#I can go ON AND ON AND ON ABOUT ALL THE HURT/COMFORTS

[madamechrissy]

Would you come with me?

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- So much mutual pining and longing, not sharing feelings. This chap- kissing, fingering, masturbation, lots of jealousyy, they're idiots in love lol, teasing, TENSION, oral (f recieving) Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad. Three parts- WC this Part- 7.6k

Songs for this - Birds of a Feather // Nonsense // Suffocate

Ty for all the love on part one!?!? I hope you all enjoy this part as well! We got one more after this <3 Comments and reblogs so appreciated always!

<<<Part One - Masterlist - Final Part (soon)

Part Two

One month of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend.

“I’m nervous about this meeting, Satoru. Are you sure I’ll do alright?” You ask softly, as you both head to the elevator, a meeting that you know Satoru has been dreading himself, with the higher ups his dad usually deals with.

“You’ll do just fine, let me do the talking, you can just look all pretty.” He takes your hand as you all get into the elevator, squeezing it warmly, and you’re dying at how good that hand feels, and how good he feels, his strong arm brushing against you as you both watch the elevator doors shut.

“I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“You could never. You’ve been a perfect wife this month, I promise.” His sweet grin, just a little crooked melts you, as you exhale in relief. “I’m getting a lot done with this, I swear… I know you probably wanna get back to normal life.”

The hurt in his words immediately makes you pull back, and Satoru curses himself, taking your hand again, as you two ride up the floors, but you pull away, shaking your head. “Are you so eager for me to go?” Your voice is quiet, trying not to reveal what that makes you feel like fully.

“What!? No, not at all. I meant… if you wanted to.” Satoru’s heart breaks when he sees your dewy eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way, I meant it may not take a year, if you wanted to…”

“I’m glad it’s helping, really.” You give him a small little smile, and Satoru can barely concentrate on what he’s here for, when he wants to wrap you in his arms, to kiss you fully, not just pecks for appearances.

And god those kisses to prove you’re together make the lines blur, makes everything so confusing and jumbled for him. He’s having so much trouble remembering that it’s for show, when you all watch movies at night still, when you both have dinner together, when you’re washing dishes side by side. When you’re having coffee on his balcony in the morning.

The one thing that keeps it ‘fake’ is the separate rooms, but the amount of times Satoru has played with himself in the room next to yours has gotten insane, the number of showers he has to take so he hopes you won’t hear him. Lately, he’s backed off just a bit, for his own sanity, so it hurts less when this is over.

“Toru, wanna watch the show tonight?” You ask, wearing one of his big tee shirts, it swamps you completely, tempting him to no end, thinking of slipping it up just so…

Shit.

“Nah, sorry not tonight. I’ve got work to do.” He says, hating the little down turn of your lips.

“How late, I can wait!”

“Um… yeah I wouldn’t wait up.” You blink then, wondering have you gotten too comfortable with him? Have you been acting too much like a wife at home? You can’t help but enjoy him, enjoy your time together, are you overwhelming him with it all?

“Oh. Um, okay. Good night, then.” You smile sadly, aching to kiss him good night, knowing you shouldn’t want it, knowing you shouldn’t be desiring him right next to you, snuggling on that couch. God you’d love him in your bed even, holding you so close against him.

“Good night, sweets.” He murmurs, softly, not wanting you to think that you were the problem, no the problem is him.

He can’t stop picturing how every corner and nook in his huge home will be so very empty when you’re gone.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, not one thing, I swear you’re playing this perfectly. And I really appreciate you, yeah?” He says, but it’s not what you want to hear, because you’re not playing, not really, it’s just too fucking easy.

“Yeah, we got this.” You kiss his cheek softly, the friendly way you used to, as you all walk through the sliding doors where everyone is, all old men aside from a couple younger people scattered in seats in a row.

You tense, so he squeezes your hand, smiling at you, an upturn to pink lips as a room full of old money assesses you both, trying to reassure you. “Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, please have a seat.”

You nervously sit next to Satoru across from them now, your legs crossing as he casually leans back, one arm around the back of your seat, an ankle crossed over his knee, sunglasses right on his face. He’s so at ease, or so it seems, you are certainly learning more and more that Satoru tends to hide much of his anxiety with cracking jokes and sarcasm.

“Ah, the oldies, how goes it?”

“Ahem, oldies?” A blonde man raises a brow, and Satoru scoffs.

“You might as well be, Zenin. Old ass mentality.”

“Satoru, how is your father?” Asks an older man from another high company that works with the Gojos, Mr. Gakuganji.

“Ya really hoping he pulls through hmm? Even if so, he’s already appointed me, so don’t get too excited.” Satoru has an easy grin, fingertips brushing against your bare arm, leaning closer to you. “You’ve all met the wife?”

“Not all of us.” A pretty woman with long blue braids smiles at you. “Heard of her though, hello Mrs. Gojo. Mei Mei. Apparently so old.”

“Hello Mei Mei.” You greet with a small smile, looking at them all. “It’s going to be a pleasure to work with you all, I am sure.”

“Isn’t she just charming?” Mr. Naoya Zenin says, you feel Gojo’s fingers tighten in response.

“She is lovely.” Mei agrees, predatory smiles on both of their lips.

“Enough with the greetings, Gojo, you've made a lot of changes to this company in a quick manner.” Now Yaga, a tall imposing man that owns much of the shares of the company, speaks.

“Sure have, Yaga. Aw, mad you all got pay cuts? Poor things. Don’t worry, gave your extra to the employees.” Gojo says with a big white grin, earning the glares of everyone in the room.

“You’re not some Robin Hood.” An older man of the Kamo family says, raising a brow at Gojo, who chuckles.

“No, sure am not, I’m still rich and so are you all, just a little more evened out, wouldn’t you say, sweetheart?” He looks to you, tilting down his glasses, and you take a breath, putting a hand on his thigh, silently supporting him.

“Employees are going to work harder and stay longer with better pay and better conditions, and cutting just a bit off the top accomplishes that.” You say, voice strong and clear as a bell, making Satoru so proud he can’t stand it, smiling big at you as the room collectively grumbles.

“You’re not the only one with interest in this company. What does your father think of this?” One of the older men asks.

“It’s my company already, it’s about to be official soon. So don’t worry.” Satoru says with ease. “Also, my wife was talking.”

“Your wife is certainly… hmm, very pretty, but a commoner.” Naoya says, earning Gojo standing up, chair screeching back.

“The fuck you say!?”

“Satoru…” You lean forward, touching his arm, looking at his furious stance as the room shifts.

“How is she a commoner? You’d be lucky to lick the ground she fucking walks on ya know that?”

“She’s clearly not a commoner, but… she’s not “rich" is what he means. She has no concept of wealth.” Mei says, and Naoya stands now as well, glaring right over at Satoru.

 “She’s rich now, she’s my fucking wife.” The words feel so real from his infuriated voice that you can’t even separate it anymore, if this is some act you will just play right into it, even if it hurts. Him defending you is raw, you feel his fury next to him, trying to calm him and failing.

“It’s fine, baby.” You murmur, and hearing it, this little pet name from you? He immediately looks down, seeing your eyes wide with worry, he sighs now, sitting next to you, exhaling when you brush a hand up and down his back, then you look at the room. “I was not rich, no.”

“Your family was cut off for this sort of behavior. Is that what you want again, want for your children?” Mr. Gakuganji asks, a tired voice breaking through.

“I know better than anyone in this room what it’s like to live on a normal, even low income. Would you not welcome the insight, or are you so above caring about the people who line your pockets?” You demand softly, raising a brow, Satoru watches now as you proceed to wreck them.

He watches you debate them, raising each of them this point and that, and watches them all falter under a pretty little thing like you, usually soft spoken and sweet, but you have no problem decimating a room of them like it’s nothing. You smile so pretty at them all, bat your lashes and they land argument after argument, bouncing off what Gojo says.

Gojo is chuckling after about twenty minutes, as they seem to really think he couldn’t fuck them all if he felt like it. “What you’re forgetting, is I’m the highest up there is here.”

“Your father-”

“My father trusts me to take over. Plain and simple, are there going to be any problems? Millions not enough for you all, need golden toilets for your asses?” You barely hold in the snort of laughter, eyes bright as you watch him continue to disgruntle the room, until they finally let up.

Naoya walks up to you, eyeing you up and down as Satoru is talking to Yaga, who seems to be one of the more laid back of them all, his hands in his pockets, light brown eyes lit up. You tense at his gaze, feeling it like a slimy, disgusting touch, making you almost sick. You’re trembling as his eyes dissect you.

“Conveniently, he gets a bride the moment everyone pushes him.” He says with a nasty smirk, brushing a tendril of your hair back. “Don’t buy it.”

“Well, we’ve been in love forever, I assure you.” You say quietly, he hums to himself, when Mei walks over, and damn this woman just saunters, truly, hands on her curved hips.

“It’s so odd indeed, out of a list of so many eligible ladies. Was it true love, I wonder?” She taps her chin curiously, Satoru sees you then, coming by your side immediately, and arm around your waist.

Is he being a protective best friend or…

More.

Is this all just for show, as he pulls you to his side so possessively, making your pulse race, your body reacting as you look up at his face, and he’s scowling at the both of them. “Everything alright, sweets?”

“Yes, they were wishing us the best, weren’t you both?” You say, earning Naoya’s glare and Mei’s smirk.

“Indeed we were, we’ll see you at the auction I imagine?” Mei says, eyeing Satoru now.

“We’ll be there, of course. But for now, hmm…” He tilts your chin up, kissing you in a room full of people who want to hurt him, and hurt you, a protectiveness he’s always had for you becoming so intense it’s hard for him to function, he’d literally take down anyone and everyone that would dare say one thing to you even.

Your lips are sweet, so sweet, as you lean up and kiss him, wrapping an arm around his waist, and that same electricity sparks, even with all their seedy eyes on the two of you. He pulls back, looking at your lips, as you look into his eyes, already dilated and dark, when he clears his throat, smirking up at the shocked gazes.

“Are we all done here?” He asks, and then proceeds to take you out of that room, you finally catch a breath in the elevator, and Satoru grins at you, cupping your face with his big hands, bending down.

“Holy shit.” You murmur, earning his chuckle.

“You were amazing! How dumb am I telling you - look pretty and let me talk- shit I think it was the opposite?”

“No way…”

“Yes way. That was sexy.” He hums, you’re both giggling a bit, but you’re close, too close, and his thumb is brushing your lower lip, sending desire straight through to your tummy.

“I thought you were mad at me.” You whisper then, earning his smile turning down at the corners, his eyes a little distant and hazy.

“I could never be.”

The elevator doors open, the two of you walk out of the sliding glass doors of the enormous building, and you are trying not to touch the lips he just had, trying not to think of just how good they felt. The driver pulls up and you get into the car, Satoru slides in next to you, far too close, you inhale his cologne, you still taste him on your lips, like torture.

“I’m not mad at you.” He says again, you blink a bit, taking a breath, before looking up at him as the car drives onto the highway, gently moving underneath you both.

“You turned down movies for days. You won’t eat dinner with me. I get you’re busy, I really do, but I enjoy it, spending time. I’m… lonely without you? I know that sounds so silly, I’m sorry. Shit.” You cover your face, hating the pathetic words spilling from your lips. “You’re probably sick of all this time, even as a best friend.”

That’s not it.

God that’s not it.

It’s just when he’s next to you all he can think of is fucking you, or making you cum all over his mouth, his fingers. He can’t stand how good you smell, how good you feel, he melts over your pretty smiles and giggles, he can’t stand how deeply he is starting to feel. The three times you all have kissed for publicity it took everything in him not to drag you home.

How does he just shut it off, the ability to kiss you when he wants? And now you’re lonely, you’re hurting, not even able to look at him when he gently pulls down your hands by your wrists. “Look at me.” He murmurs softly.

You do then, and he sees it, tears swimming. “Sorry I’m too emotional.” You whisper then, embarrassed.

“No, I’m being an ass.”

You let out a little laugh. “No, Satoru just distant, and I didn’t know if I fucked something up, the day in your office?”

“No, no. Please, I swear it’s not that… I’ve been in my head.” He mutters, unable to express it truly.

“I get it, you have a lot going on. I want to be here for you.”

“You are.” He’s brushing your hair back softly, leaning down, resting his head against yours, it’s too intimate then, the words on the tip of your tongue, that you feel more than you should, but you try to swallow them. “You’re amazing, you made them all look so stupid.”

“No…”

“Yes. You surprised me, I never have seen you like that.”

“Sexy, you said hmm.” You tease, but he’s serious then, as your breaths mingle, and he’s leaning even closer, wreaking havoc on your every sense.

“God yes, you’re sexy like that.”

“Satoru… it’s too much.” You whisper, as his hand rests on your thigh, and he feels it, how hot you are, earning his eyes shutting, trying to not let it affect him and failing. “I haven’t… I’m really…”

“Been a while, sweetheart?”

“Oh fuck you.” You don’t move his hand when he slips it up higher, in fact your thighs spread just a bit, his little moan making more wetness start to drool from your aching pussy.

“I take up all your time, you can’t date, why not let me take care of you?” He acts as if he can handle anyone ever touching you, the thought alone makes him feral, want to fucking claim you as his own, to devour you senseless. He tries to be teasing, casual, watching your breath catch, your pupils dilate.

“Wh-what!?” Your lips part, and his desperate blue gaze is so intense it’s hard to look at.

“Let me make you cum, sweetheart, hmm? It’s the least I can do, I’m taking up all of you, I am sure it’s been a bit.” You gulp nervously. “You’re not a…”

“No, no, not a virgin Toru, just I didn’t like it.” You admit softly.

“At all?” He whispers, frowning just a bit, before he feels your inner thigh with his thumb, finding you hot and sticky, making you gasp. “Who sucked that bad?”

“You don’t know him. But I didn’t like getting…”

“Fingered?”

“That, not at all, um the times it happened were uncomfortable. So don’t try, it won't work.” Satoru laughs then softly, shaking his head.

“I’ve never had that problem. And I would never hurt you.” His words are serious then, you gulp nervously.

“I know you wouldn’t. But it’s intimate, and it’s not for show.” Your hand clutches his blazer now, thick material in your palm when he finally touches you over your panties, making you cry out at the contact, his cock throbs in response.

“Let me just take care of you, make you feel s’good, hmm? Don’t think too much about it, just feel.” He presses kisses down the side of your neck, your free hand wraps the back of his neck, brushing over his undercut, the soft hair under your fingers like silk, when he presses his fingers over your clothed clit. “You like that, pretty?”

“Y-yes.” You manage, his lips kiss and then suck at the base of your throat, when his finger slips under your panties, finding you bare, soaked, your cry is louder, when he finds your engorged little clit, feels you slippery against his long fingers.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” He huffs, free hand slipping up the side of your breast while he rolls his finger in little circles, and your hips jerk, your head falling back. “She’s begging f’me to put one in.”

“You c-can try, but- ah!” Satoru sinks a long finger in you, pressing up, and you’re blinded when he finds your spot so effortlessly, leaning back to look down at your face, as it scrunches up in pleasure. “Ngh!”

“There it is, some loser couldn’t find it hmm? I’ve got you, don’t worry.” He’s pressing up again and again, the spongy spot in your gummy walls, gripping him so fucking tight. You hear it, the lewd sound of your squishing cunt, your eyes rolling back in your skull as he works you. “Let go, trust me.”

“It’s too much I… T-Toru…” You whisper his name, while moaning, your mouth open in this perfect O, it makes him leak precum, sticking to his boxers as your thighs spread for him, as you trust him, your eyes lidded. “More.”

“More?” He repeats, speechless for a moment as you’re leaning forward, your lips just a breath away.

“Please, it’s s’good Toru.” Your little plea destroys the last fighting brain cell he has, he’s slipping one more in you, making you pulse around the thick invasion, curling them up and sinking them inside you, to the knuckle, while you moan against his lips. “F-fuck… oh my god what…”

“That’s it, fuckin’ feel her, grippin’ me.” He’s fucking his fingers into you, wishing they were his cock, and you’re soaking his hand, your cunt drooling when he shoves them in deep, thumb pression on your clit, making you shatter. “There you go, sweetheart, that’s it, s’pretty like this.”

You’re cumming all over your best friend/fake husband’s talented fingers, nearly crying at how good the release feels, pulsing all around him, hands clinging to his jacket, hopelessly wrinkling the material, all while he watches you. Your mind goes blank, pleasure is the only thing you can focus on, as he eases his strokes, and you both are panting in the quiet car.

Satoru eases his fingers out, putting them to his lips and sucking now, moaning when he tastes you, and your mouth drops in shock. “T-Toru…”

“Fuck.” He’s kissing you then, your slick all over his lips as he presses your back against the seat, and your thighs shake, sensitive from cumming so hard, you can barely focus on anything but your throbbing pussy.

“Please.” You whisper again, as he yanks his cock out, right in the back of the car, and you reach down, stroking it, his eyes shut as he whimpers, Satoru Gojo whimpers, over you touching his pretty pink tip, swirling that precum.

“Wanna taste you first.” He huffs, kissing down your throat when the car comes to a halt, yanking at your dress, pressing hungry kisses on your breasts.

“What are we… Toru what’re we d-doing, fuck!” You’re whining out when he’s biting at your nipple over your bra, your hands yank on his hair, hips arching, feeling his length on your inner thigh.

“M’gonna-”

“Mr. Gojo, we’re here.” His driver infuriates him now, Satoru leans up, breaths heavy as he’s leaned over you, looking at your already fucked out eyes.

“We almost… we… y-you…” You are stuttering, suddenly so nervous, so overwhelmed. “Is this just you helping me out? Is it-”

“Mr. Gojo-”

“Ijichi, I’ll fucking kill you.” He mutters angrily, quieting his driver quickly, as he adjusts himself and then you, and you’re sitting up, blushing as he fixes your panties, fingers covered still in your slick. He sucks them again further making your tummy flutter, tighten, your heart pounding out of your chest. “God you taste yummy, the fuck, how does someone taste this good.”

“You tasted me? Twice!?” He smirks now, easing you to sit, tilting up your chin now.

“Not fully.”

“Fully!? Is this what friends do?”

“Well I sure don’t want you doing this with anyone else.” He glares now, jaw locking, making you gasp.

“What now?”

“No one else can do that to you.” His lips gently kiss yours, you taste yourself on them again, but you shove at him now, glaring.

“What do you even mean, no one else? You think you have some freakish claim on me now?”

“I know you came so hard you soaked my fucking backseats, hmm?” He whispers, you roll your eyes now, eagerly getting out of the car.

“You’re insane, Satoru.”

“You clearly like it.” You scoff, body shaking, legs literally wobbly, you try to ignore them as you stride up to the front of Satoru’s fancy doors, and walk in quickly, as he follows you with long strides, calling your name.

“That was fingering as a friend!?”

“No… it was…” He wants to say it then, you’re literally his fucking wife, even if it’s pretend, he can’t think of anything he wants more than you, to be inside you.

“Almost fucked me as a friend? Satoru, I can't do that.”

“I know, I didn’t… I just…” You’re turning away, if you look into those blue eyes too long you won’t be able to breathe, to exist, every inch of your body dying for more. “You loved it.”

You scowl as he smirks. “You’re a conceited little shit, just like when we met! Swear to god.”

“You’re still shaking.” He says, eyes raking over you, you gasp.

“You know what? Fuck you.”

“If you want to, say the word.” He murmurs, leaning against your doorway, and you roll your eyes.

“No way, I’m going to bed early. Good night.” You shut the door right in his face, sliding down it, head in your hands.

What the heck even was that.

Five weeks of being ‘fake married’ to your best friend, Satoru Gojo

Satoru and you were barely talking this entire week, you’re so furious with his cocky, conceited attitude, and the fact that he’s entirely right. Nothing felt that good, no one felt like just his fingers had, how he found you, how he looked at you. Now for the past week every night you’ve done the one thing you said you wouldn’t do.

Touch yourself to the memory.

You’re rolling your fingers on your clit, whining his name in a breathy whisper the morning of the charity auction, covering your mouth with your free hand as you realize that you’ve done it, that you’ve said his name, all while cumming all over your little fingers, which don’t even come close to his, lengthy and thick, the rough pads of his thumbs.

And you could fuck him, you know you could, but you also know what it will mean, there is no friends after that, kissing alone has made things impossible for you both. And Satoru is doing the most amazing things, you’re so proud of him already, and don’t ever want to lose him. But now he’s in your head, making you absolutely insane with want, with need, with desire.

Now you can’t even think of him without picturing his cheeks hollowing as he sucked your wetness off, picturing his head between your thighs, things you shouldn’t, and it’s like he knows. He smirks at you just so, lazy lidded eyes draping down your frame every morning, every night, making sure to constantly have a hand on you in public.

He was making you lose it, and he knew it.

Your stupid little fingers can’t do shit, in fact they frustrate you more, but it’d be a cold day in hell before you ask him for any help. In fact you realize the game he plays when he walks around in his boxers, when he does push ups in the middle of the living room with one arm, like he’s showing off, smirking when he catches you watching him, in your moments of weakness.

It would be so easy to fall into his bed, but to think of ruining your friendship terrified you, to think of the feelings you know would be unleashed like some fucking flood gate was too much. You never have been able to be casual, you’re not even interested in someone without feelings, and you’re slowly realizing that those feelings when you were younger never went away.

They’re just more intense now, living with him, with this unspoken tension in the air, every breath you take you can practically taste him, every time you watch his fingers slipping around the rim of his cup you remember them in you. As you see the clear bulge in his boxers you remember touching him, remember wanting to taste that precum on his tip.

The worst part is he looks so knowingly at you, so sure you’d probably beg for him, you’re sure many, many women do. But despite knowing Satoru to be a bit of a ladies man, you’ve not seen a single one here since you’ve lived here, not seen him go on a single date. You’re not sure if you could handle it, despite acting so very nonchalant about it.

But you have no claim over him, this was just convenience, every bit of the arrangement. Your new car, no more debt, helping Satoru do what he needed to, you all are a perfect team even with the added tension of your pussy constantly throbbing around said best friend. Surely it wasn’t worth ruining, complicating, just to feel that pleasure he brings.

As you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup, you nervously step out of the room, into Gojo’s spacious foyer, where he’s turned around, a dark blue suit adorning his body like a glove. He hears your heels click on the marble floor below and turns, his lips parting as he studies you.

The red dress hugs every line and curve of your pretty body, the bold shade making your skin pop so pretty, it looks so smooth he aches to caress you, every bit of you. You are biting your lower lip nervously, looking up at him from across the room as you stand there, looking so beautiful his pulse races.

