he doesn’t let go for hours. doesn’t care how messy it looks. doesn’t care how unstable he seems. because when it comes to you? he needs. it’s not just love, you’re his survival.

⏜︵ BILLY RUSSO. 𐂯

the moment he sees you, his whole body freezes. it's not panic — it's shock. billy's usually composed, cold, the kind of guy who can walk through hell and come out smiling. but this is different. you're not just another casualty in his world, you're his everything. and when he sees you lying there, barely conscious, blood seeping into the concrete, it feels like the air leaves his lungs. for the first few seconds, he doesn’t move. his eyes go glassy, disbelieving. his heart is pounding in his ears, and he can’t process it. he doesn’t know what to do. everything he’s ever known, every instinct, every move, every cold calculation — it’s gone.

when he finally rushes to you, he’s all hands, desperate to pull you close. “hey. hey, baby. hey, look at me,” his voice shakes slightly, like he’s trying to ground himself in something real. something that isn’t this nightmare. “you’re gonna be fine. you hear me? you’re gonna be fine.” he pulls you into his arms and holds you against his chest, completely oblivious to the blood staining his suit. all he cares about is keeping you conscious. “just stay with me,” he mutters under his breath, over and over again. “don’t close your eyes. don’t fucking close your eyes on me.”

he knows hospitals aren’t an option. hospitals don’t work for people like you — people with blood on their hands, people like him. so he takes you to a private location, and pays for you to be privately attended to. he’s talking to you. low. soft. like if he can just keep you engaged, keep you anchored, he can fix you. “don’t think for a second you’re getting away from me,” he says, trying to sound confident, trying to sound calm. but it cracks. “you’re too much of a pain in my ass to just die on me, okay?”

the bandages are tight. the pain meds are there. but when you don’t respond, when you still look too pale, too still — he breaks. he can’t stop there, not now, not ever again. the fear that’s gnawing at his chest is unfamiliar. he doesn’t like it, so he drowns it. dives headfirst into revenge. the people who did this to you? they don’t just die. no. they’re tortured. billy goes into full punisher mode — ruthless, calculated, brutal. nothing is off-limits.

the nights are worse. he stays close, watches you like a hawk, like if he looks away, you’ll disappear. he doesn’t want to admit it, but there’s a fear in him now. one that claws at his insides, reminds him of all the things he’s lost before. he doesn’t let you go anywhere alone. not even for a second. when you try to go out, when you even mention getting back into the game too soon, he flips. “don’t you dare.” his hands grip your shoulders a little too tightly. “you’re not going anywhere. you almost fucking died. you’re not risking it again.”

if shit hits the fan and you’re caught in the crossfire again, if things go wrong, if you're too exposed, too vulnerable, billy goes feral. the change is instant, an animal’s rage flipping the switch in his brain. his body goes into autopilot as his mind snaps into pure chaos. without hesitation, he’s on the offensive. you’re the only thing that matters, and anyone who tries to get close to you, even just a second too long, is dead before they know what hit them.

he doesn’t give you time to breathe after that. the moment the adrenaline settles, billy’s back at your side. he’s close, too close. his hands roam over your body, making sure you’re intact, making sure you’re real. “are you hurt?” he asks, though he knows you’re not, he’s just making sure. his eyes don’t leave you for a second. his breath is still fast, ragged from the violence.

when you try to pull away from him, when you try to leave his arms or distance yourself even an inch, billy tightens his grip. his whole body freezes, and his gaze darkens. “don’t.” it’s low, dangerous. it’s a warning. and you can feel it. that slow, creeping panic that is threading itself into his soul. billy isn’t just holding you now, he’s clinging. because if you slip away again, if you pull too far from him, he’ll lose himself. and he knows it.

if you think you can get away to go out and continue your work he’s already planning how to stop you. every exit is blocked. every path you could take, every little crack in the world you could slip through, billy knows it. he knows because he’s thought about every possible way, and he’s ready for it. it’s not just that he wants to keep you close. it’s that he can’t breathe when you’re not around.