This week has been torture for Satoru, he wants to tell you then, that he feels so much more than he even knows how to convey, that it wasn’t just ‘getting a friend off’ it was such a joke, he can’t even understand how you believe that. He can’t get the sweetness of your pussy off his goddamn mind, he’d do just about anything to taste it again.

He’s even eyed your panties in the hamper. He's so pathetic and desperate for you, but he’s tried to keep some semblance of composure, to act unbothered, so scared to ruin your relationship. He knows how much you sacrificed just coming here, sure he’s helping you, but you uprooted everything, you acted perfect at every function, you stood up for him at every meeting.

You are the perfect wife.

Pretend wife.

Pretend, pretend, pretend.

He keeps repeating it like a mantra in his head, brushing off the moment in the back of the car as maybe you just needed to cum, maybe it was just that for you, but something about how your eyes met his, has him desperately pumping his cock, hearing your soft whimpers at night. He knows you’re touching yourself, he wishes he could see it, watch it, take over.

Instead he’s stuck endlessly jerking it to his best friend/fake wife, ignoring any girl that even texts him because they just aren’t you. They could care less he’s ‘married’ everyone just wants a piece of him, everyone but you. You just are there for him, with him, by his side, you’d have done this for nothing in return. You’re becoming everything to him so fast it’s terrifying.

The magnification of feelings he’s had for you over so many years is overwhelming, being near you, smelling your sweet scent, hearing you hum as you cook with your earbuds in, your nervous habits. How you twirl your hair, how you tilt your head, how you tremble just a bit when he holds you for the cameras, how you sigh sweetly as he kisses you for show.

You can’t fake that, he knows you’re affected too.

But he doesn’t know if it’s what he feels for you.

He’s stammering like a teenager at prom, but prom pales in comparison to seeing you now, how the diamonds glitter off your neck and delicate wrists, how he can picture fucking you with just that on. Your cheeks are decorated with that pretty color as you handle his wordless scrutiny, teeth releasing your lip when he comes closer, he brushes a thumb across the indentations left.

You gasp, eyes shooting up to his, as the electric current of his touch rocks through you. “You always bite it, stop. Gonna hurt it.” He says, voice husky, eyes hungry as he looms over you in the quiet, elegant room.

“Do I always?” You whisper, and he nods, brushing his thumb over it again, as if to soothe it.

“Mmhmm, gonna cut up such pretty lips.” His voice drops another octave as one of your hand grips his wrist, and you ache for him to kiss you, to press you against one of these cream colored walls and pound into you.

Stop that!?

You clear your throat, taking a breath and then plastering on a little smile. “You look handsome tonight, blue is your color.”

“Red is yours, clearly.” He brushes a bit of hair back off your bare shoulders, two fingers gently running down the strap, watching the network of goosebumps spread, your heart is racing at the contact. Your urge to yank him by his skinny black tie and slam his lips to yours tempts you to no end.

“Thank you for this dress, and the jewelry. Stop getting me more.” Your little glare just makes him grin.

“At the auction you can get whatever you want, so you know.”

“No way, it’ll all be overpriced.”

“It’s charity, baby. Hmm, should we practice kissing more?” He asks, and you smack his hand away, glaring as he chuckles.

“We’ve had lots of practice, let’s go.”

You all are arm in arm as the cameras flash so brightly later that night when you both step out of the car, so much so they hurt your head, but you hold onto Gojo’s arm, as he guides you through, grinning and answering every question effortlessly. “Why the shades at night, Mr. Gojo?”

“Your bright ass cameras hurt my pretty baby blues.” He teases with a pout, earning the laughter there.

“And what’s this talk of major changes in the Gojo corporation?” Another reporter asks, Satoru chuckles then.

“Ah, well these old geezers needed some revamping is all. Right, pookie?” He asks you, and you smile up at him, then at the cameras.

“Satoru knows what’s best for the company and his employees, his changes are going to only make everyone more profitable.” Satoru watches you answer their questions left and right, enamored more and more by you.

“Are you trying for a baby, Mrs. Gojo?” Someone asks then, and you heat up at the question, at the image that flashes in your head.

Gojo breeding you.

So vivid you feel like you’re there, him murmuring a ‘let me fill you, sweetheart, have you so full of my babies’ and pumping over you. You almost faint it’s so real, and you have no clue what has come over you. You don’t think like that!? You’ve never done shit like that… you…

“We’re enjoying each other a lot right now, but it’ll happen I’m sure, when we’re ready. We’re a little consumed with each other.” Satoru answers now, breaking through the pounding of your heart in your ears, you look up at him, lips parted, as he completely saves you, you’ve frozen on the spot. “Right sweetheart?”

“Right.” You clear your throat, shaking your head then. “We are very much in love, and enjoying our alone time, but we’d both love a baby.” You say, and you hate how real it is.

He hates how he can picture you now, full mating press, as he fucks one load of cum into your pussy, and then another, watching it all pool out. Fuck he’d watch your tummy get so full of him. The thoughts of getting you pregnant make him feral then, he can hardly stand there as he just stares at you, and you at him.

You don’t get your best friend/fake wife pregnant.

Do you?

The auction continues, fancy and expensive items for filthy rich people, Gojo detests it more than even you do, though you’d never know with how he plays the room. You see Mei and Naoya again, laughing about something in this creepy way that makes you shiver. When Gojo is mingling while you're having a seat, you see a pretty brunette girl talking to him closely.

Why does it make you feel so sick to see him, you don’t know. You’ve watched him date, and he’s watched you, but something about living with him, about this enormous glinting rock on your finger really messes with you. His grin glinting under glittering chandeliers of this enormous auction room, another woman coming up, surely he runs in their circles.

You try not to focus on that, it’s not as if you have given Gojo a hint that you want more, and do you? Do you want to cross that line? If something doesn’t work, it’s not a fight between friends, it’s the end of everything, and isn’t having Gojo with you somewhat better than not at all?

“You look like you hate this, huh doll?” You hear then, looking up to see a dark haired man, grinning down at you, he’s handsome in a rugged way, not pretty like Satoru, but something appealing. A scar on his lip as he chuckles, gesturing around you both. “Bunch of rich assholes, huh?”

“Shh!” You giggle though, looking around, nodding.

“Knew it.”

“So what’re you doing here?” You ask quietly, he grimaces, running a hand through inky locks.

“Got a fuckin job to do, what about you?” You gesture to Satoru then, who’s glaring right at you both.

“I’m married to Gojo.”

“Ah shit, I’m too late.” You blush a bit at the attention, Satoru has a girl who’s far too close, whispering in his ear, her hand on his shoulder, making you sick.

“Hmm.” Is all you manage, looking back up at the man. “What is your name?”

“Toji Zenin. Yeah, I know, the name… but fuck them.”

“You are different.” You murmur softly, tilting your head to the side, he brushes his fingers then across your thigh subtly, your jaw clenches a bit.

“If I was with you I sure wouldn’t be over there with snobby bitches.” He says, and you don’t like it then, the jealousy in your heart as Gojo walks up suddenly, clearing his throat.

“Zenin.” He mutters, and he grins up at Gojo.

“Talking to your wife, Gojo, keeping her company y’know? Shouldn’t leave such a pretty thing so lonely.”

“You’re. In. My. Seat.” Satoru mutters, teeth clenched together, and Toji laughs with ease, taking your hand, planting a kiss on the back of it with a wink.

“See ya around, doll.” He says, patting Gojo on the shoulder, and Satoru wants to rip his fucking arm off then, as he glares down at you, sitting in the seat, but you cross your arms, looking away.

“Did he touch you?” He demands quietly, you frown then.

“He was nice, I mean he-”

“Nice!? Looked like he wanted to eat you.”

“What do you care, looks like they were all over you. Oh look, they miss you, go say hi.” You say, as three girls giggle and point over at Satoru, his blue eyes narrow, leaning over you then, cupping your face with his hand.

“Think I wanted to be bombarded by flirty ass drunk women?”

“I don’t know!”

“Do you care if I do?”

“No! What do you care about me then?” You demand, whispering amongst the loud crowd of auctioneers, as they start lining pieces up for sale.

“Because he… you…” Satoru trails off, mouth opening and closing. “You are my wife right now, you know.”

“Fake wife.” You correct, seeing a vein throb in his temple.

“It doesn’t matter, how does it look when-”

“That’s what you care about, appearances? Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your precious appearance any.” You whisper, as the crowd settles, and a brilliant sapphire necklace is now on display.

“You act like you don’t care at all, I saw you.”

“So what!?”

“So why don’t you just tell me how -”

“Ten thousand, do I hear…”

“Shh.” You scowl at him, as he scowls back at you. “Maybe you should go sit with your girlfriends.”

He laughs softly, without humor. “You’re jealous.”

“Nope, you’ve always been that way. What’s surprising is not having seen a girl at the house.”

“You think I want-”

“Twenty Thousand, going once, going…”

“Want someone more your speed? Sure, I know this is just convenience, I'm not stupid.” You say, he scowls even deeper, his hand suddenly on your thigh in the darkened room, making your heart pound as it squeezes bruisingly.

“I’ll not have anyone touch you.” His words make no sense, they don’t even compute in your brain then.

“What do you care, hmm? If I did. If I was discrete. Remember?” You ask, bitingly and full of shit, and you watch the hurt in his eyes, hating yourself for a moment before his eyes turn insane, dilating until they’re almost black.

“You wanna fuck him, huh?” He demands, you scoff, shaking your head.

“You’re stupid, Satoru.”

“Me stupid!?”

“If you think that I want anyone but…” You pause then, gulping as people are starting to look, hearing your hushed arguments then, and you stand angrily, stomping off until you hit the bathroom, splashing water on your neck, trying to pull yourself together.

You almost said it.

You’ll never want anyone but Satoru, your best friend, and you never have, fuck you probably never will, and it’s terrifying you. When the door shuts and he’s there, chest heaving, you turn away, tears pricking your eyes. “Just go away, fuck it’s the ladies room.”

“You’re mad at me for talking to women at an event?”

“You’re mad at me for talking to someone at an event?”

Yes, fuck yes he’s furious that man got near you.

That maybe you’d want someone else, more than him.

He steps closer, hands on your shoulders now. ““You gonna be mad when I fuck someone in my room, huh?”

You freeze, turning and glaring up at him then. “I hear you jerk off every night, so what’s the difference?”

Satoru looms even closer, you feel his breath hit your lips, making your tummy clench at the thoughts of him. “And I hear you moan as you play with your little clit, ya frustrated your tiny fingers don’t hit?”

“Oh fuck you!” You turn now, shoving at him, chest heaving, but he pulls you to him, pressing you against the bathroom counter, glittering and ridiculously opulent, hands shaking when they’re on your waist.

“You should just ask for help, sounds like you can’t cum.” Satoru whispers, earning a smack on the face that makes him smirk.

“Maybe you should ask me, how many times do you need to jerk off a night, huh Toru?” Satoru’s laughing then, insanity, his cheek decorated with red from your little hand print.

“At least I make myself cum.”

“Fuck you, I’m over this. I’ll take the opposite side of the house, won’t have to hear your moans.”

“Good, won’t hear your pathetic whimpers.”

“Good!”

“Good!” You both stand there, him bent over, barring you with his arms. “Admit it, you’re jealous.”

“Nope, just annoyed with you. Over you, Mr. never has on a fucking shirt!”

“Good, I’m done, Miss walks around in slutty panties!”

“Ugh!” You shove at him again, until he’s slamming his lips on yours, and then you’re lifted like you’re nothing, when his tongue slips in your mouth, and you’re clinging to him eagerly, as he sits you on the sink, hungrily shoving up your red dress. “You’re gonna rip it, shit!”

“I’ll buy you twenty more, just shut up.” You go to retort when he’s kissing you again, deeper now, and you’re crying out right in a bathroom, knowing anyone could walk in, only serving to make your cunt dripping wet, when he finds it he moans, pulling back and staring at you. “Why are you so beautiful?”

You can’t speak then, you’re lost in him, in his blue eyes and his pink lips, in his big hands all over you, his whispering words crushing any resolve you try to have. You lose all reason then, as your head falls back as he kisses up your throat, and you’re gushing down his fingers, remembering their shape and feel as they tease your entrance.

“Please, Satoru…”

“Why are you so sweet now, huh? Where’s your attitude?” He murmurs, but you’re arching up, whining as he stares at you so hungry. “Should fuck that attitude out of you.”

“Please…” You whisper again, when Satoru bends down, his head between your thighs, and stares right at your glittering pussy.

“Oh my god, she’s s’fuckin pretty…” He murmurs then, licking a stripe up your slit that has you crying out into your hand, thighs shaking as he groans at finally being able to taste you. “S’yummy mmm…”

“Toru…what’re you-ah!” You’re covering your mouth again as he laps at your cunt, his nose bumping your sensitive clit, and you’re dripping down his face, hand finding purchase in his silken white hair, gripping it.

“Gonna lick this attitude out of you.” He whispers, as your sweet nectar pours down his mouth, his hands spreading your plump lips, fucking you with his tongue then, your head smacks the wall, nearly sobbing it feels so good. “No one’s licked it, have they, baby?” You shake your head. “Good, s’all mine, huh?”

“All… y-you… Toru what are- mnh!” He’s yanking you to him by your hips, devouring you now, unlike anything you’ve ever felt, having you close so fast it’s embarrassing, tongue dancing and delving between your folds, drinking you up loud and wanton in this bathroom.

“F-fuck….” He’s achingly hard now, cock throbbing, tip of his tongue circling your little clit as he spreads you wide, looking at your perfect pretty pussy.

“You’re just… looking at it…” You manage to whisper, and he’s chuckling now, leaning over you, sinking two fingers inside, making your eyes roll back, so sensitive you’re about to cum right then and there. “Imagining it dripping out cum, sweetheart, that’s all.”

Your brain short circuits. “With cum!?”

“Mmm.” He’s not using words anymore, not when he’s picking you up, planting your heeled feet back on the bathroom floor, turning you to face the mirror. He’s lifting that dress up higher and bending down, pressing against you, finally he’s lost it, so drunk off your pussy, he can’t take it anymore.

“Satoru, you’re insane, what are you…”His cock springs out, heavy and aching with need, as he bends you over, one hand on his cock, the other, wrapping your pretty little throat, as your eyes catch his in the mirror, glassy and dilated.

“Next time he or anyone talks to you, it’ll be with my cum dripping out of your pretty little pussy.”

Hehe last part coming soon, don't worrry <3 (I'm mean and leave ya'll on cliffhangers I KNOW)

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Rest in the reblog <3

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Slipping through my fingers"

ok yall this is an emotional one!! it expands more on reader and jason's dynamic before he died and shows why jason is an especially sore spot for reader. it's also jason who she's most vulnerable and willing to forgive.

You and Jason ate the popcorn chicken on your bed in silence. For a moment, you pretended that everything was normal again. That Jason was still just Jason and you were still just you. That he was still your big brother that meant the world to you and that you were still his baby sister who he adored and couldn't go a day without.

For a moment, jason could pretend he wasn't the Red Hood, a vigilante who struck fear even in the darkest of hearts, he could pretend he was just comforting his little sister who meant the world to him.

Jason stares at you, his eyes locked onto yours like he’s trying to burn through the walls you’ve built between you. His breathing is shallow, tight with something unspoken, something raw. He’s been holding it in, holding it all in—his guilt, his regret, his anger—but it’s all starting to crack. The cracks are sharp now, and they’re starting to bleed.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he spits, his voice gravelly, thick with the weight of what’s unsaid. “I didn’t want to become this. I didn’t want to lose you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, harsh and mocking, and you can feel the edge of your own frustration clawing at you. “Well, newsflash, Jason, you did. You lost me the moment you decided that pushing me away was the best option. You don’t get to sit there and tell me how you didn’t want to hurt me when you were the one who abandoned me without a second thought. I ran into your arms and you acted like you couldn't care less.”

His jaw tightens and you see something almost vulnerable flicker across his face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by something darker; guilt, maybe, but also something like self-loathing.

“You think I wanted to leave? You think I wanted to hurt you?” His voice is quiet, almost deadly calm, but the tremor in his tone betrays him. “I didn’t want to drag you down, okay? I didn’t want to make you part of this... mess I’ve become. I thought if I just kept my distance, kept you away from all the shit in my life, I’d be doing you a favor. ”

“And what the hell makes you think I needed your protection, huh?” You snap back, “You think I couldn’t handle whatever shit you were going through? You think I couldn’t handle you? You never gave me the chance to help. You just shut me out, Jason. Like I was just some... some stranger. Like you weren't the closest thing I had to family. There wasn't anything I wouldn't have done for you. you were my brother. I loved Dick but he was never you.”

Jason’s eyes flash, anger mixing with the guilt, there’s an almost pleading intensity to him now. “I wasn’t protecting you,” he murmurs, voice breaking, just a little. “I was protecting myself. Because every damn time I saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I needed you. How much I wanted you in my life, and I was so fucking scared that if you stuck around, you’d see everything I was trying to hide. That you’d see how broken I really am. And you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to get caught up in my shit, in the mess I was making of myself.”

Your heart clenches at the rawness of his words, the vulnerability creeping in, uninvited and unwelcome. You want to scream at him, to tell him he’s a coward, to tell him how much it hurt, how much it still hurts. But instead, you feel a lump form in your throat, something tight, constricting. The years of silence between you, the hurt, the loneliness—it hits all at once.

“You were never a mess to me,” you say, quieter now, as if the weight of his confession is slowly wearing you down. “I knew you, Jason. I knew who you were before all this. The guy I could talk to about anything. The guy who knew me better than anyone. The one who made me feel like I actually belonged. ��

Jason’s eyes widen, his breath catching as if you’ve just hit him in the chest. “I thought about you every day, you know?” he says in a hoarse whisper, his voice trembling. “Every day. You think I didn’t miss you? I thought about those times, the way we used to be... how you would just be there. You and me against the world. I remember laughing with you. Just... sitting there, talking about stupid stuff, and it felt like we were the only two people who really got it. I missed that, more than anything.”

You feel a tightness in your chest at the words, something fragile breaking open. You remember. You remember the late nights, the quiet conversations that meant more than anything else in the world. He was everything to you, back then. But now... now everything is just fractured pieces, fragments that don’t fit together anymore.

“You left,” you whisper, voice shaking, barely audible. “You left me, Jason. You left me without a word, without a reason. And I don’t care how much you missed me. That doesn’t change what you did. How you let her in after years of ignoring me.”

Jason’s face twists in pain, the anger shifting into something else, something raw and regretful. “I thought you’d be better off without me,” he admits, his voice breaking, the quiet words ripping through the space between you. “I thought if I just stayed away, you wouldn’t have to deal with my shit. You wouldn’t have to deal with... me.” His fists unclench, and he runs a hand through his hair, pulling at it in frustration. “I didn’t think you’d need me anymore. I thought I was dragging you down. I was so damn scared of ruining everything we had. But instead, I ended up ruining everything. And I can’t fix that. I know that. I just... I just wanted you to know that I didn’t want to leave. I thought if I stayed, I’d hurt you even more. I thought... I thought it’d be easier to let you go than to keep pushing you away. I was wrong.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and painful, like a confession he’s carried for too long. You want to reach out, to say something—anything—but the words are stuck, lodged in your throat. The vulnerability between you is unbearable, but you can’t ignore the truth in his eyes. He’s not the same person who walked away all those years ago. And maybe, just maybe, he’s not the same person he was when he left. But you don’t know if that’s enough. You don’t know if you can trust him again.

"I wrote to you, you know? When i thought you were.... gone. I wrote to you almost every single day, I figured you'd like it, think it's something out of those books you used to read. It made me feel like you were still with me, like you were watching over me. When you, when you came back, I was convinced I wished you alive." You admitted your childish thoughts, voice breaking in between sobs.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t know who you’ve become. I don’t know if you’re the person who cared about me, the one who sat with me and talked about everything or if you’re just some... some shadow of him. And I don’t know if I’ want to find out. Or if i'm ready to let go and forgive”

Jason stares at you, his face pale, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and frustration. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t deserve that,” he says quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “But I’m begging you. just let me try to make it right. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove that I’m not that guy anymore. I can’t erase what happened. I can't erease Tiffany. I can’t take back the years we lost. But I can try to be the person you used to know. The person you trusted. I can be your big brother again. I can still keep the nightmares away”

The silence between you stretches, each second heavier than the last. You’re caught in the middle—caught between the person you were, the person you are now, and the person he’s trying to be. But for the first time in a long time, Jason isn’t running. He’s not hiding from you. And as much as you want to shut him out, to protect yourself from more pain, something inside you is aching—aching for that connection you once had, aching for the possibility that it’s not too late to fix this.

What really broke you was seeing him cry. It was like you were a child again. It nearly broke your brain seeing Jason, your fearless big brother, your idol, cry.

“We can try” you whisper, your voice small, fragile, like it’s a decision that could break you. " it’s not gonna be easy, Jason. Things cant magically change no matter what we wish."

Jason nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, his face stricken with the weight of everything he’s put you through. “I know,” he breathes, barely audible. “But I’m not going anywhere. Not this time. Never again.”

After Jason left, you had to sit and process what happened. In truth, you didn't know if things could ever be the same between you and jason. So many years of neglect and anger couldn't disappear with just a conversation and apology. No, you would make him, them, know what it feels like to be begging for scraps. Maybe things wouldn't be the same with jason, maybe after time and effort, they could be better. You missed him. So much. It would be easier to forgive him than Bruce. Yeah, Bruce is your father but Jason was your hero.

When Bruce reaches your door, he hesitates for a moment. The heavy weight of guilt in his chest is hard to ignore, but there’s something more, something that unsettles him even more than the tension in the air: the fear that you’re slipping through his fingers. That what happened today might have cracked something too deep to repair.

He knocks once, then opens the door.

You’re sitting on your bed, your back to him, staring out the window as if you’re already a million miles away. It’s almost as if you’ve already shut everything out, ready to move on.

His voice comes quietly, strained. " we need to talk.”

You don’t respond, not right away. Bruce steps into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. The air feels heavy, like something’s already been decided, but he won’t let that deter him. He takes a slow, steady breath, trying to calm the rising panic in his chest.

He’s careful, almost too careful, when he speaks again. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. But what happened today, what you did to Tim and Damian, it can’t go unanswered. It wasn’t just about the fight. You crossed a line, and I need to know that you’re aware of that.”

You turn slowly to face him, your eyes burning with frustration, and Bruce can see the rawness in them. The anger. The hurt. It cuts through him, deeper than any physical wound ever could.