the possessiveness isn’t even the scariest thing about him. it’s his insecurity. billy russo knows he’s capable of destroying anything — and that includes you, if it comes down to it. “I’m the only one who can protect you,” he tells you in the dead of night, his face barely an inch away from yours. “no one else can. not like I can.” his presence is more a demand than an option.

his world is you. the only one who’s ever loved him. the thing that keeps him going, the thing that defines his decisions. no matter how violent, no matter how twisted, he’ll do anything to keep you.

⏜︵ DINAH MADANI. 𐂯

the moment she finds out you’ve been hurt, she’s frozen. it hits her like a ton of bricks. when she gets the call, when she hears what happened, she can’t breathe for a second. her chest tightens. her hands shake, but she doesn’t let it show. she’s a professional. she’s been trained for this.

her first instinct is to get to you fast. dinah’s never been one to waste time. but when she sees you, when she takes in the severity of your injuries, something inside her snaps. that sharp edge that’s kept her moving forward, her ability to compartmentalize? gone. in its place is the cold, biting realization: this is all too familiar.

she fights to keep it together as she kneels beside you at the hospital, checking for signs of life. her hands hover above you, but she’s too afraid to touch you at first. afraid she’ll make it worse. but when she sees your eyes flicker open, when she hears you weakly call her name, she snaps into action. her voice is low, soothing— something she learned to use to keep people calm in the chaos of her work. “you’re okay,” she says, even if her voice shakes. “you’re gonna be okay.”

but the worry doesn’t fade. in fact, it just makes her more determined to hunt down the people who did this to you. she’s driven by vengeance. this isn’t about breaking the law or falling into chaos — it’s about justice. it’s about doing things the right way. she has to — she’s always believed in the system.

her flashbacks hit harder now. she thinks of sam, how he died, how she couldn’t stop it. every time she closes her eyes, she sees him. his blood. his empty eyes. she sees you in the same way, and the guilt starts to fester. she’s relentless in her search for answers, and every dead end, every failure to get closer to them, feels like she’s failing you all over again.

the guilt and anger bleed together in her dreams. she wakes up in cold sweats, her mind flashing back to that night, the night sam died, and how helpless she felt. then there’s you, and the helplessness is even worse. the thought that she couldn’t save you. that she might lose you too.

but when she gets closer, when she finally has the chance to make them pay, it’s not a feeling of triumph — it’s just a cold, hollow satisfaction. revenge, for dinah, doesn’t bring peace. it doesn’t bring closure. it just empties her further. she’s not sure if what she’s doing is right anymore, but she can’t stop herself. the justice she’s been chasing her whole life feels hollow now.

the weight of the revenge still hangs over her, even after she gets it. madani knows that she’s done what she had to do, but there’s no true peace. the law isn’t enough, and she’s not sure she’ll ever find solace. the trauma lingers, the flashbacks to sam, and the faces of those who hurt you haunting her every step. but she’ll keep going. because that’s what she does. she survives. she endures. and for you? she’ll keep fighting.

⏜︵ DAVID / MICRO. 𐂯

fear grips him hard. you’re everything to him — he can’t even process the reality of what’s going on. he tries to call you, but there’s no answer. panic sinks in deeper. he’s trying to keep it together, but it’s all falling apart. he can’t lose you.

he knows he can’t do this alone. he’s smart, he’s good with computers, but this is beyond his control. so, without even thinking, he picks up his phone and dials frank. he needs help — real help. not the kind of tech solutions he usually works with, but someone who can find the people who did this and make them pay. frank picks up. david’s voice cracks when he speaks, but he tries to keep the desperation in check. the words spill out of him, but he knows frank doesn’t need any more details. frank doesn’t need him to explain — it’s always been a silent understanding between them. frank will help.