“And what should I have done, Bruce? Sit there and take it? Let them walk all over me? Let ya'll act like nothing's wrong? Like you didn't ship me away because some bottle blonde bitch said to?” You scoff, the bitterness in your voice thick enough to choke on. “I’m sick of being treated like I don’t matter. Like I’m just an afterthought. You and your little Batfamily can keep pushing me to the side, but don’t expect me to sit quietly while you pretend I’m not even here. Not anymore. Never again”

Bruce’s face tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t back down. “That’s not what I want. I never wanted you to feel that way. I know I haven’t been there like I should have. I know we've all been horrible and cruel. But that’s no excuse for what you did.”

The words sting, but your anger doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it flares up again. You stand up abruptly, pacing, the frustration too much to keep inside. “Oh, I get it. You don’t want me to do anything that inconveniences you or your precious Batfamily. You want me to apologize for fighting back like I’m the one in the wrong here, right? You want me to crawl back to them, all nice and meek, because that’s what you think I should be. What I used to be. But I’m not that person anymore, Bruce. I’m not. And it’s about damn time you realize that. If anything, me and Damian aren't even close to even, he's hurt me before, threatened me before, that always went unanswered. Because fuck me right? Who cares about me? Tell Tim he's welcome to come get his lick back, I wasn't thinking when I hit him.”

Bruce flinches, his jaw tightening at your words. You’re right, he’s failed you. He’s allowed the distance between you two to grow, let it fester until you finally exploded. He’d told himself that you would always be there, that you were part of his family, but he’d taken that for granted.

You were right, Damian was never punished but Bruce would ensure that no one, not even Damian would ever get away with hurting you again.

But then, just when he thinks he has a handle on the situation, you drop the bombshell that completely shatters any control he had left.

You cross your arms over your chest and exhale, your voice soft but full of finality. “I’m leaving tomorrow. For the South of France. I’m staying with Ariel and her dad for the summer.”

The words land like a punch in the gut. Bruce freezes, his hand almost involuntarily reaching out toward you, though he stops himself just short. His breath catches in his throat.

“France?” His voice cracks for the first time since he entered the room. His mind races, how could you leave like this? How could you just walk away? You two were making progress, learning to understand each other. How was he supposed to fix this if you left? Was it that easy for you? Was it that easy for him to lose you? “You can’t.” He states, his tone final and unforgiving.

“I can. I already have everything packed, in fact, I literally didn't even unpack.” You shrug nonchalantly, trying to hide the ache in your chest behind a mask of indifference. “Ariel and I have been talking about this for months, it's our trip.”

Bruce takes a step toward you, voice low and edged with something darker, more possessive. “You’re not leaving. Not like this.”

You shake your head, the fire in your eyes fading just a little, replaced by something more resigned. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’ve barely noticed me, Bruce. You’ve been too busy with your missions, your family, your life, and I’ve been here, waiting. But not anymore. I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to remember I exist. I deserve more than that. That boarding school was the best thing that happened to me.”

Bruce can feel the weight of your words, the sting of rejection, and it makes something inside him snap. He knows he’s messed up. He knows he’s made mistakes. But the idea of you leaving—of you walking away, out of his reach—is something he won’t stand for. Not now. Not when he’s just starting to recognize how badly he’s failed you. Not when he can still feel the resentment rolling off you in waves.

“I can’t let you go,” Bruce says, the words slipping out before he can stop them. His eyes lock with yours, the intensity between you two growing, thick with unspoken emotions. “Not like this. Not when I’m just starting to understand everything that’s been wrong. I’ve messed up, but don’t leave. I’ll fix this. I promise. I’ll fix it.”

You stare at him, unmoving, but the fire in your eyes softens just a little. There’s a flicker of doubt now, a tiny crack in the armor you’ve put up. But it’s not enough. Not yet. Not enough to change your mind.

“I don’t know, Bruce.” Your voice is quieter now, but still laced with hurt. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this. You’re not the person you used to be. And neither am I. Maybe that’s just... something we both have to face.”

Bruce steps closer, close enough now that his presence seems to fill the room, heavy and suffocating in a way that only he can. His hand reaches out slowly, this time not hesitating, and he places it on your shoulder gently.

“I don’t want to lose you, not when I've just started to see you,” he says, his voice hoarse with a desperation he’s never let show before. “I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right. But I need you to stay. I need you here with me, please.”

The words hang in the air between you two, a fragile plea that feels both urgent and terrifying. The mighty Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, the Batman, stood in front of you begging.

You don’t respond immediately. Instead, you stand there, staring at him as if you’re seeing him for the first time in a long while. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a flicker of hope in your eyes. But not enough.

"Compromise. I'll stay with Ariel for two and a half months and i'll come back here for two weeks before school." You say, eyes gleaming with the signature look all Waynes get when negotiating. Yes, you wanted to give him a small chance but there's no way you're backing out of this trip and leaving Ariel and her hot dad hanging. You weren't about to give up a summer of tanning, flirting, partying, and country hopping with your best friends for the chance that you might fix things with your father.

Bruce raised his brows, almost smiling. You were cute when you tried to be tough, but the deal is what made him falter. Two teenagers, two months unsupervised in a foreign country, who knows what could happen? Who knows what kind of influence this Ariel is? But what was really funny was that you talked like you were going back to New York for school! No, you were coming back to Gotham Prep and staying the manor, where you belonged. But Bruce wasn't cruel. He'd let you hope. "We can go as a family, a family vacation. I'll meet your friend and decide if she's trustworthy. I have a villa right in the-"

"No! Please no! I would rather die. This is a girls trip. As in only me and Ariel. We've been planning this forever. I won't cancel. Or bring my family, that's so lame. You never would've cared before." You say almost stomping your feet, playing the guilt card. You couldn't have your family there seeing what you get up to and who you get up to it with!

"One month and you take Dick with you." There was no way you were going alone. Bruce wouldn't cave, nor would he be guilt tripped.

The mighty Bruce Wayne got hustled by his 16 year old daughter. In the end he caved, you would stay with Ariel for two months and two weeks, not a day more nor a day less. You would apologize to Tim and leave tomorrow after a peaceful family breakfast. You would have your location on at all times. Yeah Bruce got played, but as he walked out your room and looked back to see you grinning from ear to ear and calling your friend, jumping up and down, he decided it was worth it to see you this happy.

He would let you have these two months, then you'd be back home where you belonged.

The morning felt too still. Too quiet. The clock ticked on in the background, but it didn’t seem to matter. Every movement felt exaggerated, every breath, every shift of your weight, every step as you made your way around the dining table. It was as if the house itself were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Something to shift.

As you went and sat down at the table, it was quiet once again and the air was even heavier than yesterday.

Bruce sat at the head of the table, his face unreadable as he sipped his coffee, eyes occasionally flicking toward you but never fully meeting yours. He was distant, but somehow… present in a way that felt more intrusive than comforting. He hadn’t been this present in years, actually never. Not to you.

Bruce’s gaze didn’t leave you as you walked, his eyes colder than you remembered yesterday. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your suitcase, the weight of his attention pulling at your chest.

Jason sat to his right, his hand resting on his mug with a white-knuckled grip, his expression hard and unreadable. Every so often, his eyes would slide over to you, watching your movements, the way you tucked things into your bag or adjusted the straps of your suitcase. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you, like he was mentally memorizing every detail, every shift.

Bruce’s gaze was fixed on you as he slid the black card across the table, its dark, sleek surface catching the light just right.

“Take it,” he said quietly, his tone laced with authority. “Use it for whatever you need. You don’t have to go without. Don't forget, you're a part of this family, always have been. I want to make sure you have what you need.”

You almost recoiled at the gesture, the black card a symbol of everything that tied you to this mansion, to this family. It was a physical representation of his control, their attempts to make you feel like you were part of something. But it felt more like a chain. But it is unlimited money... You didn’t take your eyes off him as you slid it into your bag, the tension in the room making your throat dry.

Your outfit—intentionally revealing, a far cry from the usual soft layers you wore when you spent time with them—felt more out of place than ever. The shorts, lulu lemon in the shortest length, the cropped top—it had been a subtle rebellion. A way to assert yourself, to feel free. But now, as their eyes flicked over you, you felt too exposed. Too seen.

Jason’s eyes lingered on your exposed skin, his expression unreadable, but his lips were pressed together in a thin line. There was an edge to his stare, like he didn’t like what he saw, but he didn’t speak. Not directly. His fists were still clenched at his sides, his jaw taut.

Damian’s eyes flicked over you as well, but his anger seemed to burn hotter, sharper. “Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear. But it wasn’t meant for you—it was meant for himself, for the way he couldn’t control you. For the fact that you’d gotten away. For now.

And then, there was Bruce. His gaze never wavered, never softened, just cold and steady. He said nothing more about the card, but his eyes held something that felt too heavy to bear. Possession. It hung between them like an unspoken truth. And the way his eyes moved over you—lingering just a little too long on the exposed parts of her skin—made your skin crawl.

Jason’s voice broke through the silence next, but it was low, playful, but edged with something else. Something that made her skin crawl.

“No boys,” he said, his tone playful, even as his gaze flicked to the door. “I don’t care who you’re staying with, but no boys. Got it?”

The playful tone didn’t match the intensity in his gaze, though. She raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to play it off.

“I’m sorry, what?” you replied, letting a smirk cross your face, trying to make it clear that this was just Jason being Jason. They were back to normal.

“No boys,” he repeated, the humor slipping from his voice now, replaced with something colder. “I’m serious. No fucking around while i'm not there. No fucking around in general, figuratively and literally.”

Your heart skipped. You glanced at Bruce, expecting him to give a soft chuckle or a reassuring nod to say it was just Jason being… well, Jason. But Bruce didn’t flinch. His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering. His expression was cold, his lips pressed into a firm line. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even looking amused.

“Jason’s right,” he said, his words steady and resolute. “No boys. Not while you’re here. Not while you’re under this roof.”

You almost scoffed, good thing you weren't gonna be under this roof for long.

You blinked, the sharpness of his words catching you off guard. He wasn’t joking. His posture was rigid, his eyes locked onto yours in a way that almost felt like a command.

Jason didn’t speak again, but the message had been clear.

No boys.

You nodded stiffly, the weight of his demand sitting in the pit of your stomach.

Duke, who had been mostly quiet up until now, was the next to speak, but his voice was softer, more thoughtful, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to handle the situation.

“You don’t have to go. You know that, right?” he said, his voice tentative, though there was an undercurrent of something else—something protective. "We could all go together. It’s better that way."

But his offer hung in the air like a dream you couldn’t quite reach. You could see it in his eyes—a hint of something, perhaps concern, perhaps something more. It wasn’t quite the same as Bruce’s cold stare or Jason’s intense grip on control. But there was an edge to it.

Cass, perched at the far end of the table, seemed as unreadable as ever. But there was something in her posture today—an intensity, like she was bracing herself, like something was about to happen, even if she couldn’t quite put it into words. She didn’t speak, but her gaze tracked every movement, every gesture, as if she were memorizing it.

Tim, seated next to Cass, had barely said anything all morning. His eyes flickered to you now and then, but it was more of a quiet observation, something far too careful and deliberate. He was almost… detached. But there was a coldness in the way he looked at you, like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was waiting.

Barbara was the exception—her smile was too wide, her eyes too bright, like she was trying to convince herself of something she wasn’t sure about. She kept trying to fill the silence with light conversation, but it always felt forced. And when her gaze landed on you, it lingered a little too long.

Steph, across from her, was the only one trying to keep things light. But the way she kept glancing at the door, at the phone on the table, at her own reflection in the polished surface—it was obvious she was uncomfortable. She was nervous. Especially after yesterday. And it was more than just the impending trip.

The room was alive with their watchfulness. It wasn’t just their presence—it was the way they didn’t speak directly to you, but everything they did seemed to be a reminder that they were there, that they could be there.

Damian scoffed from the end of the table and opened his mouth but closed it as Bruce looked at him sternly. He just rolled his eyes and went back to glaring at the wall, muttering things under his breath and gripping the table tightly.

He had been unusually quiet up until now and scoffed from his spot at the table, his eyes narrowed as he shot you a glare so venomous it was almost rivaled your actual venom.

“You think you can just leave, after everything?” Damian hissed, his voice dripping with disdain. His fists clenched under the table. “You think a simple apology makes everything okay? You punched me and left. You don’t just get to walk away from that.”

His anger seemed to grow with each word, but there was something beneath it, something that felt darker than simple sibling rivalry. As if the violation of his personal space and authority left him feeling more than just hurt, but threatened.

You knew that hitting him, striking him with all the force you could muster—had been the culmination of everything you couldn’t say, couldn’t express after all these years. But now, facing him again, you felt the weight of his anger. His rage wasn’t just directed at the punch. It was everything: the way you were walking out. The way you were leaving.

“Alright, listen up,” Dick said, his grin playful, cutting through the tension though his voice carried that same underlying weight. “Rules. You're not running off on some crazy solo adventure without us knowing every detail. I’m serious, okay?” His smile remained, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not a little kid anymore, but that doesn’t mean you get to act like an adult. I’m gonna need you to check in—like, every single day. Got it?”

The way he said it, like it was a joke, yet his tone was so firm that it left no room for argument. And then, with a playful but almost possessive look, he added, “No crazy parties, no boys, no drinking, and if you get yourself into trouble, don't come running back here. Just kidding! If you need anything, call me.”

His words had a strange effect, both reassuring and infuriating at the same time. You didn’t need him or anyone else telling you what you could or couldn’t do, you didn't need him acting like cared. Like he was suddenly your big brother after years of ignoring you and brushing you off.

Dick was still watching you, like he was hoping you’d cave to whatever soft version of control he was offering. “Alright, just... make sure you come back. I know we don’t say it much, but we care about you, okay? I can't change the past but I do regret it and I do love you. Don’t forget that.”

And there it was—his mask slipping for just a second. His voice softened, but there was something underneath it. Possessiveness, cloaked in affection. It was hard to ignore, the way his eyes followed your movements just a little too closely, the way his words lingered like an unspoken demand.

You didn’t respond immediately, your mind swirling with everything you wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, you let the silence hang in the air, a heavy, thick thing. There was something off about the manor now. Something that hadn’t been there before. The way they all watched you, their glances lingering a little too long, the small, subtle ways they tried to control your every movement—it was suffocating, and yet... it was addicting.

It felt nice being cared about, knowing you had control over their feelings now.

Your mind wandered, thinking of the freedom waiting for you in France. The sun, the beaches, the boys, the carefree nights with Ariel and your other friends—the perfect escape from all this suffocating attention. They don’t get it.

And then you realized—it wasn't just you going on vacation. Something would change when you came back.

When the time came, you’d have to navigate this new, tense version of your family. A family who acted like they cared.

The game had shifted, and now you were part of a strange, unspoken power struggle—your power over them was now as much as theirs over you used to be.

As you were leaving to the airport, your family bid you goodbye. None of them were driving you, they all had busy days today. Jason wrapped you in a short, tight hug, telling you to text him when the plane took off and landed and telling you to be careful, his eyes hard and filled with warning.

Something is his tone set you off, you pulled away before you realized it and got in the car, ignoring Bruce and Dick's awkward attempts to hug you and not even glancing at everyone else.

As you pulled away from the manor and watched their figures in the distance, dread pooled in your stomach. You didn't know why but you were already dreading coming back.

OK YA'LL SORRY ITS LATE. Idk why is struggled writing this chapter so much! lmk what yall think of it and why the reader thinks things are off.

Taglist:

@strwberryglass @lilithquillete @delias-stuff @bellatrixmld @damainwayneisthebestrobin @kittzu @lilyalone @yokesmam @sanjisluvbot @facelessisnthere @dollwhite @superstarbucks

@angelunatic @littledollete @cutelittlesugarfairy @darbystrange @sxftiebee @zealous0mouse @trashlanternfish360 @galaxygirlsblog @euphoria-looney @1simpchunkygirl @a-lurking-fae @analuixxy @naturallyspontaneous @horror-lover-69 @pastel-mouse @ladyrosemone @frankie-moon3 @catley1011 @justannie18 @yandereaficionado @ithoughtthinks @asdfghjklgayblog @shadowyknightbeargoth @peche4et3chocolat @boredselkie @rogueofbullshit @iamabeaner @rosesunderthegarden

[dilf-docs]

Hand To Heart (I'm Gonna Stay Faithful)

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: a pregnancy scare makes you realize just how deep you are in this.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pregnancy scare, fingering (WE GET IT U LIKE IT), bit of praise kink, humilliation kink, breeding kink (they're stupid and insane acc), dacryphilia, sex thru the looking glass (there's a mirror in reader's dorm), ANGST in capital, they're starting to catch the feels™ ur honor, hurt/comfort, plot thiccens, this people are clearly NOT in a good headspace btw idk we listen read and don't judge.

word count: 4,757 words

side note: everyone calling this joel nasty but thirsting after him too? was going to hold a trial over my citizens but yk... what the hell, sure! i too want nasty bfd!joel to ruin me: he can be my baby daddy who doesn't pay for child support of our 4 kids and we'd make way to bed for our 5th LET'S GO also spam time! but i also happen to write in wattpad, and got a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) it's on spanish tho, but if u speak the language and would like to tune in, u can read it here

part: prev | masterlist | next

It's a regular Tuesday when his phone rings at ten in the morning.

"Dad"

Joel gets up from his desk in a brash move, immediately picking up his daughter's worried tone. Tommy bursts inside, telling him to calm down, but all Joel can hear is the anxious beat in his chest.

"What's it, babygirl? You okay?" his throat tightens. "Talk to me"

There's silence before she answers, as if she's unsure to continue.

"It's not me" he feels his muscles relaxing, but then Sarah drops the bomb. "It's y/n"

Joel's heart beats with a different type of worry.

"What's wrong with her?" voice firm but emotionless.

It's almost summer again, and he's still seeing you. In a way, you had carved a space for yourself in his cold heart, so naturally, fear settles in. He'd never admit this things out loud, though.

"I don't know, dad" his daughter starts to rush the words out, panic evident on her voice. "She has locked herself in the bathroom and won't stop crying. I-I didn't know who else to call"

"Don't worry" but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "M' comin'. S'anyone else in there?"

There's a pause on the line before she answers.

"No"

He thinks of you. He'd seen you cry before, of course, but it'd been over silly childish stuff, like getting sent to bed early or not getting what you wanted for Christmas.

He thinks of you. Images of your pretty face, etched in pain, make his stomach drop. It isn't fair: your face was one destined to be happy for eternity, your smile so contagious Joel would sometimes find himself surrendering to your juvenile joy, his crow feet a little more notorious since you entered his life and carved your space on it by force; a light in the dark.

He just couldn't bear to see a mirror of his dullness on your face. It wasn't right.

"Stay put. I'll be there"

He tries not to think about your eyes drained of life. He tries not to think he's the cause. And then, he hangs.

As soon as Joel enters your dorm, your perfume is up his nostrils, providing him with a sense of relief he didn't know he needed. It was comforting and familiar, words that used to be hollow now carrying a knowing feeling that stung right on his chest.

"Dad" Sarah calls out, going for a hug. Joel embraces his daughter tightly while caressing her hair. "I'm so glad that you're here. I didn't know what to do"

"Breath in, babygirl. S'alright" he looks at your door, closed. Broken sobs can be heard, and his wounded heart feels like a heavy burden on his chest.

"My class starts in ten" Sarah speaks against the fabric of his flannel, "but I just couldn't leave her like this"

His daughter has a good heart. At least one of them did, anyway.

"Go to your class" he's commanding before he can fully process what he said.

Sarah breaks the hug, looking at him with a look he can't quite place.

"What? But, dad-" she tries to protest, concerned for your wellbeing.

"I'll take care of it. Always do, haven't I?" he sees her hesitation, and afraid of where her doubts would take her, Joel adds a small joke in there. "Y'know those classes ain't free, kid. Go ahead"

"Okay" she gives up. "Just... tell me if anything happens, yes?"

"F'course. Trust me"

"I trust you"

He still remembers when Sarah's kindergarten teacher handed him that drawing: Joel was wearing a cape, and she said his little girl had told everyone in class his dad was a superhero because there was nothing he couldn't do. That same admiration and faith is there in her eyes, even as the small naive kid slips from his fingers and turns into the woman that stands before him. He's not the devil, but the worst father in the world, and that is pretty much the same to him.

When Sarah is out of your dorm, he's trapped inside the small room with your heavy crying on the other side of the door. He looks at the small place, thinking about all the times he's sneaked inside during the night, hiding like a criminal as you wait for him behind the door full of scrapped stickers, ready to capture his lips with an eagerness that gnaws his chest.

Now it's just him and your sobs, his terrified reflection displayed in the mirror in front of your bed, mockingly staring back.

What are you doing? it questions, and Joel, always ready to answer, has suddenly lost the ability to speak.

Forcing himself out of such a pitiful state, he approaches the door, knocking softly.

"Sarah" your hoarse voice speaks up, and just then, he realizes how much he loves hearing your voice, no matter how it sounds. "Don't you have classes to go to? Leave me, please. I promise I'm good, I-"

Joel hears your distress, so he interrupts what looks like the start of a nervous rambling wreck. Huh, doesn't he know you so well?

"Sarah's gone" a beat, "It's me, Joel"

As if you wouldn't recognize that deep voice even if you were deaf.

There's silence before the door flings open, surprising Joel, who takes a step back, barely noticeable to the rest, but obvious to you, who has spent hours admiring him and all his small movements, he who you could draw by memory and built in your head as real as he who was standing before you, his eyes circling with a whirlwind of emotions you can't quite place, yet make your heart race.

Joel takes in the sight of you, deciding it's unfair how good you look, despite your disheveled hair, run mascara and red-rimmed eyes: you are still the prettiest sight he's ever seen, and now he doesn't know what scares him the most.

"You're wearing my shirt" he says out loud his latest discovery. It's all he manages to say: not an are you okay? nor an what's wrong?

No, Joel just happens to be very stupid(ly in love).

"Sarah didn't see me" you hug the fabric that makes your frame look smaller, or maybe it's your tired composture that makes it seem that way, avoiding Joel from enjoying the way his shirt looks on you. "If that's what you wanted to know. Been inside there for hours, already was when she came by"

The fact that you rather explain and assure him of his supposed possible worries instead of sharing your own, makes his stomach tie on a knot. Were you too kind or perhaps selfless? Maybe just stupid(ly in love).

Joel grunts, and you're not sure if it's his way of dissmissing your comment (maybe he thinks you're lying), chastising you in a shallow manner or the fact that you're poorly trying to avoid the elephant in the room. Maybe he thinks you're still a foolish careless child who can't comprehend the weight of whatever it is you're doing by being with your bestfriend's dad behind everyone's back.