frank’s response is immediate. there’s no hesitation in his voice. “get to me. now.” david doesn’t need to be told twice. he hangs up, grabs his bag, and doesn’t stop moving until he’s at frank’s location. he’s shaking, from fear, from the overwhelming guilt and helplessness clawing at him. when david finally arrives it’s a blur of frantic energy. he’s pacing, his mind spiraling through a hundred different thoughts at once. frank listens, david explains what little he knows, but it’s clear he’s not thinking straight. his focus is broken, distracted. he keeps glancing over his shoulder as though expecting someone to come after him. frank doesn’t judge him for his panic. he knows david’s been thrown into a situation he’s not prepared for.

with castle at his side, david dives headfirst into research for revenge. he’s typing away at the computer, pulling up every piece of data he can get his hands on, but he’s still not in control. every lead he follows feels like a dead end. he’s so close, and yet it’s so far. he feels helpless again, like he’s failing you. frank knows exactly what to do, starts tracking down leads the way only he knows how, and it’s not long before david starts feeling that old rush of adrenaline. david watches as frank works, and a part of him feels sick. he doesn’t like the things frank does to get answers — he never has — but in this moment, he doesn’t care. he wants the people who did this to you to suffer. they will pay.

when he gets back to you, he’s exhausted, drained. he holds you close, his fingers trembling. the adrenaline’s worn off, and now he’s just done. his mind keeps running through what happened, but he’s too tired to make sense of it all. all he knows is you’re here, you’re alive, and somehow, somehow, that’s enough for him.

even with everything settled, the guilt never goes away. david knows he couldn’t have done it without frank, and that thought haunts him. he hates that frank had to be the one to pull him out of his panic, to get him to this point. he feels weaker for it. but he’s trying to hold it together for you. he’ll always try to hold it together for you.

⏜︵ JAMES WESLEY. 𐂯

it’s like his whole world stops. wesley is used to being in control, to managing every detail of his life with precision, but this is different. you are different. you’re the one person he can’t control, the one person he’s allowed himself to care about, and now you’re in danger. it shatters his calm, makes everything feel like it’s slipping through his fingers.

the moment he hears what happened his first thought is to get to you. immediately, he starts making plans, pulling strings, organizing everything in his mind with military precision. nothing is left to chance. he won’t leave anything to luck or fate. he’s already running through every possible solution in his head — getting you to safety, finding out who did this, and making them pay.

when he sees you hurt, it’s worse than he expected. his eyes narrow, scanning you for injuries, his expression hardening. this shouldn’t be happening. you shouldn’t be in this state. he’s quick to assess the situation — if you’re still conscious, he’ll call your name, trying to keep you awake and alert, reassuring you that everything will be taken care of. but deep down, he’s losing control. this is his fault. he wasn’t there when you needed him, and that thought claws at his gut.

he doesn’t waste time on emotions, at least not outwardly. wesley is all about efficiency. he’s trying to keep his cool because he knows if he loses it, if he shows any sign of weakness, the situation could spiral even further. he pulls you close, his tone sharp, “we’re going to get you help. stay with me.” there’s no comfort in his words, no softness. just cold, calculated action.

he won’t take you to a hospital. he’s already got another plan in place, one that he knows will guarantee your safety. he’s not leaving your side for a second, and he’s certainly not letting you be treated by anyone who could jeopardize the situation. he’ll take you to one of fisks safe houses, somewhere he’s already set up for emergencies. he’ll make sure you’re patched up, but not by a doctor, by someone he trusts, someone he knows won’t ask questions.