"Tell me" he gets closer to you, fingers on your cheeks, but they don't dig the skin, instead, his roughness hiding a surprising tenderness to them. "What happened, y/n?"

The rawness in his voice takes you by surprise. Joel Miller, who seemed a man impossible to waver, now stood before you, wrapped in a gloom that left you at loss for words, something akin to hope planting it's seed on your heart.

"Tell me" he demands, yet his pupils move as unsteady as your heart. There's no power for command in his voice, only what you could allude to helplessness.

Was it because you were putting up walls like he did?

Was it because the consequences of being with you are starting to dawn upon him?

Whatever it is, you don't like it.

"What's wrong?" he's pushing for an answer softly, such a contrasting image to that of him in bed. "Please, talk to me"

Please.

The words slip past his trembling lips, defenses crumbling.

Joel Miller hasn't pleaded since Sarah's mother packed her bags and walked out of their shared home. He promised himself he would never be vulnerable again, never at the feet of a loved one, beggin to be seen.

To be heard. To not be hurt. To be loved.

But here you were, red eyes blown wide at a confession spoken through other words.

Please.

Your chest feels heavy, breath constricted.

"Joel..." you utter his name like a prayer. As something to believe in; something to hold.

He rushes to your side, strong arms caging around you as your labored cries fill the tiny room.

"S'alright" he whispers against your ear, burying his face on your shaking shoulder. "M' right'ere, doll"

Your hold turns more desperate, practically clinging as if your life depended on it.

"Take your time, y/n" your name so soft, you feel like crying more. "I ain't goin' anywhere"

"Promise me" you whimper, holding tightly.

"I won't go" he assures. There it is, the same unwavering strength you know. It's for you, he thinks.

"Joel" you call out again, tone terrified. "I think I'm pregnant"

It takes him at least a minute to speak. Even to breathe.

"...What?"

He feels your erratic pulse against his chest.

"Joel. Look at me"

He doesn't feel your heartbeat anymore. Just then he realizes he's backed down, embrace letting go of yours. Joel takes in your eyes, shimmering with new tears and fears.

"Joel?"

"I'm here" his voice sounds like it belongs to someone else, and the reminder like it's for himself.

"I know" your small voice speaks up, "but, just- please, look at me"

Joel holds your gaze, and it's like your air supply as been cut.

You don't want this.

"Are you sure?" Joel asks cautiously, as if you were a small animal he's afraid to scare.

"No" you breath in. "I bought the test, but I couldn't take it... I was, for the very first time in my life, scared. But there's always a first, isn't it? That's when Sarah found me"

There's always a first. You weren't afraid when he pounced you next to his sleeping daughter, neither when you didn't stop coming and he let you in everytime, and absolutely not when he obscenely ate you out while Sarah was on the phone. No, you were brave―brave enough to stand defiant when his conflicting gaze pierced through you, daring you to be the first to leave this mess and forget about him. But you were brave because you stayed, despite it all.

That had to mean something, right?

"You said you wouldn't leave me" it comes out in a shaky breath; a threat. Your voice seethes with a quiet rage. "You promised, Joel"

Like the word promise was a dagger twisting on his insides, not a sacred oath.

So he forces himself to be that hero Sarah still thinks he is. After all, he promised her he's going to solve this, didn't he?

"I did" he runs a hand through his hair. "Got the test with you?" You slowly nod. "Take it, then. I'll wait here"

You don't move from your spot, chest still moving uneven under your labored breaths.

"When you come out, I'll promise I'll still be here"

He can't promise you more. The world? It's what you deserve but not what he can give; Joel can only give so much.

"Okay" your tone is clipped, and that's all you say before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The room feels smaller than it is, the small plastic stick feeling heavier in your fingers than it actually is. You hear the clock's tick, Joel's frantic pace and your own irrational beat. It feels like a bomb: ready to explode and destroy everything within it's range.

Time drags like a cigarette, walls closing over your shaking pale frame. Your phone has a timer going on, yet for some reason, it feels an end to your beginning. You hug your body, wishing it was Joel's arms doing so.

But you saw it: fear, hesitation. It was on his eyes, auburn cracking like wood under fire. He was weak, and so were you. All of this... it starts to loose it's meaning. What started as a summer fling now falls upon you like a second skin you can't quite wash off, and it's suffocating as much as the enclosed space where a stupid line could change the rest of your life forever.

Joel outside isn't doing much better. He's aware his walking probably set you on edge, so now he's sat at the small bed that dips under his weight. He takes one deep breath, two―then looses count.

How could he be so careless? For a brief moment, why did he let himself believe it could be?

For God's sake: you were his daughter's friend. He had seen you and Sarah play on his house, laughing on his porch, gossiping on her bedroom. Growing up.

He wanted you, a desire so consuming it sometimes kept him up at night, thoughts confusing with something else. Probably fear, probably acceptance.

Joel is aware you changed his life. You, with your wild spirit and obnoxious laugh. You whom he couldn't tear his gaze away when standing in the same room, a magnetic force making the world around you drawn to you and that dangerous allure you had that made it impossible to resist you. To forget you. To leave without you.

He feels dirty. A monster. A wolf with an insatiable hunger, sinking his canine teeth on your soft flesh. He'd drink your blood, to always keep a part of you with him; to be one. Like a lamb sent to the slaughter: but you wanted it. You had placed your head inside his jaw; trusting. As if knowing he could devour you, yet he'd never hurt you. Daring, almost.

Show me you can love me. Take a bite. Take me as yours. Mark me. Ruin me for anyone else. My blood, it belongs to you. This isn't a sacrifice―this is love.

When you exit the bathroom, hand holding the pregnancy test, it's all clear to him.

For a moment even, Joel forgets there's a world outside and sees a small baby: they have your smile, your eyes―and nothing of him, because you're the sun of his moon, the light of his darkness, and that baby is a mirror of you and your beauty. You and your warmth, devoid of his cold and far from where his filth can taint it. They have to look like you, because you are the most beautiful person in the world, and suddenly, the idea one more of you is possible, makes it feel like just you isn't enough.

"It's negative"

For the second time in the day, Joel is rendered speechless. His gaze is trained on the floor, lost in thought. Besides his lack of an answer, whatever he's thinking makes you nervous.

"Joel, are you okay?" you call out.

He swallows the lump on his throat, pose akward before he moves next to your bed.

"M' fine, baby. C'mere" he sits over it again, motioning with his hand the empty spot next to him. Joel's embrace is warm, like it shields you from the cold harsh truth.

"Are you upset?" you ask over the comfortable silence, the underlying tension stretching like a rubber band.

"No" his answer comes quick, "but I won't lie to ya', doll. Thought for a sec and ol' man like me could give a pretty girl like yourself a baby as beautiful as their mamma"

A treacherous pink dusts your cheeks. Had you lost all your common sense? Seconds ago, your life hung by a fragile thread, and now all your body can think is to go for the same risk again. Fuck it.

"Did you? I thought you were too busy freaking out"

Joel lets out a nervous laugh. "M' a busy man, doll. Learned how to do two things at once"

A fire settles in your stomach when his touch lingers over your soft flat belly, longing.

"Hmm, I see" your fingers move from his hold to his collarbone, as they play with the buttons he hasn't wore.

"Y/n" he warns. You stop for a moment, not because you're unsure, but because when you look up, his eyes don't shine with that glint of danger and hunger that gives you the thrills. Instead, they look at you with a fondness he doesn't seem to even realize―the one that gives you the hope of it all.

"I want this" you speak up, voice confident.

"I don't think that's a good idea, doll. What'ya need is-"

"You" your face gets close to his, cutting his words and breath. Joel's adam's apple bobs, your throbbing pussy going through a Pavlovian response, such action an indicator he's surrendered to you, mouth watering at just the thought. "You said you could do two things at the same time, right? The comfort me in the only way you know"

There's hesitation on his eyes, and while you think it's because he's still hung up on the idea this isn't what you need, Joel's mind is stuck in the fact you think he can just warm your bed but no your heart. It's stupid, indeed. It can't affect him that much. Ashamed, he cuts the space hanging between your lips and traps them in a heated kiss.

"Hmh, Joel" your voice barely audible as Joel's fingers grip on your hair, his sleazy tongue sliding it's way into your mouth until you can feel it in your teeth. "Please..."

He chuckles at your neediness. "Please, what?"

"Please" you whimper, feeling your back heat with droplets of sweat under Joel's shirt, the sticky feeling akin to that starting to pool in between your thighs. "Please, make me feel good"

Joel smiles adoringly, moving your body until your legs are up his shoulders. Sure, his knees covered by his dirty worn-out jeans are ruining your fresh laundry, and his joints may crack here and there, but you don't pay mind to this little things: all you care is how he's kissing your bare thighs, his salt and pepper stubble tickling skin that feels more sensitive than ever; burning almost.

"Gon' touch 'tis pretty pussy 'til you forget y'r name, doll" he breathes out. "Will ya' let me?"

You nod eagerly as he helps you get out of your panties, throwing them somewhere around the room. You smack his arm playfully at his rough manners, but then he's pressing his lips with wet ticklish kisses on your legs and laughter bubbles at the tingles it's causing.

"S-stop, Joel!" you beg, legs shaking. Your giggles are contagious, and soon the foreign feeling lifts the corners of his scowl into a smile, a concept becoming more familiar with time.

"I ain't stopping" his fingers then graze your clit, tauntingly. You whine, as Joel doesn't let up on your clit, his calloused digits coated in your arousal. "'Tis what you asked for, baby. So 'm gonna make you feel good. So good until you can't speak nothin' that ain't my name"

The threat feels like a delicious promise, so you tell him you'll behave.

"I wanna try somethin', doll. Wait" you whine at the loss of his fingers inside of you, and then he's moving your body until he's against the wall and you're on the border of the bed. With your eyes, you follow his line of view. "So needy, ain't ya'? Cockhungry slut. Jus' scared the shit out of me and now you want me inside?" he tsks. "Sick fella"

"Joel..." you breath out, desire pooling into your orbs.

"Wanna see you, doll" you see your reflection in the mirror as Joel lowers his head to whisper on your ear, eliciting goosebumps on your skin. "Want you to see yourself, too. How you'll be beggin' for me"

His middle and ring finger dip between your folds as he continues the minstrations, fingers pumping in and out as they graze your moist cunt. They start to go in circles, and even if it's not exactly next to your bed, you can see the mirror begin to fog, whines condensed in the heavy air.

His shirt clings uncomfortably to your body, but you don't care. In a way, he feels even closer to you, as if he was an extension of yourself.

Joel's body radiates heat on it's own, making the room's temperature skyrocket.

You lean your head back onto the mattress, moaning.

"Need ya' to use that pretty mouth of y'rs, doll. Say it" his fingers linger on the dip of your hips, waiting for an answer with a smirk and daring manner. "Say what ya' want; that's if you can"

It takes you a while to speak up, the slippery sound of Joel's coated fingers the only sound to be heard on your dorm.

"I... I need" you whine through labored pants, "I need you, Joel"

I need you, Joel. It's in the heat of the moment, really, yet on that very instant, he makes a silent vow that hangs unspoken in the air.

"Good girl" he bites your earlobe, making a chill run down your spine.

His fingers fuck into you just how you like it: swirling to explore your inner tight walls.

"Fuck. Love how your pussy takes me, doll. 'S mine, isn't it? Say it, say who this pussy belongs to. Who's the only man allowed to have it"

You close your eyes, but the answer comes clear. "You, Joel. Just you"

You whine, feeling him go harder in a new-found confidence. Your nails dig on his biceps, but he doesn't flich, still busy burying his fingers inside your clit as his mouth continues spilling filthy shit you barely can comprehend, mind starting to go numb.

Normally, Joel would make you cum on his fingers, always making sure to lick it after, claiming it was bad manners to leave to waste. But today, the clock ticking in your wall, he knows he must hurry.

"Eager, eh?" you taunt back, seeing how quickly he's pulling down his underwear, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance.

Your dripping cunt welcomes his cock, tip teasing your entrance.

"Don't" he seethes.

"Don't?" you laugh. "Don't what, laugh?"

His fingers grab your jaw tightly, forcing you to look behind you.

"Don't stop lookin', doll"

Joel slips the tip of his cock into you, his hands grabbing your waist to steady you. He looks at you through the mirror, seeing your dazed eyes, waiting as you bite your lip.

"That's it, good girl" he praises, purring against your ear. You see his face go down and lick the side of your neck before sinking his teeth in it. "Gonna reward you for'at"

Your mouth falls agape when he fully pushes his cock inside of you, burying himself to the limit in the first thrust. You moan, stretch wet pussy trying to adjust to his girth. He groans, his hips moving back and forth with yours, to meet his thrusts.

"R-right there" you whimper, feeling eyes starting to water. It had been a long day, and with his cock buried deep inside you, you can't think of anything else: just him―like this, for the rest of your life; you don't need more. "Fuck, don't stop"

His thumb rubs across your cheekbone, capturing a tear that had slipped past your foggy mind in a brittle moment of vulnerability, brown eyes flickering with something else. It could be.

We could be.

"Fuck, you cryin' over this cock, doll? What'a fuckin' slut" he laughs incredulously, but there's a hidden fondness to it. "S' that how good 'm makin' you feel?"

You can only moan, his dick harder now, his infatuation with your fucked-out state evident in the way his movements become more hectic.

"Can't even speak? What'a dirty minx inside 'tis sexy little body"

"Mhm" you blabber, tears running hot down your cheeks, landing on the mattress in fat droplets, noticeable through the reflection even. Joel stares back at your puffy eyes, devotion pouring at your glossy gaze, coated in a faint red tint, more pronounced from your earlier cries. Fuck. Never did he think your lambent eyes and sniffle sounds could turn him on this much. Something about him being the cause of it has his head spinning.

"New rule" he growls, "you keep those pretty red eyes lookin' at me when you cum"

You whimper at his words, the powerful aura they carry pushing your orgasm closer to the edge. You feel your tight folds clenching around his cock, hands holding to his back while your nails dig in it. You feel yourself approaching your release, multiple tears escaping down your cheekbone. In an obscene gesture, it isn't his thumb but his tongue what removes the wet stream from your body, feeling the salty drops on his tastebuds.

You were already so worked up, it was a matter of seconds before you could cum at any moment. Your walls clench around his length, and before you can process, Joel pulls your body up, caging your tits until they're pressed against his soft chest. You face the white paint of your wall, and Joel can see your back in the mirror as he's still buried inside of you. You gasp at the change in position, all of the sudden, a painfull delicious sensation flooding your senses.

"You're gonna cum, aren't ya', doll?" Joel's asking, hot breath nestled in your neck.

"Hmh" you barely manage to blurt as he fucks into you harder, your arms clutching onto him. You were being so loud now that you were sure you'd get at least one noise complain, hoping it stays there; if they found out not only had you been fucking, but with a fourty year old man who happpened to be the father of your bestfriend, you'd probably get expelled. "So close..."

"You know?" he whispers, voice fragile over the sound of your pants and worked up breaths. "I was scared, ealier. M' sorry you had to see that" your body trembles, making you close your eyes. "But I need ya' to know, for'a moment, I did think about having a kid with you"

Your forehead drips with sweat, mixing with the sodium of your tears.

"Maybe in 'nother life, huh?"

Your heart feels like it's about to burst when he sloppily kisses you, as to prevent any words come out of your mouth―humilliating or full of regret, avoiding the heart ache of a rejection. Joel, for a moment, lets his heart wander off to territories he shouldn't, thinking of things he should leave to be. Joel digs his hole deeper, but he doesn't care: he just wants to be the best grave in your cementery.

"Maybe" you answer, but it sounds like a possibility, the promise of a foolish mind betraying the guarded hidden hope.

"Fuck, Joel" you bury your face against his soft pecs, your orgasm crashing over you. Your whine comes our rather loud, trying to drown the sound against his body. He doesn't stop holding you on his arms, firm; you'd probably fallen if he didn't.

"Wait for me, doll. 'M close"

"Please" you plead, kissing his jaw. "Need you. Want to feel you, Joel"

Not daddy, but his name. I want you. I need you. Want to feel you; for you to fill me. He groans, rhythm sloppy as he crashes his lips into yours. he should stop, especially after today's events, but God, his traitorous head is filled with images of you, belly round with his child, one carved to be the spitting image of you.

Do it.

You moan inside his mouth when you feel him finish inside of you, thick, your fingers running through his dark greying hair damp with sweat.

"M' right here" he says his words from earlier, and you feel yourself hugging him to keep his body next to yours even as he pulls out.

"I know" you hum, arms around his neck. "Thank you for coming"

"What of both?"

You let out a laugh.

"Jesus, Joel" but your tone is devoid of malice, adquiring that layer to it, just like his own. There's a shift in the air, and if you felt it before, now you know there's no point of return. "You sure are something else"

dts: @ann-gell; angél de mi corazón, tkm mucho, gracias por llegar a mi vida, ah.

[majestyeverlasting]

Hello there! :) If I may, I’d like to request a Joel miller x reader ⇩

something where the reader is experiencing a migraine (headache + nausea and all that) and Joel tries calling her all day while he’s out and when he gets home he finds her asleep in pitch black room and realises what’s wrong, but knows exactly how to comfort his girl? 🥰

*im sorryyy if that’s long or weirdly specific it’s just something I’ve been struggling with lately and I need some comfort about it don’t mind me😻)*

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader 

Summary Joel comes home to find that you’re suffering from a migraine in bed. Luckily, he’s helped you through this once or twice. [no outbreak, hurt/comfort, fluff, 1.8k]. 

A/N Thanks for this request! I promise it's not weird at all. In my head, this is Joel and reader from here with you. 

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Joel (8:57 AM) Sorry I missed you this morning, didn’t wanna wake you. Have a good day. -J

Joel (11:02 AM) Checking in. You up and at em yet? 

Joel (2:34 PM) Everything okay? Call you in a bit. -J

Still nothing from you. Joel locks his phone and rests his forearms on his legs. 

Today is the warmest day all week. Getting to ditch the extra layer is nice. Tommy shields his eyes from the sun as he exits a prim house with a spotless driveway and plush lawn. Beside it is another perfect lot, and another, and another, arranged around the whole cul-de-sac. He and Joel had been contracted to do a kitchen upgrade for the new homeowners and were in the process of working through the finishing touches.

From his seated position on the curb, Joel looks over his shoulder as footsteps approach. Tommy draws his leg back like he plans to kick him, and snickers when he leans out the way.

“Watch yourself,” Joel warns.

“Or what?” A smirk pulls at Tommy’s lips. “I’ll lay your old ass out on this asphalt.”

Joel shakes his head as Tommy sits down beside him with a grunt. A comfortable silence settles between them, and Joel fights the urge to check his phone even though it hasn’t buzzed. Tommy notices the slight tension in his shoulders but chalks it up to wanting to be done for the day. After the owners did their final walkthrough tomorrow, a three-day weekend awaited.

A cool breeze rolls through as Tommy stretches his legs out in front of himself, his jeans peppered with dust and dried specks of white paint. When he takes a swig from the bottle he walked outside with, Joel’s squints at the label, his interest piqued.

“Kombucha?” he says with furrowed brows.

Tommy nods as he swallows. “Sarah put me on,” he says after wiping his mouth. “Helps with your gut. Something like that.”

“A few crunches should do the trick,” Joel mutters.

Tommy snorts and elbows him. “Right back at you, smartass.” Joel huffs a breath at that. “Hey, what do you think about going fishing this weekend—Saturday maybe?”

When his brother doesn’t respond, he knocks his knee against his. “Anybody home?”

Joel straightens up in hopes of making his anxiety less evident. Except, he wears it like a second skin. To deny it would be to deny himself.

“What time you think we’ll be done today?” The break they carved out just started, but it’s his roundabout way of suggesting they get back to work. There wasn’t too much left to do if they locked in—some additional caulking, sealing, and polishing.

Tommy shakes his head as he calculates. “Three-thirty, four?” Then he narrows his eyes at Joel. “You’ve been sitting funny since I walked out here…”

Joel’s chest puffs with a sigh as he unlocks his phone. The text thread between the two of you is already pulled up, and all three of his messages to you are unanswered. Tommy leans closer to read them and bites his lower lip as the gears start turning in his head.

He decides to draw a little levity in, “You piss her off?” There’s a teasing undertone to his question.

“Don't think so,” Joel says as he shifts. “Gonna give her a call.”

Tommy nods and claps him on the back. “We can get back to work after.”

He heads back inside to give his brother some privacy.

When you don’t answer the phone, Joel leaves a message anyway.

“Hey, sweetheart. Haven’t been able to get through to you, but I’ll be home soon, okay? Four-thirty at the latest…” he pauses to bite his lower lip. “Call me if you get this before I’m there. Love you.”

•••

It’s quiet when he arrives home. Virtually undisturbed. The pillows on the couch are positioned in the exact way they’d been left after last night’s impromptu movie night. The TV remote is in the same place on the coffee table as well. There’s nothing that suggests you’ve been stirring around at all. He walks deeper into the house to find that the kitchen and sunroom are empty too. The late afternoon sun pools in through the window.

When he makes it back around to the staircase, he jogs to the top. The wood creaks beneath his steps.

“Sweetheart?” he calls out. “I’m home. You up here?”

His voice carries to where you’re tucked in bed, but you can’t bring yourself to answer back. Not loud enough for him to hear you, at least. The ache that once pulsed throughout your head has steadied to the point where you don’t want to risk overexerting yourself and tumbling back to square one. Joel would find you anyway. He always did. And he never viewed you or your pain as a burden. He knew how to cradle both, how to ease them without second thought.

Light pours into the bedroom as the door opens slowly. You can make out the outline of his tall, broad frame, and hear the soft sound of his socks against the hardwood as he pads to you in the dark. Thanks to the blackout curtains, there’s hardly any light entering in. Only the smallest slivers.

After his eyes adjust, he can begin to make out the shapes around the room. The red glow of the alarm clock allows him to see your face, your slow-blinking eyes.

Without uttering a word, he gently presses the back of his hand to your forehead, then moves it down to rest against your warm cheek. You press into his touch just slightly, and it tugs something awful at his chest. Makes him wish he could bear your pain.

“Migraine,” you murmur.

An apologetic hum vibrates through his chest. “You been like this all day?” he asks softly.

“Got bad at noon.”

He sighs. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You weakly reach out for his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. It’s much larger than yours, rugged and calloused, but you’d hold on forever if you could. If he’d let you. With his free hand, he picks up the tumbler bottle on the nightstand to find that it’s light.

“I’m gonna go get you some more water. It’s probably time for some more Advil too.”

The weight of his attentiveness makes you nod like you’re surrendering. And maybe you are giving something up—the burden of the day. Of having to do everything on your own. His fingers tighten around yours in a final squeeze before he lets go.