the person who did this is as good as dead. wesley doesn’t even need to think twice about what he’s going to do. the moment he finds out who’s behind this, they’ll pay. he’s methodical about it, just like everything else in his life. he’ll track them down, piece together every detail, and make sure no one escapes. they’ll regret crossing him, crossing you. he’ll track down every lead with obsessive precision. while youre recovering he’ll monitor every movement, every conversation, making sure no one can get close enough to hurt you again. he’s already planning, moving pieces on a mental chessboard, keeping you protected in ways you can’t even fathom. it’s almost clinical the way he works, and it’s terrifying. there’s no room for failure. when he catches the person who hurt you, there’s no mercy. wesley doesn’t do mercy. there’s no room for hesitation. he’ll handle them swiftly, in the way he’s always been trained to — calm, efficient, without remorse.

once it’s over, once the danger has passed, he’ll find himself restless. he won’t relax. not fully. the guilt gnaws at him. no matter how much he tells himself he did everything right, that you’re safe now, he’ll never fully shake the feeling that he could’ve done more. he’s been trained to protect, to control, and yet, in this one instance, he couldn’t stop what happened. it eats at him. he wasn’t fast enough.

when he checks on you later, there’s an unreadable look in his eyes. he’s there, by your side, but it’s not the gentle reassurance you might expect. he’s not soft about it. he’s focused on your well-being, but there’s that edge to him, an intensity that makes it clear he’s not quite done. not done with protecting you, not done with his need to control the situation. he’ll stay close, but it’s not because he’s worried for you. it’s because he can’t bear the idea of losing you or letting anyone get close enough to hurt you again.

if you ask him about it he’ll brush it off with his usual coldness. “it’s done. you’re safe. that’s all that matters.” there’s no emotion in his voice, no sign of the internal battle he’s fighting. because for james wesley, admitting weakness, admitting fear, isn’t an option. he’ll never show that side of himself.

but deep down, the fear never really goes away. it’s not just the fear of losing you, it’s the fear that he’s not good enough to protect you in the way he needs to. he’ll bury it. he’ll hide it. but the cracks will start to show, just a little. and as time goes on, he’ll start to wonder if he’ll ever truly be able to shield you from the world that’s out there.

⏜︵ MUSE. 𐂯

everything else fades away. he’s used to the violence of his world, the chaos of being part of hell’s kitchen, but seeing you in this state — broken, bleeding, close to death — shatters him. he’s good at shutting down his emotions, but this? it’s like a punch to the gut.

his first instinct is to move you, get you out of there. he doesn’t care about the blood or the injuries; he just needs to get you somewhere safe, somewhere away from the people who did this. he’s not gentle when he picks you up. muse’s hands tremble, but his movements are urgent, almost frantic, because this isn’t just any injury — it’s you. the one person who’s shown him a hint of softness, the person who doesn’t treat him like a joke. and now, you’re this. he hates it.

when he gets you to a safe house or wherever he’s decided you need to be, he’s not leaving your side. he’s patching you up as best he can, trying to stop the bleeding with hands that shake. he’s muttering to himself, cursing, moving like a man possessed. he knows this isn’t going to be enough, that the injuries are too severe for him to handle, but he can’t bring himself to call for help. not yet. not when he’s still trying to keep control over this.

when he finds out who did this to you it’s bad news for them. muse isn’t the type to sit around and wait for someone else to fix things. he’s always been the kind of guy who takes care of problems on his own terms. and if someone hurt you? well, there’s nothing stopping him from hunting them down and making them wish they’d never laid a finger on you. he’ll go after them with everything he’s got, no mercy, no hesitation, draining every last drop of blood from their body.

he gets reckless. the more he tries to keep his head together, the more the anger builds. he wants answers, he wants vengeance, but most of all, he wants to fix things for you. he’ll keep pushing until he finds out who did this, and when he does, he won’t hold back.

he’s constantly checking on you, watching you like a hawk. when you wake up, he’s there, hovering over you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief, panic and concern.

as much as he tries to stay detached, you’re changing him. the more time he spends with you, the more he cares. it’s not something he’s used to, not something he can easily admit, but it’s there. you’re important to him in a way he never thought possible.

started 4.26.2025. finished 4.27.2025.

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