You shouldn’t miss him in the short time that he’s gone, but you do. It’s the same tug that lingered in your chest all day, but is kinder now that he’s home. Not miles away out of reach. When he comes back, it’s with more than he initially set out for, all of it somehow balanced in his hold. He quietly sets it all on the nightstand.

“You can turn the little lamp on,” you murmur. There was a battery-powered ambient lamp alongside the larger one.

“I’m aces, honey,” he assures. “You wanna sit up for a second, I got your medicine right here.”

You prop yourself up on your forearm and gratefully take it from him. He holds your tumbler to your lips so you can reach the straw to wash it down.

“There ya go,” he praises as you settle back down. “Got a cold pack and some grapes too. Get a little something on your stomach before I get dinner worked out later…” He talks, almost absentmindedly, as he continues to get you situated. But he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s a routine he’s coaxed you through more times than he’d like.

A long hum rises in your throat as he positions the cold pack on the back of your neck. A stark but pleasant chill ripples through your overheated body like slow melting ice. All you can muster is another grateful hum as he sets the small bowl of grapes on the mattress beside you. There’s a crisp, sweet pop as you usher one into your mouth.

“Gonna go grab a quick shower.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he adds lightly.

A small smile pulls at your lips.

•••

An hour. That’s how much later you wake up in his arms with his lips at your shoulder, his strong arm draped around your waist to keep you close. There’d hardly been any words exchanged between you in the moments before then, only confirmations of each other’s comfort and whispered I love you’s. You’d dozed off a couple of times since noon, but nothing comparable to the steady rest that came along with his proximity.

He doesn't realize you’re awake until you shift and reach toward the nightstand. The light of the ambient lamp soon illuminates the room, joined by the glow of your phone a moment later. Joel takes it as a sign you’re feeling better than he found you, and that’s more than enough. The gentle, repetitive tap of your thumb against the screen lets him know you’re going through old notifications.

His hand finds your hip beneath the sheets, where he draws slow, small circles with his thumb. It isn’t long before you lock the device and set it back down.

The sheets rustle as you turn around to face him. Sleep’s haze lingers between you as you trail your fingertips along his jaw in a featherlight brush. The scratch of his beard feels nice, and you continue the motion until you’re unable to stop the fond chuckle that shakes your chest. It’s no more than a quick breath, but Joel smiles shyly anyway.

“What?” he asks, voice a little gruff.

“J,” you murmur with a teasing lilt. “You don’t need to sign your texts. I know already it’s you.” You poke an affectionate finger into his stomach.

His smile grows as he offers a helpless shrug, warmth in his dark eyes. It’s impossible to fight the urge to scoot closer and press the briefest, softest kiss to his lips. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat.

“Tommy had me thinking I might’ve done something to upset you,” he says as he brushes a knuckle across your cheek.

“I’d never ignore you like that.”

Joel knows that, but says, “Except for that one time.”

You frown in confusion, but your mouth falls open in amusement when you realize what he means. “That was a million years ago, and it lasted five minutes—not even that.”

Joel chuckles, and when it triggers you to join him in laughing, you realize that’s all he sought to gain by bringing it up.

“Clearly it left a mark.” He brings your hand to his lips and kisses the heel of your palm, a smile lingering on his lips as you laugh again. He studies your eyes, your nose, your lips. He loves you so much he sometimes wonders how he’s been able to manage it without bursting at the seams.

“You feelin’ a bit better?” he asks after a few quiet beats.

“Much,” you promise.

He kisses your palm again. This time he lets his lips linger.

-

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

more of this couple -> here with you

JOEL MASTERLIST 

GENERAL MASTERLIST   

[brunhielda]

I know nothing about football at all, and find this hilarious.

As someone who works in theater, may I offer an insight?

The move seems to require a group to physically be moving as one, and more that that, for the guy with the ball to always be ok with all his teammates touching his ass.

On one level, there are jokes to be made here.

On another level- that’s the point. That player has to trust, he’ll, they all have to trust that no one else is going to make a joke that is outside thier comfort zone. They all have to be on the same page not just physically, but emotionally and sensitively.

How do I know this?

Because in theater there is a lot of physical moves, that yes, most people should physically be able to do. A dance move. A fake kiss. A hauling of someone off stage.

If ONE PERSON is even subconsciously uncomfortable, they will move half a centimeter to the left to avoid contact, and the whole thing is thrown off. People can get hurt.

You have to build comradery. You have to build real affection and friendship. You have to build, what we call in the business, chemistry. Without it, there is simply not enough trust to do the things you want to do.

So I posit to you that the Eagles may be able to do this “brotherly shove” because their coaches focus more on the “brotherly” part than the “shove” part.

🤷🏻‍♀️

Fun thing about football right now is that there's a move called the "brotherly shove" that the Eagles do when they're very close to scoring, where the whole team puts their hands on the ass of the guy with the ball and physically propels him over the line into the endzone for the touchdown, and all the other teams' fans hate it because it's got such a ridiculously high rate of success for the Eagles and doesn't really seem to work for any other team. People are straight-up calling for this move to be banned, claiming it's "unstoppable" and gives an "unfair advantage" but it really and truly is a skill issue. The whole league hates this move because it only makes the Eagles win more often and nobody else can figure out how to do it right

[vntglace]

eddie munson x fem!reader ₊˚⊹♡ shy!reader, smut, rough sex, a lil degrading | based on this request.

dating eddie munson has been so fulfilling.

he's funny, he's sweet. he tries to pay for everything, even when he can't really afford to. he lets you steal his sweaters, shows you sick music, and calls you cheesy, ridiculous nicknames.

and, of course, he's really good in bed. he's apparently only been with one other girl before, and although the thought makes a jealous pit form in your belly, she clearly taught him well.

he's on top of you now, your legs wrapped around his waist as he kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

suddenly, he looks up at you. "is there anything that you wanna try? like, something i don't do that you want me to?" he asks.

the question takes you off guard, your cheeks heating up. "um...no?" you say, unconvincingly.

eddie grins. "oh, c'mon. you're telling me you don't have any fantasies for me to fulfill? what do you think about when you touch yourself?"

despite the mischievous expression on his face, you can tell he means what he's asking. he wants to pleasure you, and you're grateful, but you can barely look him in the face with how embarrassed his line of questioning is making you.

"eddie!" you say. "i don't...well, i'm not..."

"oh, don't tell me you don't touch yourself. everyone does," he says. "even good girls like you."

your face burns. "sometimes, yeah, but...i don't know, it's all...abstract thoughts. i don't have anything specific that i know i like."

eddie had been your first, so you don't have enough experience to tell him what you're into.

"well, tell me something you think you'd like, and we can try it. y'know if you're not feeling it, we can just stop."

his reassurance makes you feel safer, a little more comfortable. you play with his hair as you talk, trying to keep yourself distracted from your shyness. "i mean...i think i'd like being on top? and...maybe if you were a little bit...rougher with me? like, not hurting me, but like...just faster? harder? and maybe a little...mean."

you groan, putting your hands over your face. "i don't even know what i'm saying."

eddie takes your wrists gently. "hey, hey," he coos. "no need to be so shy, pretty girl. we can try that for sure. can i try something right now?"

you nodded, still struggling to meet his eye.

his grip on your wrists gets tighter, and he pushes your hands over your head, effectively pinning them against his pillows. "like that? you want me to be rough with you, huh?"

you whimper, nodding again, already feeling your pussy grow wetter at the lower, more dominant tone of his voice and the grip he had on your wrists.

"tell me you want it. use your words, princess."

"please be rough with me," you say, breathless.

he grins wickedly. "with pleasure."

he's practically feral as he kisses you hard, nipping at your bottom lip, then moves to suck a hickey into your collarbone. "thought a good girl like you wouldn't be into something like this. thought you'd want to be treated like a princess. instead you wanna be treated like a slut, hm?"

you moan. "yes," you reply to his rhetorical question, too dumb with desire to feel ashamed any longer. eddie has unlocked something primal within you, getting you to open up about your fantasies.

"wanna get on top, baby?" he asks. "see if riding me is as hot as it is in your dreams?"

"please," you say, all but begging.

he rolls onto his back, rolls a condom on, and then beckons for you to come and straddle his hips. he slips his cock inside you, and you whine at the stretch of him filling your hole. he fucks up into you, hard and fast, just like you'd asked for.

the position is a little more uncomfortable than you'd imagined, but there's something pleasurable about the ache in your thighs as you keep them spread for him, about how exposed you feel as his eyes go from your face to your breasts, bouncing with each of his thrusts.

you feel the urge to cover yourself, but it's like eddie can sense it, and he reaches out to grab your hands, holding them at his chest to keep you steady, as well as keep your body on display for him.

"you look so fucking hot, bouncing on my cock like a slut," he says, voice breathless with pleasure. "gonna come if you keep lookin' at me with those innocent eyes."

"cum for me," you say, surprised by the vulgar words coming from your mouth. "fuck me until you cum inside me."

you know he's wearing a condom: there's nothing too taboo about letting him do so, but it makes you feel sexy, dangerous to tell him to do so anyway.

it doesn't take long for eddie to do just that.

dating eddie munson just got so much more fulfilling, you realize with a smile.

[strwberri-milk]

Hello!! May I request Sylus and Zayne with a reader who gets hurt all the time? They get massive, alarming scars during their battles, and hide it from the men. When confronted about it, they beat around the bush and avoid getting it checked. What would they do in that situation?

He's not happy that you keep trying to hide your injuries from him. He knows that you're hurt, you know he knows you're hurt, but you're still deciding to be stubborn and refuse to actually do anything about the fact that you totally need some medical attention.

If you don't want to see medical professionals he'll take it into his hands. Zayne, of course, is a medical professional so letting him take a look at your wounds isn't a bad thing. He knows what he's doing and you know you're in safe hands. He does scold you a lot as he's treating you though, telling you that you're being wildly irresponsible and will get yourself killed like this.

Sylus doesn't lecture you but he isn't going to be gentle with you. He won't go out of his way to hurt you but you do know from the knit of his brow and the way he isn't saying much too you that he isn't happy. He does what he can which is honestly, a lot, but also insists that you need to see an actual doctor despite your protests. He'll at least tell them to do a house call so you can be more comfortable, staying by your side as he gives the doctor a comprehensive medical history despite your protests. You do feel a sense of warmth in your chest at the sight though, knowing that he's doing this all because of how much he cares for you.

[atlabeth]

in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible. 

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad. 

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him. 

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion. 

Why? 

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him. 

But he did. 

For you. 

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn. 

So much for not being obvious. 

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least. 

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him. 

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you. 

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says. 

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.” 

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?” 

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.” 

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.” 

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said. 

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!” 

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?” 

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!” 

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him. 

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.” 

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns. 

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown. 

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

-

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it. 

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own. 

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with. 

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly. 

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.” 

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.” 

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—” 

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this. 

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.” 

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”) 

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean. 

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you. 

The thought crossed your mind more often than not. 

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not. 

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day. 

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under. 

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms. 

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment. 

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out. 

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond. 

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly. 

“Can I come in?” 

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?” 

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says. 

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.” 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper. 

“And?” 

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.” 

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?” 

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.” 

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance. 

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.” 

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.” 

“Maybe I just like silence.” 

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.” 

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel. 

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—” 

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad. 

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.” 

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you. 

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits—he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU. 

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable. 

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical. 

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—” 

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself. 

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?” 

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.” 

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?” 

“Which one do you want?” 

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.” 

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill. 

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.” 

He shrugs. “Why not start now?” 

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?” 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back. 

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?” 

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says. 

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap. 

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?” 

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.” 

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?” 

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.” 

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.” 

You scoff. “I do not.” 

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.” 

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.” 

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks. 

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.” 

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.” 

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks. 

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.” 

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—” 

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut. 

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?” 

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says. 

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.” 

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.” 

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.” 

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.” 

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have. 

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid. 

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.” 

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?” 

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.” 

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.” 

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.” 

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.  

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.” 

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.” 

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.” 

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.” 

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.” 

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.” 

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.” 

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?” 

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.” 

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.” 

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.” 

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.” 

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?” 

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask. 

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.” 

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.” 

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.” 

You laugh. “Part of our truce.” 

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.” 

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while. 

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.” 

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.” 

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.” 

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.” 

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse. 

“Does our truce include this?” 

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave. 

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.” 

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat. 

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze. 

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed. 

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable. 

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax. 

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it. 

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight. 

[munson-blurbs]

We're a month away from Valentine's Day and I was hoping/begging for you to write something very heartbreaking or angsty with Eddie, maybe something where she finally has the courage to confess her feeling for him and he rejects her for another girl who's prettier and cuter. Idk I just want to cry and feel sad on Valentine's Day, please ❤

TW: hurt/no comfort, dead dove don't eat, best friend!Eddie, rejection, angst, Reader wears a dress, smut (18+ only, minors DNI).

WC: 1.2k

Divider credit to @saradika

“Can I ask you for a huge favor?”

Eddie Munson turned from the TV, eyes wandering to keep an eye on the screen as Shelley Duvall swung her bat at Jack Nicholson. “Shoot,” he said through a mouthful of popcorn. 

This was it. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to say the words aloud. 

“I know you hate dressing up…and school…and, well, people,” you started, relief flooding your chest when he smiled at your joke, “but I was hoping you’d go with me to the prom? As friends,” you hurriedly reassured him. 

His smile faltered, butter-greased lips forming a grimace. “The prom? Seriously?” Eddie blew out a breath. “You do realize I’ve made it through almost six years of high school and never once went to those stupid dances.”

“I know. It’s just…I can’t go alone. The school has that antiquated rule about needing a date.”

“You should tell them to suck it.” Eddie tossed a piece of popcorn in the air. It missed his mouth, bouncing off of his chin and landing on the floor. “Just show up solo. It’s not like they’ll kick you out.”

God, just the thought of it—the humiliation of being turned away at the door, your beautiful dress all for naught—sent a preemptive flash of heat through your veins. 

“Please, Eddie. Think of it as paying me back after all of the times I let you copy my homework.” 

He sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll go. But only because you’re my best friend, and it would kill me to watch you moping around the place for the next two months.”

Without thinking, you flung your arms around him, nearly knocking over the popcorn bowl in the process. But as soon as he hugged you back, you couldn’t be bothered to care. Everything just felt so right when he held you. 

Just last week at Hellfire, he’d slung an arm over your shoulder and congratulated you on casting the fireball that defeated the demogorgon. You’d practically leapt out of your skin at the weight of his forearm against you, fighting the urge to thread your fingers with his. How natural it might be. 

That longing grew even stronger as prom night approached. When you picked out your prom dress, you couldn’t help but twirl in front of the mirror and imagine Eddie’s hands on it. Every conversation about corsages and boutonnieres sent a giddy wave rushing through your body. 

The moment that left you spinning was when Gareth teased Eddie about slow dancing. You expected Eddie to launch a pretzel across the table, aimed squarely at Gareth’s forehead. Instead, he blushed. 

Blushed. 

“Shut up, man,” he grumbled. “You know I don’t do that shit. If I can’t headbang to a song, it’s not even worth listening to.”

You spent the rest of lunch imagining swaying to a slow beat, Eddie leading. His lips would brush against the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine, as he murmured something about how beautiful you looked. 

Then his lips would travel down your jawline, placing kisses in a trail to your own mouth. And everyone else in the decorated school gym would fade into the background, shrouded in a haze that kept you and Eddie in your own world…

Except you were going as friends. Friends. Nothing more. You had to remind yourself of that fact, had to shove down the burgeoning hope that kept rising to the surface. 

Eddie’s van stuck out among the Beemers and limousines that filled the high school parking lot. It didn’t matter to you; it never did, not even when the engine backfired or the axles squealed. So long as Eddie was your date, you didn’t care if you’d pedaled to the prom on a tandem bicycle.

Green, white, and orange streamers hung from the gym ceiling, brushing against the matching balloon towers every so often. A band played some song from the sixties that your parents played on their record player, though you couldn’t quite place the tune.

“This already blows,” Eddie mumbled, snaking a hand through his curls. “You really owe me, y’know that? This is worth much more than homework answers.”

You bit back a snarky comment. Tonight was a special night. Maybe Eddie just needed time to enjoy it. To appreciate it. To appreciate you, in your off-the-shoulder floral dress with your makeup styled just right.

He loosened his bowtie the second he sat down for dinner: some baked chicken and wilted lettuce leaves that constituted a salad. Perhaps not the best way to convince him that the prom was worth his time.

“I need a cigarette.” He blew out a breath and stood up, the chair screeching behind him. “Let me know if I win Prom King.”

You offered a weak smile at his joke and watched him walk away. He’d be back soon, with plenty of time for a slow dance. And maybe even tell him the truth about why you’d asked him to be your date.

Eddie, I like you. I’ve liked you for a really long time, and I want to be more than friends.

Simple and straight to the point. If only he’d come back from smoking that damn cigarette.

After fifteen minutes of no Eddie, you took matters into your own hands. 

The late May evening still held some warmth to it as you pushed open the double doors and walked outside, ready to ask him–beg him–to dance with you.

“Eddie, shit, someone’s coming.”

You whipped around to see Eddie–well, part of Eddie. Specifically, his ass. His slacks were pushed down, the belt clanging as his hips thrusted into one of the cheerleaders. Her own dress was hiked up around her waist.

“S’fine. Just be quiet, mmkay?” Each word was punctuated with a gasping breath. “God, you’re so tight. So good.”

No. No. It couldn’t be…he was there with you…

“Didn’t you bring a date?”

“She’s just a friend–oh, fuck, I’m gonna–”

Just a friend. Brutal honesty, not a lie, and yet it stabbed you like a knife in the heart. Your breath flew from your throat, and you clapped a hand over your mouth before anyone could hear you cry.

Just a friend. Just a friend. Just a friend.

From outside, you could still make out the band playing a slow song. Maybe the one you and Eddie would be dancing to if he wasn’t burying himself inside of a gorgeous cheerleader. There was no way you were going back into the gym. Not with your makeup streaming down your face. And you certainly weren’t going to stick around and wait for Eddie.

Instead, you plucked your heels off of your feet, grounding your feet into the sidewalk, the cool cement letting reality seep in. Walking home sounded lovely compared to any alternative. 

Just a friend.

The words echoed in your brain with each step.

Just. A. Friend.

That’s all you were. All you’d ever be to him. You weren’t the girl he’d kiss and whisper sweet nothings to. You weren’t even the girl he’d have sex with behind the gym.

You were just Eddie Munson’s friend.

--

[crepezinhos]

hiii, ive been like binging your work and i LOVE IT!! its so hard to find yandere genshin blogs fr😭 can i request like yandere!scaramouche punishing the reader bcs of something bad, and then like after thag reader did not want to do anything and that made him more upset and tried punishing the reader again but bcs of that the reader dies (im so so sorry if this a weird request but ive been craving HEAVYYY angstt)

Flawed Execution

POV: Scaramouche isn’t the fastest man to realize if he has hurt a person, nor does he care about them when he does it. But now that it cost your life, for how long will his ignorance last?

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a Yandere and Angsty SFW work

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER PRONOUNS

— There is NO comfort and contains graphic mentions of heavy (physical) violence

— Fatui!Yandere!Scaramouche x Imprisoned!Reader

— AU is: In-Game

“Mmmngh..!” Your legs struggled to move in direction of your bed, almost falling down to the floor within every step you took.

But you knew that if you did crumble, it’d be agonizing and difficult to stand up again or control the thick bleeding in your belly that would be favored by gravity.

You’ve been through enough reasonless torture today. First, it was him, who got mad at you for acting too shallow and not so wifely with him, and threatened you with violence. His short, harsh words about using his hands on you kept spiraling in your head, and the anxiety you’ve consequently built up throughout the hours had only made your behavior less appropriate to his high standards. That’s when his second scolding came and when his previous words about punishment were accomplished just as promised.

Glass was his weapon.

Glass from the thin wine glasses you were peacefully sharing with him before he noticed your shaky hands and timid milliseconds of eye contact.

Glass shards that penetrated your skin like mosquito bites in multiple corners of your body, and have now unified themselves to make your whole body irritated with pain. Glass shards that had swirled themselves with your locks when he hit you in your head. It didn’t even matter to him if that was his favorite haircut on you or if you had invested hours in it to make yourself presentable to him as he had always demanded from you.

How ironic, don’t you think?

And that bigger glass shard that landed very roughly in your belly when it was turn to hit your glass of wine in your body, and he didn’t seem to realize how grave the injury was.

Just remembering that moment of him dragging you through the tips of your hair down to your chamber in the basement, despite all the pain you were already going through, while he screamed horrible words at you, or you, worming in the floor in pain while banging in the room’s metal door while screaming ‘I’m sorry’ over and over like a defenseless little prey about to be eaten, made your stomach twist itself with angst.

“You useless, USELESS wife! If you can’t even look at me properly, I won’t let you look at anything else but the gray walls of your bedroom!”

That was it. You were done for.

That was why the only torture you were willing to accept at this point was the pain you’d have to feel to get on your bed and finally rest. Somehow, you were even excited for it, unlike all the other past nights that you went to sleep wondering when would you ever get rid of him, but at least sleeping deeply thanks to its softness.

With a lot of struggle, you folded and lifted your right leg, opposite to where your injury was, landing it on your bed. Then, with an uncomfortable moan and a single arm in the bed, you forced yourself to jump and lean forward, successfully landing on the bed’s wooly sheets in a very awkward position with your back facing the roof.

Due to that favorable position, you felt even more layers of blood gushing down the hand that was trying to hold it back to your guts, which made you groan in discomfort.

Now, in a situation like yours, do you consider that injury a bless or a curse? That injury could cause you to possibly lose the movement of your legs and make you even more vulnerable to someone like him. That injury could heal normally, and no permanent damage would prevail. Or that injury could lead you to death.

…

You don’t want to die.

But at the same time…

Your logical thinking couldn’t deny that it was one of the few ways you could ever gain freedom again. And if there’s any sort of after-life destiny for your soul instead of a nothingness… you’d finally rest, right? No matter how you repelled the idea of death, a man like the 6th Fatui Harbinger makes it attractive.

After that little moment you took to think and breathe, you forced yourself to swiftly turn around, your injury now facing the ceiling while the left side of your head perfectly rested at the feathered pillow.

What a perfect position.

Relaxing, comfortable, and helpful…

If you were to truly die right now, at least you’d die with dignity. You’d die in a comfortable bed after enduring your roughest beating, without any guilt of knowing that you didn’t do that to yourself. After all, suicide was never an option to you, nor would he ever let your hands harm themselves.

And if you were to survive, it wouldn’t be as honorable as death. To wake up covered in rotting dark blood, whimpering in pain and alone in that eerie chamber with him stalking you from the door’s window or the camera he has in a tall corner of the walls.

Finally, the exhaustion weighing your eyelids finally became too overwhelming for you, so they closed, and you didn’t insist on keeping them open anymore.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

.

Pancakes, juice, biscuits, cake and fruits.

These are all, right? All her favorite breakfasts in a single tray.

She’s going to like it, I know it. And then, I’m gonna slide in some apology, no matter how crappy it is, and she’s going to accept it and praise me just as I trained her to do.

Everything will be back to normal, Kunikuzushi.

It wasn’t as bad as you think.

The heavy metal door to her chamber cranked loudly as I pushed it open, immediately finding myself staring at her laying down at the bed surrounded by dark, back facing me and being highlighted by the light of the hall I came from.

“Y/N.” I called out calmly while trying to keep my worries shoved down my throat.

And she didn’t move. Perhaps my volume was too low?

“Y/N, wake up.” Her body remained frozen in its place, no matter how much I had increased my volume.

Is she really this mad at me?

Well, I know it’s not going to be a tough to make her obey me anyway, so her silent treatment is useless.

“Are you trying to do that thing where you pretend to be asleep again so I’ll leave you alone, hum?” I finally decided to put myself inside the room, still standing as far as possible from her bed.

God, what is this awful smell of blood? Has she bled this much yesterday?

“It’s ok, don’t be shy. I know you can smell your beloved pancakes from there…” I gently shook the plate from where I was, trying to tease her into waking up.

But an annoyed sigh was all that came out of me due to her stupid, unconvincing act of being asleep.

“Listen, Y/N, I know what I did yesterday was horrible and wrong, okay?” My voice finally bursted some of my worry out of my throat, finally deciding to face the moment I most wished to avoid today, actually having to apologize. “I don’t know what happened to me, I just got really angry and…” I put my palm around my face as the embarrassment of apologizing took me over. “There’s no fucking excuse, is there?” No matter how much vulnerability and sincerity I was showing to her, she kept responding me with an awkward silence.

Isn’t she scared of doing this at all? Knowing how easy it is to anger me? Knowing how cruel my punishments can be? Using the same silence of hers was what led me to punish her yesterday? And she’s doing it again?

What happened to the third law of physics?

Every action has a reaction?

“All I’ve ever wanted for us is a happy married life, ok?! This wasn’t supposed to happen! We should just ignore it, pretend it never happened, and keep moving forward, ok?!” My voice cracked a few times as I started to vomit words.

Was me being this… pathetically apologetic and regretful loser not enough for her to acknowledge me? Isn’t she noticing the sadness in my tone?

“It would be easier to achieve if you were more collaborative!” Neither did harsh, unfair words work with her.

I sighed in annoyance, giving up on both alternatives of communication.

“Ever since I met you, I felt alive. It felt like I’d found peace for once in my life. I couldn’t just let this rare opportunity to slip away from me, Y/N, you’d never understand it, but you’re what has been keeping me more sane than ever. No mater if you hate me, repel me, I need you, Y/N. The more you stay with me, the better of a man I become, the better of a husband I become, the happier you become! You know it! You’ve seen it with your own eyes! How I treat you compared to the maids?! To the other Harbingers?! To my soldiers?!” I could feel even more worry rise to my brain as she still refused to acknowledge my existence.

But I’m being romantic. I’m confessing how deep and true my passion for her is, yet, it’s like I’ve never even opened the door in the first place. Isn’t this what a common human like her would want to hear? A man who loves her every cell and is willing to do anything for a fraction of reciprocation?

Have I hurt her this bad? Have I truly broken her trust for me with I did that yesterday?

“For fuck’s sake, can you acting like a bitch and fucking look at me?! I’m talking to you!!” Not even insulting you was making you move. “I’M DIRECTLY APOLOGIZING TO YOU!” I screamed from the bottom of his lungs while waving his arms to call her attention, expecting her to at least flinch in fear since I know Y/N didn’t like it when I was screaming at her.

But as I saw her body kept itself immobile, my anger finally reached its boiling point.

“I swear to God, do you want to be punished again?! You think you can just make me speak all of that bullshit and ignore m—!” I stormed in her direction, dropping the plate carelessly in the floor, my arm immediately reaching to your shoulder and pulling it to his eyes.

And the sight that was revealed to him made him swear his artificial body had stopped working for a few seconds.

Not a single muscle of your face moved, accentuated by an extremely pale skin tone on it compared to your normal one.

But the thing that most pulled his eyes’ direction was the big stain of blood in your belly.

Scaramouche froze in his spot. He wasn’t breathing or moving, he was just staring at your body. It made it easier for his consciousness to remember more about yesterday’s incident.

“Scara, please! I’m bleeding a lot! Can you please give me one towel?! O-Or anything to stop the bleeding?! Sca—… Darling, pleeeeease!!” The bangs at the door, the desperation in your voice, your pathetic body knelt down like a dying worm, begging for his mercy…

Was this why you were calling for him? Because of this gigantic pool of blood in your belly? But yesterday, when he heard those cries, all he thought was how annoying it was, and how he proudly ignored you with a sadistic smirk in his lips. Watching you beg for his mercy was somehow pleasant to him, after all.

He quickly shook his head back to reality. Thinking about those seconds made him feel the knot in his stomach tighten with more guilt.

“… Y… Y/N..?” He shook your shoulder gently, and the result was obvious, you didn’t respond.

He scoffed.

You were a good actress, weren’t you? You might even get a prize for it after being punished for tricking him so meanly. There was no way your soul had faded away from your corpse, you were either acting or just passed out because of the amount of lost blood!

Right..?

Scaramouche’s anxious hand immediately obliged to its instinct and placed itself on top of the left side of your chest, right on top of your heart… your paralyzed heart.

“Y/N…” His voice came out as a vulnerable mewl, one that would get worse every second he didn’t see you answering him. “Y/N.” He placed both his hands in each shoulder of yours and shook them lightly. “Y/N, wake up.” His voice was firm in its order, but worry had taken his voice chords, cracking its every syllable.

But all you did was bob up and down with his movement with no resistance at all. It almost seemed like you were a real-size doll in his hands.

“Y-Y/N, I know you’re awake.” He called your name like prayer, as he still found some hope to reach a hand to your eyelids and force them open while the other barely broke your shoulder’s bones with its grip.

But the direction of your stare was far from being directed at him.

“Ha… ahaha…” He couldn’t help but scoff at you in pure nervousness. “You aren’t…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the god-forsaken word. The one thing he hoped you to avoid at any cost… your death.

“Y/N, wake the fuck up!” His hand gave up in your eyes and went back to your shoulder, shaking you more violently then before, his eyes hopefully searching everywhere for any bit of movement.

But you simply just wouldn’t move a muscle.

He looked down at the big pool of blood in your lower belly. Rage consumed him as he violently moved his hand to pull your shirt upwards, raging at your stupid circulation system that pumped blood out of you instead of your veins and arteries, angry at the the glass that dared penetrate your beautiful skin without his consent and take you away from him.

“No, no, no, no…” He couldn’t believe he allowed himself to think such a thing. You? Taken away from him? Like this?!

An idea rose to his mind as soon as he thought of that idea.

This was all caused by him. His negligence, his sadism, his lack of empathy and sensibility, his obsession, his thirst of blood, his obnoxiousness.

“Y/N, wake the fuck up!” Scaramouche’s patience was wearing thin. “For Tsaritsa’s sake, no..!” And his lips were starting to shake with his rising rage.

How could’ve he ignored your pleas yesterday?

How could he feel pleasure when he saw all that blood and all those tears coming out of you? His precious princess that he had fallen in love with so badly? That mere common girl that he transformed into a public figure by being his wife.

“You hid this away from me… YOU DID THIS TO ME!” Finally, his voice couldn’t be held back to a normal volume anymore as he begun shaking your shoulders up and down too. “WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?! WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY?! I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING THAT YOU WANTED!” His own Electro delusion even tinkled in purple as he raged on you.

You were actually dead.

You had actually distanced yourself away from him to a place he couldn’t reach.

But Scaramouche was fighting his best to not accept it. It was written all over your face that your soul was gone, but he wanted to gaslight himself that you were still just asleep.

Although his hopes were admirable, it simply didn’t work. It would never work for someone as pessimistic and honest like him.

In search of comfort, he threw himself against your body and finally let those hanging tears in the corner of his shiny purple eyes to fall, and he begun whimpering nonstop like a little kid on your and screaming in your shoulder.

“Please, please, please, please..! You can’t go, YOU CAN’T GO! Not yet, please! Not yet!” He rubbed his forehead in the crook of your neck, wiping his salty tears in you mercilessly, but no sign was returned to him. “Oh, Archons, please! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Anything but her, please! ANYTHING BUT HER! My love… oh, my love..!” His hands slid under your back and he hugged your body like a piece of wet porcelain as he pathetically abandoned his hatred for the Gods and begged for their mercy upon his sins.

But at the same time, he couldn’t help but claw his fingernails into your skin. But he immediately regretted it as soon as he realized he was hurting you even after you died of pain. Scaramouche gave up, and instead one of his hand climbed up to your head and started fixing your hair that was so ruthlessly ruined, trying to somehow bring your dignity back.

“Don’t leave me, please..! Don’t leave me! I’ll fix you, my love… I promise! I’ll fix everything!” What was he thinking would happen as he talked to your dead corpse? That the ‘power of love’ would suddenly make you awaken again and forgive him?

Has he just realized how much your words and your forgiveness truly mattered to him? Or was it that now that he didn’t have access to it, he was starting to crave for it like a drug-addict?

He didn’t mean it. He swore on his pathetic life. It was an accident. It wasn’t his intention hurting you. It wasn’t his intention hurting you enough to permanently take you away from him.

“I’m so sorry I left you here, darling…” Just to imagine the weigh of his actions and its consequences… you in an agonizing pain, thrown in a freezing-cold floor, completely unappreciated and unloved by him despite all your previous efforts… it made something inside his chest, right where his so-desired heart was supposed to be at, to burn. “Oh, Archons!” How human of him to be unable to bare the power of his own imagination. Could he even call himself a failed puppet project anymore? What kind of puppet, especially a flawed one, cries and grieves death like this?

How come does his sister, the Shogun herself, view death as simply the end of life, while he interpreted death so much more dramatically?

After all, he could’ve avoided it. Scaramouche could’ve saved you like a true hero.

If he decided to open the door to your chamber, bring some towels and force your bleeding back to your belly, called an ambulance, and let some group of surgeons do their job, instead of neglecting you for his own pleasure, you’d still be alive. Your chest would be moving up and down to breathe, your eyes would still be blinking every few seconds and your arms would be embracing him back at this very moment.

Maybe you would’ve even learned how to be more grateful to him, or suffered some sort of amnesia that would’ve let him rebuild your relationship with him but by bit in a natural way without needing to use any sort of violence.

“Thank you for saving me, my dear!” Your voice sounded so sweet in his imagination compared to how he heard you crying last night.

Were your last words pathetic begs for help? How undignified of you. How could’ve he ever let those be your last words? You died hating him instead of loving him.

Scaramouche attached and curled his limbs all around your body like a parasite. He knew it would probably take hours for him to find energy to get up again, so at least he wanted to spend those house by your side, mourning and grieving his own choices. It didn’t matter to him if it was creepy to cling to a cold dead corpse, he still held you tight if he needed you to live. It didn’t matter if your body’s warmth had ceased long ago, or if your arms wouldn’t even try hugging him back, he could still perfectly imagine himself being hugged by you thanks to the few memories he has of you doing so.

To him, you were wearing his favorite nightgown and acting very passionate about being his ‘head-patter’, caressing every inch of head, down to every tip of his purple locks while your mouth whispered sweet words, while the both of you laid down in his bedroom’s bed, instead of the situation you were actually in at the moment. All of your hair and clothes stained and ruined, your skin smelling like raw, bloody flesh, and your unresponsive and unloving to him.

Why would he ever want to leave that beautiful, utopian dream? Only to face the reality right in front of him? No. He didn’t want that.

Could he just die there? Never open his eyes again and let himself rot with you? Could he set fire to that beautiful mansion given to him by the Tsaritsa and let himself agonizingly burn to death with you and finally find peace after centuries of suffer? Compared to the burning pain in his chest, at this point, he believed the fire wouldn’t be enough to make him feel no more pain. But he probably wouldn’t be able to anyway. Now that he’s a Fatui Harbinger, his life wasn’t as useless as before, and while he was weaker than Dottore, he’d never die and rest in peace.

More tears ran down his cheeks. He truly had no other option rather than accept all that fire in his chest and let it consume him.

Maybe he could temporarily give you away to that scientist scum, Il Dottore, and beg for his help in exchange of anything, even his own life. In the end of the day, he would prefer you living without him, rather than letting himself live without you. His preference didn’t matter anymore, though, he was already living that dystopian situation of living without you. It has been a matter of minutes and he’s already finding himself developing a depression. Was that how bad it was to be without you? Was that how the rest of his pathetic life would be like? Wanting to die every day?

Why? Why did he ever chose to hurt you in the first place? This was all his fault. The memory of him willingly grabbing that glass of wine and smashing it against your head couldn’t stop playing itself over and over again no matter how disgusted he was of it or how much he tried to replace it with better thoughts.

How ironic. He promised himself he’d hate humans forever, that he’d never succumb to the mere bits of humanity inside him, and yet, he had made the most human mistake of his life, and having the most human reaction because of it.

Not even the incoming flies that flew around the room felt comfortable of taking advantage of your dead corpse with him nearby you.

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[sir-heichou-smith]

Johnny thinks you and Ghost only want him for the sex.

He won't tell either of you he's ass over elbows for both his lieutenant and his girlfriend because he doesn't want to make a fool of himself.

No, he can't tell you because he's the idiot who fell in love with the two people he couldn't even dream of having.

No one else has ever made him feel so cared for or special before you two though, and it confuses the hell out of him to the point where he can't help but think he has to leave after every session.

He doesn't want to overstay his welcome, meanwhile you and ghost think he doesn't want to be with you and only wants the sex, which is fine (you'd really prefer that he stayed for aftercare since it is real important to you, you know how Simon could get and it's not easy coming back up on your own from how far he puts you under) but you know something is wrong when he stumbles out of bed and limps to the door after throwing his pants on, mumbling something about having to get going for some thing or another.

One night Simon and Johnny stumble through the door after a few drinks, their hands wandering and teeth clinking out of desperation while you trail after with a hand on each of them.

Clothes are thrown and kisses are traded all the way to the bedroom. You hear Simon utter praises in the Scot's ear, "such a good boy f'me Johnny. Gonna show the mrs how well you can take it for me? Let's give 'er a show."

He shudders in the larger man's embrace, and you think you see something flicker in those baby blues as he kneels to undo Simon's zipper with his teeth.

But you're tipsy like they are and you can only focus on it so much until Simon pulls you in and groans into your mouth, one of his big hands on the back of your head and the other tangled in the mowhawk bobbing up and down on his cock.

That morning you wake up quietly, before either men, and you take the moment to enjoy having both of them in your bed.

Johnny wakes up quiet too, thinking himself a goddamn idiot for giving in to staying the night when he tried so hard not to.

He does his best to untangle his limbs from Simon's meaty arms and your thick, supple thighs. It's so warm and comfortable and everything he's ever wanted and he doesn't ever want to go, but he has to. It doesn't belong to him, you're not his and neither is Simon and he's just in the way.

God he's so fucking stupid for this, all he's doing is making himself hurt more than what he has to. He just can't take what he's given and accept that he'll never have what his heart truly, unrightfully wants.

While you think nothing of it as he slithers down the bed, (assuming he needs the bathroom and he'll come right back into your embrace) Johnny is pulling on his clothes from the night before as quickly and quietly as he can, tears building up under his lash line and threatening to spill over his cheeks. His breaths come in short staccato so he holds it until he can't, breathing out slowly through his nose and in through his mouth.

He needs to leave, can't be here any longer because he's already overstayed his welcome.

Hes not supposed to feel this way, he's just a toy for you and Simon to enhance your guys' relationship. Your beautiful, loving relationship that he's stupid for wanting to get in the middle of because he'd never expect either of you to return his feelings.

He thinks he's in the clear when he looks back and notices Simon's heavy chest still breathing evenly, taking one last glance at his magnificence before turning around for good because he can't put himself through this anymore, he's not enough and he just needs to accept that now before he can never recover from the heartbreak.

"Johnny?" He's hears your low voice come from the cocoon of warmth he craves with ever fiber of his being. Your precious face looks confused and, dare he say it, a little hurt. "Where are you going?"

His heart shatters. "I-I... I'm heading out now. I didnae mean to stay so long. Sorry 'bout that, bon. Nothin' to wake the big guy over."

Before he gets his shirt on he hears you shift. "Johnny wait-"

"No. No, I cannae do this anymore okay?" His chest heaves with what feels like the weight of the world, and the tears start to fall.

"I know my place, and I keep forgetting it when you hold me so close and tell me I'm your good boy. When you kiss me and it feels like nothin else matters anymore. I never wanted to come between you and Si but I overstayed my welcome now and I need to leave so that I can-"

"What are you on about?" Simon blinks his eyes and rolls onto his back, a thick arm behind his head and the other stretched out across the empty space where Johnny just was.

Blue eyes shut and his pretty face scrunches up in pain, but he turns around before he thinks either of you can see. His shirt is hastily pulled over his head and he trips over himself pulling on a shoe from the night before.

He doesn't get to leave after throwing on the second one. A big paw of a hand circles his bicep almost completely.

"Don't think you're goin anywhere now, mate. What's this about?" Tired honey eyes look up in confusion and concern, their owner now sitting up and the thick comforter slides down to meet his naked hips. Baby blues can't help but trace the movement.

Your feet touch the cold floor as you get out of bed and circle around to the Scot. "Johnny when did we ever say we don't want you too?"

His head whips up in confusion and he looks between the two of you. "But.. But you-"

"Baby, take those clothes off and get back in bed." Simon pulls lightly on the arm in his grasp and Johnny can't help but follow.

"From now on it's non-negotiable, you stay here with us and get your aftercare in before you even think of leaving. Not that we ever wanted you to."

Big hands pull at the hem of his shirt and it goes without thinking. You stand behind him and wrap your arms around his naked torso to unfasten his jeans.

"Such a pretty boy, Johnny. You're our pretty boy and we want you just as much. Please dont leave us again." Your words bring tears to his eyes again, these ones accompanied by a bright perfect smile and a small huff of disbelief.

The three of you fall back into bed, smothering Johnny in all the kisses and words of love he never even fathomed could be true.

Limbs and tongues tangled alike, and the morning was spent mostly in bed, the Scot wedged tightly between you and Simon. As if he'd still possibly think of leaving now.

[theballadofharkness]

Sickbed

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Summary: While Agatha takes care of you through a particularly nasty bout of illness, you begin to notice that maybe her hovering might be about something deeper…

Word Count: 3K

A/N: Next uploads will be some part 2’s but for now here is some good old fashioned hurt/comfort! 🪻💜

The house was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and the hum of the wind outside. Agatha was sitting on the couch, as she had been for the past few hours, watching movies she was absolutely horrified you admitted you’d never got round to watching- you were too sick to respond to her shocked ‘what self respecting lesbian hadn't seen Mulholland Drive’ quip- while absently running a hand through your hair.

You hadn’t been feeling yourself for the past few days. It started with a headache, then a sore throat, and before you knew it, you were burning up with a fever that wouldn’t let up. Agatha, ever the attentive lover, had been by your side every moment, her sharp eyes watching your every move, her fingers always brushing against you, as if to reassure herself that you were still there, still alive.

It wasn't unusual for Agatha to be affectionate, to hold you close or kiss your temple just because. But today... today she was different. She hovered. She wouldn't let you out of her sight, and every time you stirred in bed, she'd be there, pulling you back to her chest, smoothing your hair with tender hands, or bringing you water with a look in her eyes that made you feel like you were the most precious thing in her world.

You were too tired to question it. Besides, you didn't mind. Her touch was a comfort.

"How are you feeling, love?" Agatha asked softly for the tenth time that afternoon, her voice warm like honey.

You blinked, trying to focus on her. The world felt fuzzy, as if you were existing on the edge of it, but you managed a small smile. "Better... I think. Still a bit... out of it."

She gave you a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes in return but didn’t stop the constant stream of affection. Her hand, which had been gently rubbing your back, now found its way to your cheek, her fingers cool against your skin. You leaned into her touch instinctively.

"Do you need anything? I can make you some tea, or get you something to eat," she said, her voice a little more urgent now, though she tried to mask it. Her usual tone had been replaced with something more desperate.

You shook your head. "No... no food. Just... stay with me a bit longer."

She nodded immediately, her lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before she resumed her position, the two of you cocooned in the warmth of the living room, the flickering light from the TV the only source of brightness. Agatha’s hand didn’t leave your body, and you realised then that, though it had always been natural for her to touch you, now she was holding you in a way that made you feel as though she was afraid to let go.

~

Agatha had cancelled all her plans for the day, even with Billy, which was a rare move for her. Normally, she’d balance her life as a busy witch and mentor with her life as a loving, though slightly chaotic, partner, but today nothing mattered more than you.

You were nestled under the thick, knitted blanket in the living room, your head resting on the soft cushions. The fever was still hanging around, making you feel weak and out of sorts. But Agatha? She wasn’t going anywhere. She hadn’t left your side since the morning, even if it meant putting aside everything else.

She hovered like a protective shadow, her steps light as she moved around the house, always checking on you, always within arm’s reach. Even when you’d tried to push her to go out when she’d mentioned her plans with Billy, she’d just shaken her head, the look in her eyes leaving no room for argument.

"I’ll just nap, love. You go. You love your mentor sessions with Billy. I’ll be fine," you had insisted earlier, your voice a little weaker than you liked.

Agatha’s eyes darkened, a glint of stubbornness flashing in them. "No," she’d said, firmly. "I’m staying right here with you."

You hadn’t pressed it further. Agatha had always been fiercely protective, and when she decided on something, it was impossible to change her mind.

Now, she was gently leaning over you, her fingers softly brushing your hair away from your face as she crouched beside the couch. "You’re so warm, darling," she said, her voice laced with concern. "But we need to get you feeling better. Stand up baby, I’m going to wash your hair for you."

You blinked lazily, a soft, appreciative smile on your lips. "You really don’t have to, Agatha," you murmured, your voice barely audible. You hated feeling so weak, but she didn’t seem to care. You were her priority now, and that was all she wanted.

"I want to," she said, her tone both soothing and insistent. "Come on, love, let me help."

With a softness that belied her usual strength, Agatha helped you sit up, carefully guiding you to the bathroom. She ran a warm bath, the scent of lavender filling the air, and when she turned back to you, her hands were already gentle as she helped you out of your clothes, her movements smooth and considerate. You felt yourself relax under her touch despite the discomfort of being unwell, comforted by the familiar sound of her voice and the feeling of her hands on your naked flesh.

"Don’t worry, I’ve got you," she murmured, coaxing you into the tub with her usual mixture of care and quiet dominance. She helped you settle into the warm water, her hands running through your damp hair with such tenderness that you couldn’t help but close your eyes.

You let out a small sigh, the soothing feel of her hands massaging your scalp pulling you further into relaxation. You were too weak to do anything on your own, and Agatha seemed to revel in the opportunity to care for you in this way, a soft hum escaping her lips as she washed your hair.

"You deserve to be spoiled, you know that?" she said, her voice a soft whisper as she rinsed your hair, fingers gently running through the strands. "I’ve been waiting for an excuse to bathe you."

You chuckled lightly, though it was more a rasp than anything. "I’m hardly in any condition to argue, am I?"

Agatha's lips curled into a smile. "Exactly. So let me do this for you, love."

When she finished, she carefully helped you out of the bath and wrapped you in a fluffy towel, her hands never leaving you for even a moment. She dried you off gently, as if you might break, then helped you slip into your softest, coziest pyjamas—ones she knew you loved. She fussed over your comfort, pulling the blanket up around you when she noticed a slight shiver, her fingers brushing the side of your face tenderly.

Once you were settled back on the couch, your favourite blanket tucked around your shoulders, Agatha sat down beside you, her eyes scanning the TV for something she knew you’d enjoy. You raised a brow.

"Are you really going to let me watch this crap?" you asked, referring to the mindless reality TV show you had a guilty pleasure for, one that Agatha always scoffed at whenever it was on.

Her lips quirked into a small smile. "I’m staying here with you," she said, her voice soft but firm. "And you’re watching whatever the hell you want. I’m not going anywhere."

You knew her well enough to recognise the finality in her tone. It wasn’t a request; it was a statement of fact. You chuckled softly, giving in, and the two of you settled in to watch the ridiculous drama unfold on screen. You barely even noticed the time slipping by. Agatha’s fingers gently stroked your hair, her presence a constant reassurance.

Eventually, when you started drifting in and out of sleep, Agatha gathered you up in her arms and took you to bed, tucking you into her side as she watched you sleep, her lips occasionally brushing against your forehead.

“When did you take me to bed?” You yawned as you were awoken by Senõr Scratchy jumping onto the bed to sleep alongside his moms.

"Rest, darling. You’ve been through a lot. Let me take care of you."

You smiled lazily, your eyelids heavy. "I think you already are, love."

Agatha gave you a soft kiss on the cheek, her voice low and reassuring. "Always."

~

As the days passed, her behaviour only intensified. The fever was getting worse, your body too weak to fight it off. Agatha refused to leave your side, even when she had business to attend to. She’d dismiss it with a wave of her hand, muttering something about ‘not being important’ when she turned her attention back to you.

You had always known Agatha was deeply passionate, but this new level of care unsettled you. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate it—it was just that something in her seemed different. She was more possessive, more protective, and at times, you thought she might just burst if she didn’t get to hold you in her arms.

One afternoon, as you lay on the bed, sweat beading on your forehead, Agatha came in with a damp cloth, wiping your face with it as if you were something fragile—something she was terrified of breaking.

"I know you hate when I do this," Agatha murmured, her fingers cool against your heated skin, "but you really need to cool down."

You smiled weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t hate it... just... not used to Nurse Agatha… hey maybe we should buy you a little outfit hmm? Really fulfill the fantasy." You tried to keep bringing up her hovering light.

Agatha let out a short, humourless laugh. "I suppose it’s... a side of me I’ve kept hidden for too long. You mean so much to me, love. I... I don’t want to lose you."

Her voice cracked on the last words, and it was then you realised, really realised, that this wasn’t just about you being sick. There was something deeper, something darker in her eyes that you couldn’t quite place, but you knew it was there.

There was something in the way she touched you, something that felt less like affection and more like a fear of losing you. She was, after all, no stranger to loss. You had heard her speak of her past, of her long and storied life, though she rarely ever went into specifics. You knew of her son, Nicky, the boy she had lost centuries ago when he was only a young child. The pain of that loss still lingered in Agatha’s eyes, though she rarely spoke of him. Every now and then, her expression would turn wistful, a soft sadness clouding her features for a brief moment, but she would always push it aside, as though brushing the memory away.

You had never pried. You knew it was a wound that would always run deep, but now, as you lay in bed, feverish and weak, you began to wonder if that same pain had resurfaced. Her obsessive care over you, her constant need to keep you in her arms, was unsettling, though you couldn’t deny that it felt like love. Still, something about it felt… different.

You hadn’t realised how bad it had gotten until one evening, when you turned to her, lying in bed and watching her pretending to read a book, though her eyes kept darting to you every few seconds, checking that you were still breathing. Her concern was almost palpable, and the flickering of fear in her gaze didn’t escape you.

"Agatha," you murmured, your voice soft but steady, "I’m not going anywhere."

She froze, her fingers stilling on the page of the book. Her gaze flicked to you immediately, her lips parting as though she were about to speak, but the words never came. Instead, she reached out, brushing your cheek with her cool fingers.

"You’re not going anywhere?" she repeated, her voice thick with emotion. "You promise?"

You smiled weakly, though the exhaustion from the fever made it hard to keep your eyes open. "I promise. You don’t have to worry about me, Agatha. I’m not leaving you."

Her eyes softened, but there was still an edge to her expression- something unresolved, something she was clearly holding back. You could see it in the way she clenched her jaw, the way her hands trembled slightly.

"I can’t lose you too," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You frowned slightly, your brow furrowing as your gaze locked with hers. "What do you mean?" You decided to press further.

Agatha bit her lip, and for the first time in days, she pulled away from you, standing up and pacing a few steps away, as though trying to find the words she had never spoken. Finally, she turned to face you, her eyes heavy with unshed tears, her breath shallow.

"Nicky," she said softly, her voice trembling. "It was centuries ago, but it still feels like it was yesterday. I was asleep when it happened. I couldn’t protect him."

You felt your heart tighten at her words. You knew that losing a child, especially at such a young age, was a grief that no one should ever have to bear.

You sat up slowly, your hands reaching for her, and she came to you immediately, her arms enveloping you as you pulled her close. She buried her face in your neck, her breath shaky as she held onto you like a lifeline.

"I don’t want to lose you too," Agatha whispered, the rawness in her voice breaking your heart. "I lost him, and I can’t go through that again I-"

"You won’t lose me," you interrupted gently, stroking her hair. "I’m right here, Agatha. You have me, and I’m not going anywhere. I love you."

She held you tighter, her body trembling with the weight of her emotions. You could feel the fear, the loss, and the deep, aching need for reassurance that was clawing at her. You pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, holding her as close as you could.

"I’m not leaving you," you repeated, your voice firm. "I’ll be here. Always."

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other’s arms, the quiet of the room settling over you like a warm blanket.

Eventually she pulled away just slightly, enough to look you in the eyes. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally broke free, and she leaned down to kiss you, her lips warm and desperate against yours.

"I love you," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too," you whispered back, your fingers tracing the lines of her face as you both settled back into the bed, wrapped up in each other.

As you drifted off to sleep, wrapped tightly in Agatha’s arms, you felt a sense of peace settle over you, despite the lingering fever. You knew that no matter what happened, Agatha would always protect you. And that thought was more comforting than anything else.

~

The next morning, Agatha woke up to an empty bed.

Panic surged through her like wildfire. She scrambled out of bed, her heart hammering in her chest as she darted through the house, her mind racing with all the worst possibilities. She called your name, her voice rising in desperation as she checked every room, every corner.

"Baby? Where are you?" she called, her eyes wide with fear. Her breath hitched when she reached the kitchen, but there you were—standing at the stove, humming a little tune as you flipped a pancake. When you saw her standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and breathless, you couldn’t help but smile.

"Fuck baby" Agatha breathed, rushing over to you in relief. She pulled you into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around your waist as though she would never let go. "Why didn’t you wake me?"

You looked up, a sheepish smile on your face. "Sorry love,” you smiled, your voice warm and soft. "I’m feeling better so I wanted to make you breakfast in bed as a thank you for taking care of me..."

Agatha’s eyes welled up with tears, and for a moment, she just held you close, taking in the relief of knowing you were alright. "I... I don’t know what I’d do without you," she whispered, pressing her face into your hair.

You pulled back slightly, a playful smile on your lips. "You’ll never have to. We are witches baby, you’re stuck with me for a very very long time. You’ll be old and wrinkly with a hundred rabbits and I’ll still love you just as much as I do right now”

Her hands slid down to cup your face, and she kissed you deeply, the tension in her body finally easing. "I can’t believe you’re making me pancakes," she teased, a glint of mischief returning to her eyes. "Do you have the syrup I like?"

You giggled, pulling back slightly to rummage through the cupboard. "Of course I do. I’m treating my girl, after all."

Agatha grinned, her playful side returning. "Careful, if you keep spoiling me like this, I might begin to expect it."

You smiled, feeling your heart swell as you handed her the syrup. "I’ll make sure to add making you breakfast every morning to our wedding vows."

As you stood there together, the quiet of the house no longer felt heavy with fear or uncertainty. Instead, it was filled with the warmth of love and the promise that, no matter what, you and Agatha would always be there for each other.

And for the first time in days, you both felt like everything would be alright.

[writingwisterias]

Might be a weird request but could you do eras leon reacting to you telling him you wanna keep your shirt on during sex because your insecure?

Heyyy!

I can do this! I hope you have a great day 😘💕

Warnings: NSFW, Insecurities, Fluff, Comfort

Gn!Reader

RE2:

A sweet heart about it honestly

He would go to remove it at first, his hands itching to touch the skin underneath it but when you grab his wrist he instantly stops

His head is shooting up to look at you with concern thinking he's done something wrong

When you tell him his features falter slightly not in disappointment but just hurt that you feel like that

He'll make it his mission to show you how much he loves your body keeping the shirt on.

He wants you comfortable and if that will help then he's fine with it

Maybe eventually you'll feel comfortable enough

Re4r:

I like the idea that Leon is also haunted from his own scars,

no he's not bothered by them enough to keep his own shirt on but he understands more as to why you don't like it

He's not going to push you in anyway, he wants you to feel comfortable and fully be in the moment

So if having your shirt on is going to be the way that works for you then he's cool with that

He can kiss your breasts through the shirt anyway

Infinite darkness:

As soon as you let him know he'll respect it

but he's whispering sweet nothings about how much he loves your body and find it's so sexy

I'm talking like in detail about the effect you have on him and a simple thought it enough for him to get a raging boner

You are blushing mess by the end of the sex but he has helped you gain back some confidence at least

He won't try and find the route of your insecurities and just understand that everyone has them.

He wants you to know that he doesn't care and it's okay to be vulnerable with him

Damnation:

Might offer to swap out your shirt with one of his so it's looser

He doesn't care at the end of the day he just wants you comfortable

If you did swap to one of his shirts then at least the material is thin and breathable (thinking of his compression shirts) so you can still feel his touch and lips on your breasts through the fabric

His hands might slide underneath to hold you as I think he just enjoys skin to skin contact

If you don't like that then he'll just stop and hold you over the shirt or your thighs etc

RE6:

Places his hands either side of you away from that area

He doesn't want to draw attention to your insecurities only really make you feel good.

He'll avoid that area completely if you want him to

After sex he will sit and talk about it, opting to come up with ways that work for you in sex

I think Leon likes the skin to skin but is willing to sacrifice that are if you really don't want to.

There's always other ways he can gain the same contact.

Vendetta:

With his headspace I think he wouldn't really think about it

There's a lot happening in his head so its fair for him to respect your issues just like you respect his.

It would worry him, you are currently his main source of happiness by simply being happy

So hearing this he will work to make sure you appreciate yourself and know that he does as well.

He wont force you to do anything though, he's just going to make sure you are happy

He doesn't need the world ruining you too

Death Island:

I think he's the most compassionate one with the subject out of all of them

He's really going to nail it in your head that you are perfect, whilst still respecting your wishes

He's going to whispering and chanting to you everything he loves (Which is all of you)

Might occasionally pay extra attention to the area but only if you are having a good day, he wants to show you how much he loves it

Maybe leaving marks on your stomach so when you do look at it, you think about him instead of all the imperfections

[nick-writes-stuff]

Safety Measure

Hwang In-ho x gn!reader

summary: You have been living with In-ho in his apartment for a year, still haunted by the experience you had in these very halls. When a breach of security happens, your life relies on the safety measures put in place to protect you as well as the fury of the Front Man himself.

!warnings: canon-typical violence, reader is manhandled and held at gunpoint, home invasion, description of a panic attack, hurt/comfort fic

a/n: YIPPEE! I love this one, guys. This is kind of a follow-up to One-sided Reunion, but it can be read totally standalone. (also yeah i'm implying the games work like the olympics, it made sense for the narrative lmao)

Things between you and In-ho had been going great. You had been living with him in his suite on the island for about a year now. That meant the annual game cycle had just begun. You were still hesitant about them continuing. You weren't entirely sold on the societal benefits of them, but you weren't going to actively try to stop them.

You weren't going to deal with the games this time. You basically wanted to forget they were happening. It felt wrong for you to do that, ignoring the fact that people were going through the experience that left you wishing to avoid them. You should feel vindicated to end their suffering, but you just couldn't. The idea of being involved in them, either as an aid or a hindrance, was terrifying to you. In-ho had tried to give you a tour of the compound once, and you got panicky the second you saw the pink, yellow, and blue stairs.

However, that didn't mean you were locked away in the suite all day. He showed you a way to get outside that didn't involve wandering through the familiar settings that haunted your mind. There was a beautiful garden area that you had taken up maintaining while In-ho was busy with the games.

He felt so much better now that there was something he cared for. The suite no longer felt suffocating and lonely. There was someone to return to. Usually the nights had been long and quiet and filled with a little too much whiskey at times, but now he had you. He could come back to the suite and let the mask go and just be himself.

And you were more than willing to be there waiting for him. Even if he had other responsibilities, he always made you feel like you were a priority because you were a priority to him. His devotion to you was greater than his devotion to the games by tenfold at least.

He was always thoughtful. He would take every opportunity to give you things. Not always something expensive or showy, either. Sometimes he would give you an origami crane he made while he was bored in a meeting or a snack he knew you loved that had arrived in the latest shipment that he definitely didn't go out of his way to arrange.

His thoughtfulness extended into anxiety about your safety. Since Gi-hun's attempted uprising, fear had been eating at him. They had been so close to finding their way into the management area. And also after his brother's stunt when he ended up in the suite. He was a bit hypervigilant at times, something you liked to tease him about occasionally.

So when the research and development team brought updated microchips to his attention, he was all ears. Everyone who worked on the compound had one of the chips implanted behind their ear, just like the players did. The new version of these chips included the ability to send a distress signal via pressure sensitivity. Rubbing your fingers over the chip with moderate pressure would be able to send an alert. They had proposed the idea because it would be a way to ensure protection without having an outside device. A phone or a button would draw attention. The person in danger would have a harder time hiding a handheld device and using it covertly. If they were able to use the chip, there was no evidence of the device for the perpetrators to see.

He rolled out the new chips for everyone involved in the compound. You received one as well, obviously. You didn't mind much seeing as you had already had one before. In-ho felt more at ease knowing that the key to your safety was behind your right ear.

He just wished he never had to see its usefulness. But what can go wrong will go wrong.

You had finished your work in the garden and had come back to the suite to start fixing dinner. It was a Tuesday, which was typically the day In-ho had a majority of the evening free. He liked having the time to be away from the games, having the time to take off the mask. You had quickly changed out of your clothes and headed into the kitchen. You washed your hands and heard the door to the suite open behind you.

You glanced at your watch. “You're here early.” You called out in a questioning tone. You dried off your hands and turned around, but it wasn't who you expected. It wasn't him at all.

You were looking down a barrel of a rifle, a man in black holding it toward you. You dropped the towel, lifting your hands into the air. “Who the hell are you?” You asked. You tried not to tremble. This was the first time you had seen a weapon since you were escorted to the suite after your time in the games.

The man glared at you. “I could ask you the same question.” He shot back. He took a step toward you.

You wanted to say something to him, but you couldn't get the words out.

“Here's how this is going to go,” He said. He closed the distance between you. You backed yourself against the counter. “You're going to tell me where my sister is, and I won't put a bullet between your pretty eyes.” He said through gritted teeth.

You flinched as he aimed the gun at your head. You couldn't look at him, too scared to look at the metal he was holding.

He was impatient and angry and holding a gun. “I'm not gonna ask you again.” He yelled. You let out a whimper, as if you couldn't look any more pathetic.

“I don't know who your sister is. I don't know anything, okay?” You said. Your voice was shaking as much as your hands were.

“Is she in one of these rooms?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I don't know where she is. I just live here.” You said.

He scoffed at you. “Bullshit.” He spat, "I know she's here. You did something to her." He was getting more irate, practically screaming.

You shook your head frantically. "I don't know, okay?!" You cried out. He rolled his eyes at you. "I'm not the one in charge here. I just live here."

He slung the rifle over his shoulder and pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip. He pointed it at you. “Get over here.” He ordered. You froze. “Get the fuck over here.” He yelled. Your mind was still frozen, but your legs followed his order.

He grabbed you roughly, holding you in front of him and pushing the cold metal into your back. “If you aren't the one in charge, you're going to lead me to who is.” He said. You were glad he couldn't see your face as you smirked slightly despite the circumstances. In-ho was the last person he wanted to encounter right now.

“I don't know this place well, but I can try.” You said.

He scoffed at you. "I thought you lived here?" He yelled.

"I live in the apartment. I don't go out there." You said.

He tightened his grip on your shoulder, leaving you wincing from the jolt of pain. "Awfully convenient." He muttered.

He shoved you forward toward the exit of the suite. “What are these rooms?” He asked, his loud voice ringing in your ears.

“They are just rooms in the apartment. One is a bedroom and one is a storage room.” You said shakily. He looked at you skeptically. He didn't believe you. He turned to open the door of the storage room. He was tearing the room apart. You didn't even know what was in there. You never bothered to ask.

You took that as your moment. You raised your trembling hand and dug your fingers into the skin behind your ear. You definitely did it with more force than necessary, but you just wanted to make sure you got it to work. When you see him start to turn around, you let your hands return to your sides.

He stepped out and grabbed your shoulder again and jabbed you in the back with the barrel of the gun. His fingers dug into your skin. You knew he would probably leave bruises. “Let's go.” He urged, pushing you forward. You were leading him blindly, but you hoped you would make it convincing enough for him.

–

In-ho was watching over the voting process after the first game. It was a rather tedious task, as he was really just watching a few hundred people getting in line to push a button. That was until he heard the alarm start to sound off. He turned to one of the managers, the blank eyes of the mask staring into the square outline. “What is that?” He asked, but he already knew. His blood ran cold, and he had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“It's, uh-" the manager paused to think of the way to phrase it, "It's their alarm, Sir" You didn't have a title in the compound since you hadn't been involved in the operation yet. Most people didn't even know you were still on the island. Only a very select few of the managers knew that you were here.

“Where are they?” He said. The filter in his mask helped to mask the growing anxiety.

“They are just leaving the suite now.”

In-ho didn't waste time. “Start investigating the breach. You two,” He ordered, gesturing to the two triangle soldiers posted at the door, “with me.” He said. He rushed out of the control room. He had the upper hand of knowing the layout of the building.

You were trying not to lead the intruder in circles, but you literally had no idea where you were going. “Are you sure you're going the right way?” He snapped.

“I don't know the layout here, I told you that.” You said. You didn't want him to realize it, but you were crying now.

“You're fucking useless.” He hissed, digging the barrel into your spine again. You whimpered, scared of what he would do.

In-ho was able to hear that exchange, and he was seething. He pulled out his own revolver, keeping it low at his side, before turning the corner, and his eyes landed on you and the man.

The man quickly moved the gun from your back to your temple. You tried to flinch away from it, but he tightened his grip on your arm. He was using you as a shield, but he was looking over your shoulder.

You looked at In-ho with wide eyes. Your breathing was shallow as you panicked. Any source of comfort you could gain from his presence was hidden behind the mask, literally and metaphorically. You couldn't see his face, and he couldn't say anything comforting to you because he knew showing an attachment could create problems later on.

You understood his reasoning, but it wasn't enough at the moment. You could very well die here, and the last thing you see of him is the black polygonal mask. You were also scared that he would have to watch you die if something went wrong here. He would have to watch it and hold in his grief because the others couldn't know. You didn't want to become one of the ghosts of people from his past that still haunted his mind.

“I take it that you're looking for me.” In-ho said coldly. The mask was hiding it, but he was scared right now. He couldn't even remember the last time he was scared. But seeing you treated like this terrified him.

The man laughed angrily, “Looks like you weren't as stupid as I thought.” He snapped, punctuating his statement by digging the barrel of the gun into your skin. He looked over your shoulder toward In-ho. “Now, you're gonna show me where my sister is, or I'm gonna put a bullet in-”

The man was cut off by a gunshot, the bullet going straight through his skull. You screamed, scrambling away from the man. For a second, you thought the man shot you. You put your hand up to your temple, pulling it away to see blood. But it wasn't yours.

In-ho froze for a moment, taking a deep breath. He was still holding out his revolver, finger on the trigger after he took the man out. Once it registered in his brain that you were safe, he turned to the soldiers.

“Deal with this.” He said shortly to them. He took a step forward and grabbed your hand. He led you back toward the suite. He didn't do or say anything to you at first. He didn't need any of the soldiers realizing that you were a vulnerability of his.

Once the door shut behind you both, he pulled the mask off, letting it clatter to the ground as he pulled you into his arms. You cried into his chest, hands clenching around the fabric of his jacket.

He tried to calm you down, but it was obvious that he was shaken up by it as well. He gently ran his fingers through your hair. “Hey, it's okay now. You're safe now. He's gone. It's okay.” He whispered repeatedly.

You tried to calm down, but you couldn't manage it. You could feel the man's blood drying on your face and hand. You could still feel the dull ache where he grabbed you. You were shaking in his arms, breathing ragged and shallow.

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "I'm right here, okay? We're safe in here." He murmured. You nodded slightly. After a few minutes, your grip on his jacket loosened slightly. Your breathing slowed somewhat, but you still weren't calm.

“Do you want to go sit down?” He asked. You looked up at him. Your eyes were still wide and were now glassy and red from crying. You nodded. You couldn't even think about forming words right now.

He led you over toward the couch with a gentle hand on your elbow. He avoided touching your shoulders as he didn't know if you were hurt, and he certainly didn't want to remind you of the man's touch. After you sat down, he looked down at you. “I'll be right back, okay? I'm just going over to the kitchen.” He said. He waited for you to nod slightly before walking away.

He returned with a wet towel and a glass of water. You haven't moved since he left, still staring at the same spot on the floor with a faraway gaze. He got on his knees in front of you, setting the glass on the hardwood floor for a moment.

“I'm just going to wipe off your face, okay?” He asked. He placed his hand gingerly on your jaw, using the other to wipe the blood off. He tried to steady his own hands to no avail. He gently grabbed your hand and wiped it as well. “Do you want a drink?” He asked. You shook your head. He nodded. He walked over and placed it and the towel on an end table.

He sat down next to you. You turned so you were sitting perpendicular to him. You laid your legs across his and leaned into him. Your head rested against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, which served to ground you. One of his arms wrapped around you while his other hand found its way into your hair.

You were still crying, but you had definitely calmed down somewhat. “Deep breaths, okay? Can you do that for me?” He murmured. You nodded slightly. You instinctively matched his breathing as he rubbed your arm. His anxiety was definitely lessening, but he still felt an intense anger in the back of his mind. Part of him wished he left the man alive so he could make him suffer.

After a few minutes of sitting like that, he moved his hands. One cupped your cheek gently, guiding your gaze to him. “If you don't want to, you don't have to, but could you tell me what happened?” He asked gently. It would be helpful to know so he could properly investigate the incident, but he also knew it wouldn't be a pleasant thing to discuss.

You sat quietly for a moment, moving back to your original position. “I was starting to make dinner, and I heard the door open and..." You said, trailing off as your breathing started to quicken again.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." He said, hushing you quietly. His embrace tightened slightly, resting his chin on the top of your head. "We don't have to talk about it now. Don't worry about it, okay?" You nodded slightly.

You both sat there for a moment. You started to shakily take deeper breaths. In-ho started humming softly. You didn't recognize the song, but you knew it had to be one of the pretentious classical songs that he held in high regard but you had never heard of. It definitely helped to soothe you, however

He took a deep breath. “He didn't hurt you, did he?” He asked. His tone was gentle, but you could tell there was an anger behind it.

“Not really.” You said. You felt him tense up, so you elaborated. “I mean, he grabbed my shoulder pretty hard and dug the barrel into my skin, but I'm fine.” You mumbled.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

You nodded.

You both sat like that for a moment before you spoke. “I'm sorry for scaring you.”

He looked down at you, puzzled. “That's not your fault.”

You shrugged. “I just feel bad because I know you had to hide it until we were alone.” You said.

He held you a bit tighter. “I'll admit, I was really worried. But it's not your fault at all. You have nothing to apologize for.” He said somewhat sternly.

In his mind, the anxiety he feels is just a manifestation of his love for you and his desire to keep you safe. It wasn't your fault that he was worried, and he didn't mind that he was. It was a good thing in his eyes.

You looked up at him, a slight smirk on your face. “At least we know the chips work.” You said with a giggle.

He smiled. There is nothing like some ill-timed humor to lighten the mood. “Maybe next time, we'll leave product testing up to the manufacturer.” He said. He gave you a soft kiss on your forehead.

You returned to listen to his heartbeat. “Can we just sit here for a second like this?” You still felt a bit nervous and shaky, likely from the adrenaline leaving your system.

He nodded. “Of course. Whatever you need.” He said gently. He rubbed your arm slowly. “What were you doing in the garden today?” He asked. He knew you both could use a distraction right now.

You jumped at the chance to talk to him about it, hoping it changes the topic and mood of the conversation. You told him about what you planted in the new planter and how the weeds around the rhododendron bush were stubborn. You updated him on your recent attempts to hand-feed some of the birds that nested in the area. He chuckled and picked on you for your insistence, but your determination and stubbornness were a bit inspiring, honestly.

When you had stopped talking, you had calmed down significantly. You were no longer shaking, and you felt like you could breathe again. And In-ho had calmed down too, seeing as he was considerably less tense. “Do you want to start on dinner? I'm going to make a call to the control room, and I'll be in to help.” He asked.

You looked up at him, giving a skeptical look. You've heard this one before.

He sighed. “It'll be quick, I promise.” He said.

“Sure…” you said, drawing out the vowel.

He rolled his eyes. “You are insufferable sometimes.” He said without malice.

You gave a look of mock surprise. “Rude.”

You got up to the kitchen while In-ho walked over to the rotary phone on the desk. You tried not to eavesdrop on the conversation, but most of it was just him ordering them to investigate the breach. He also ensured he could be with you the rest of the evening, something that brought a smile to your face. He was down bad, wasn't he?

The evening went smoothly for the two of you. He didn't need to be called into the control room at all.

You both got into bed for the night. You looked over at him. “Thank you.” You said softly.

He looked confused. “For what?” He asked.

“For staying with me tonight.” You murmured. “I know the games are important, and they need you. So this means a lot to me.”

He chuckled softly. “Of course I would. You're important to me too, you know?” He said. You could tell from his tone that he was tired. You pressed a kiss to his lips, and you felt him smile into the kiss.

You pulled away slowly. “I love you.” You mumbled.

“I love you too.” He said. He wrapped an arm around you, and it wasn't long until you were able to drift off.

It also wasn't long until In-ho woke up with a start. He jerked awake, breathing quickly. He jerked his gaze over to find you, making sure you didn't have the gunshot wound he had just watched you get in his nightmare.

He thought he hadn't woken you, but you eventually sat up with a yawn. “Hey, what's going on?” You asked sleepily.

He looked down at you. “Nothing, it's fine.” He said softly.

You caught on to what was happening, but you didn't say anything. You rolled over, resting your head on his chest and wrapping your arm around him. “Love you.” You murmured before dozing back off.

He looked at you and smiled with a lovesick grin. What did he do to deserve you? He thought about it until he drifted off to sleep himself.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Just Too Important - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: They're back! They're obsessed with each other! Ben once again is proving that he's the grumpiest old man to ever grumpy old man! Enjoy!

Title from Snooze by SZA

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary/Warnings: You and Ben head to Costco. Takes place about two months post-series.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, Ben being old, pre-established relationship, mentions of smut

There were only five things Ben had ever really fucking loved. Loved with his whole goddamn existence, so much he could probably kill himself with it if he tried.

He’d loved his mom. Loved her in a simple, pure way that he’d probably taken for fucking granted. She had been secure. The only person Ben had known wasn’t going to hate him for being a fuck up or problem. She’d pleaded with his father when Ben had been sent away. Kept in contact with him when she wasn’t supposed to. Still thought of him as just Ben, even when he’d given her every reason not to. Ben had loved his mom because she was his mom. He’d grieved her in drinks and silence when she died, and known that—compared to what he’d been before—she would’ve been proud of him now. Living a life that wasn’t violence and glamour. A life that was just stupid fucking ease and perfection, with a beautiful wife and smart son, in a comfort he’d never imagined he’d get to have.

He loved the movie Legally Blonde. His wife was never allowed to fucking know that.

He loved Ryan. The kid was a fucking genius, and Ben wasn’t sure how the hell Homelander had a single hand in creating him. He was kind and smart and determined, and a purely good fucking person. He’d been born from a long line of deeply fucked men, but he read books and cried when the dog died in a movie. He fucking loved school, and liked people, and tried so hard to be normal that Ben was sometimes worried he’d hurt himself. Ryan never needed to fucking apologize for having powers. He never needed to feel guilt for the shit Homelander had done, and never needed to repent like Ben had. He was just a fucking kid. A kid who sometimes woke up crying because he’d had a nightmare about his father—because they all did—and who’d apologize for waking Ben after. Ben really wished the people he loved would stop fucking apologizing to him.

He loved dancing. His wife already knew that one, but Ben was pretty damn sure she didn’t know just how much he loved it. It was reliable. Simple. Something his mother had made him learn, and something that he could use to make his wife fall into his arms and giggle against his chest. A way to use his body that wasn’t for destruction, an excuse to touch Her until she gave him a perfect, happy smile, and he somehow loved her more.

Because that was the thing Ben loved above every other goddamn thing in the universe. Loved more than the universe. The universe was fucking pathetic compared to how much Ben loved Her. Every single fucking thing about Her. How She smile and laughed and moved through the world. How goddamn kind and clever and perfect She was. All Her big fucking words and Her smart fucking mouth and Her sharp, beautiful features. How She was a fucking brat and a problem, and Ben would never want her any other way, because he was the luckiest fucking pussy in the world for this menace of a woman to love him back half as much as he loved Her. Lucky that She trusted him, looked at him like he was some sort of fucked up savior, and always touched him like she could never do anything better with her hands.

She was perfect. She was a fucking goddess, and every time Ben reminded Her of that she’d flush that pretty color and bury her face in his arm. Right where she goddamn belonged.

You can’t just say that, Ben-

I can say whatever the fuck I want, Sunshine. He’d press a kiss to the top of Her head, squeezing his hold on Her body. I fucking love you, and you’re a goddamn miracle. These pussies should be grateful to be in your goddamn presence.

I think you’re a little bias. She’d mumble between their heads, but Ben would hear the stumble of Her heart, feel her lean further into his body, and he’d smirk.

I don’t fucking care. He’d tangle a hand in Her hair, tugging it back so she was looking at him with wide, blown out eyes.  You’re fucking perfect. 

She’d smile at him, and Ben’s ribs would bloom and glow with how fucking beautiful She was. How She was all fucking his, to care for and tend to and love. For the rest of goddamn time, Ben got to fucking have Her.

You’re such a dramatic cunt, Benjamin.

He’d chuckle. You fucking love it.

And that would be the end of it. Wherever they were, Ben would find a place to fuck Her in peace, she’d cum all over him—filling the room with a million colors and dancing lights, bursting into flame and screaming his name—and Ben would make sure that she understood. Really fucking got that Ben had never been good at loving things, but loving Her was the easiest thing in the goddamn world. That he’d love Her until the world was fucking razed and scorched and She wasn’t there to love anymore.

Even then Ben would probably just fucking follow Her. That might be the only thing that one day got him. If She figured out a way to die, she wasn’t going to do it without Ben at Her side. She was alive inside of him—infinite and holy, fucking stronger and brighter than the goddamn sun—and Ben never wanted to know a life without Her again. 

She’d hate the idea of Ben going just because She went. She’d shove his chest and snap that he’d need to keep living without her, because she loved him too much to want him to die. And Ben would roll his eyes, grumble an agreement, and keep fucking knowing that if they went out, they were going out together.

Everything was so fucking beautiful when Ben had Her to share it with. Without Her he’d just be an old fucking asshole, chasing Her in shadows and songs, sitting at Her grave until he worked out how to turn the stone back into the only person in the world that really fucking mattered.

It was a damn good thing they were both immortal.

The world would not fucking like it if Ben had to keep living without Her.

He’d do anything for Her. He’d burn countless worlds to ash, then rebuild them just for Her to have. He’d refuse to destroy things, because She was good and would never want anyone to be in pain in Her name. If She demanded it, he would keep living, but he’d drive himself mad trying to bring Her back.

He’d learn to raise the dead. To find wherever the fuck She’d gone and pull her back to his side, where he’d keep Her safe and happy and smiling.

Christ, he’d do anything just to make Her smile.

He’d even let Her drag him here, to this massive square building that seemed to be some weird sort of grocery store. 

But Ben didn’t remember grocery stores selling TVs, or mattresses, or toys. Grocery stores didn’t sell watches. Or fucking pills and makeup, just a few aisles apart. 

Where the fuck are we. He muttered between their heads, and She looked back to him with an amused grin.

You drove us here, Ben.

Because I value my goddamn life, Sunshine.

Shut up-

No. He leaned down, kissing the space between Her eyes with a grin. Tell me where we are, brat, or I’ll fuck the answer out of you.

She wrinkled Her nose at him, even as Ben heard Her heart flutter slightly. No obviously public sex, you horny old cunt-

I never said we’d fuck in public, darling. This place is fucking huge, I’d find somewhere private, and then make you all dumb and pretty on my cock. Ben winked at Her, and Christ, she was beautiful. Wide, glossy eyes and a parted mouth, already putty in Ben’s hands just from his fucking words.

We’re at Costco. She said, a little breathless between their minds. It’s a superstore. 

Ben frowned. That didn’t make any damn sense, and he’d have a lot of time to fuck Her later. He needed to understand what in Christ she was talking about. 

What the fuck is a superstore. Did they figure out how to shoot up buildings with V and nobody fucking told me-

She laughed, wrapping Her arms around his neck with a shake of her head. No, Ben, it’s a physically large store that sells, like, everything.

Everything.

Pretty much, yeah. She shrugged. That’s why we’re here.

Ben nodded slowly. For the house.

Exactly. She smiled, Her voice soft and teasing between their minds. Good work, Pretty Boy.

Shut the fuck up, brat. Ben pulled Her half up his chest, kissing her until he got a breathy moan, and leaned back with a smirk. What do we need.

I, um… She blinked at him, her eyes a little glazed as Ben just grinned at Her. Fucking Christ, She was perfect.

Need some help there, Sunshine?

Fuck you-

Ben laughed, squeezing his hand on Her waist. No obviously public sex, darling-

Shut up. She muttered, and Ben’s grin only grew, because She tangled her hand in his and leaned further into his body at the exact same time. I made a list.

A list-

For what we need. And, She shot him a stern look, rising slightly on Her toes to hold his gaze. We’re sticking to it. No buying things we don’t need, just because you see them. 

Ben frowned. Why the fuck would I get shit we don’t need-

Because you’re a child, my love.

I am not a fucking child-

Yeah, you are. She gave him a soft, teasing grin, and Ben really didn’t know how to actually be annoyed with Her. Not when She was so goddamn beautiful, and looking at him with such adoration, and felt easy and happy around his skull. You’re a massive fucking man baby, Benjamin, and you’re going to see something shiny and try to buy it.

Fucking- I’m not a goddamn pussy with no self-

She pulled him into a slow, deep kiss, half climbing up his chest and molding into his arms fucking perfectly, and he groaned. She’d given him a blowjob before they left the house—Ryan was off at school for the day, and She was a horny fucking problem—and Ben could still taste himself in Her mouth. Mixed with coffee and chocolate, and Her. Always just fucking Her, smiling against his lips and safe in his arms. He could feel the cool metal of Her wedding ring when she tangled her fingers in his hair.

They had to finish this shopping shit right now, so Ben could carry Her to the car and fuck her stupid in the back seat.

You’re my man baby, Pretty Boy. She said between their minds, and leaning back to give him a wide, perfect smile. I love you.

I love you too, Ben grunted, leaning down to kiss to Her brow. You fucking brat.

She hummed, Her smile wide and unrestrained on her beautiful face. Ready?

Ben nodded, grabbing Her hand and pressing one last kiss to Her knuckles. There was Her ring. Both of her rings. Physical fucking proof to anyone who looked that She loved Ben. Wanted him. Fucking adored him. 

If She needed Ben for shopping, he’d walk with Her and do whatever she told him to. She’d know what she was doing. She always knew what She was doing, because she was a goddamn force of nature, and if Ben had a say in it, he’d make sure everyone did what she told them all the fucking time.

They didn’t—because most people were stupid fucking dumbcucks that Ben wasn’t allowed to just fucking kill—but they should. All of this post-Homelander shit would be so much easier if everyone would just fucking listen to Her. 

And Ben knew how hard She was working on it. How She was calm and collected when she testified before congress and recounted all the shit that fucking pussy had done to Her, but always fell apart after, sobbing and shaking in Ben’s arms. She’d crawl over his body and bury Her face in his chest, he’d feel fucking sick, and wish he could bring Homelander back to life just to fucking kill him again. Everyone demanded too goddamn much of Her, and she always gave it because she was too fucking good, and if all She asked for was Ben to go shopping with Her, he’d do it a billion fucking times.

Anything to make Her tap her fingers because she was picking out wall colors and not because she had to explain how She’d killed Sage. Anything to make Her flush because Ben was kissing her neck in the lamp aisle and not because a bunch of old fucking pussies wanted unnecessary details about Her alleged relationship with Soldier Boy.

It wasn’t fucking alleged. They were goddamn married. They had a son and owned a house together.

A house they needed to put things in. And decorate. And make theirs. So if that was what this trip was about, Ben could fucking do it. For Her.

It started simple. They needed more furniture, they found it. 

“We already have most of what we need,” She muttered, pulling Ben through the store. “It’s mostly decorations now. If you see something you like-“

“I’ll like whatever the fuck you like.”

She let out a long sigh. “That not helpful-“

Ben grunted Her name, spinning Her around in his arms and dropping his brow to Her’s. 

“Ben-“

“Listen to me.” He held Her gaze, drawing firm circles in her hips. “I could give a fuck what our house looks like, as long as you like it, and there’s no goddamn blue.”

“But it’s your house too-“

“I don’t fucking care.” He grunted. “I’ve told you, Sunshine, we could be living in a fucking dumpster, and I’d be good.”

She scanned over Ben’s face, and sighed. “Can you promise you’ll at least try to find one thing you want?”

“Deal.” Ben kissed Her, dipping her slightly in his arms and keeping Her tucked to his side when they pulled apart.

For Her, he’d try to find one thing. It couldn’t be that fucking hard. This place was huge. 

At first, there was nothing. She had opinions on the colors and style of their house, and Ben mostly just watched Her be perfect and smart and happy, grumbling low agreements and kissing Her until she smiled whenever he got the chance. That was what he cared about. Not whatever the fuck rustic or sleek meant. Not about what shade of green their bedroom should be, or if they should have the bird or sunset painting, or if a glass vase was better than a ceramic one. 

“Just lie and pretend you have an answer-“

“No. I don’t fucking lie to you-“

“It’s a vase, Ben. I’m not going to freak out and burn the building down because you lie about liking a vase-“

“I don’t give a fuck about the vase.” He snapped. “My job is to buy you the damn flowers-“

“Well,” She raised Her brows, giving him a pointed look. “Where can I put the flowers, if I don’t have a vase?”

Ben scowled. “Smartass.”

“You love it.” She gave him a sweet smile, and he really fucking did. “Choose a vase, Pretty Boy.”

Ben rolled his eyes, glaring between the options, and decided they were both fucking stupid. “No.”

“Benjamin-“

“Get that one.” He pointed to a third, smaller one. It was the same color as Her eyes, and had little golden patterns. He didn’t hate it. “It’ll fit on the dresser.”

She paused, tapping Her fingers on Ben’s arm, and nodded slowly. “Okay.” She gave him a wider, purely fucking adoring smile, and Ben felt his whole body grow radiant. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.” He grumbled, kissing the side of Her head, and a dam broke inside of him. 

Suddenly, Ben had a lot of fucking opinions. A red carpet would look fucking stupid in the living room, and Ben didn’t want a weird, twisting lamp on his bed stand. They’d get the shower curtain with little octopuses—octopi, Benjamin—because they made Her smile, but Ben would give MM a fucking blowjob before he used as towel with ducks on it.

“But they’re cute-“

“No.” Ben snapped, grabbing a stack on plain, monotone towels, and dumping them into the cart. “They’re fucking towels, Sunshine, they only need to dry us off.”

“I know, but look at them!” She held the ducks up, giving Ben a pretty pout that was designed to fucking kill him. “Please? Just one?”

Ben scowled. She knew what the fuck She was doing. Looking so fucking beautiful and leaning into his body and making Her sharp eyes soft just for him. He couldn’t say no to Her. He’d never really want to, anyway. Not when he grabbed the towel, tossed it in the cart, and Her smile had the same effect as fucking heroine.

“One.” He grunted. “Because I fucking love you, brat, you get one.”

She kept smiling at him, holding his face between Her hands and kissing him right on the nose. “Thank you, my love-“

Ben rolled his eyes, and dragged Her into a longer, firmer kiss. Until She was a sighing and humming and melting into him, before grabbing Her hand and tugging her to the next isle.

They got shampoo—Ben tried to pick his own out, She looked like she was going stab him or set him on fire, and he decided to let Her handle that shit—a bunch of picture frames, and a lot of useless decorative shit that they didn’t need. Small potted plants that would have to be kept out of the bedroom, a fuck ton of books that She’d probably already read, and some nice, dark green plates. 

Ben took over for groceries—that might be the only place in the world where She didn’t know what the fuck she was doing—and he kept it simple. Pancakes. Ice cream. Bagels. Strawberry cream cheese. Coffee. Chocolate. Something called Lunchables that Ryan seemed to like. Apple sauce, because on worse days that was all Ben could get Her to eat, and he’d be damned if he let Homelander keep haunting them like that. Whiskey. Burger patties-

“You know there’s only three of us, right?” She was hanging off of Ben’s arm, giving him an amused look as he tossed a second bag of apples into their slightly overflowing cart. “And we can come back if we host dinner with the team.”

Ben frowned. “You told me Butcher was hosting-“

“He is. I’m saying that’s why we don’t need so many-“

“We need to be fucking prepared.” Ben muttered. “Shit happens, Sunshine, and I’ll be fucking damned if I let us go hungry-“

Ben.

He grunted Her name, glancing down to see open, obvious amusements painted over Her pretty features. 

Are you fucking Cold War prepping.

Shut up.

She snorted. Holy shit, you are-

I said shut the fuck up. We need to be goddamn careful, and it’s my job to make sure you and Ryan are safe-

That’s not your job, Ben. She sighed, giving him a soft smile that lit up his whole fucking body. But, if it was, you already do an amazing job, without being an old, paranoid dinosaur. And remember, She squeezed his hand, raising Her brows slightly. Ryan’s literally invulnerable, and I fuck an atomic bomb every day. We’d be fine.

Ben scowled, but put the third bag of apples back. We fuck at least three times a day.

I know. I’m there.

You fucking start most of it-

You’re just proving my point, Pretty Boy.

Shut up.

From there, She made him go look at fucking pants and shirts. Only so She could send Neuman orders for their specialized, supe-proof clothing, but still needing Ben’s actual fucking opinions. He didn’t fucking care about clothing, and he trusted Her with his fucking life, so she ended up making most of the choices as Ben grunted in approval. 

They were almost done. And this had been fun—he’d never tell Her that, but he was also pretty damn sure she knew—but Ben wanted to go the hell home. To drop all this shit in the doorway, carry Her upstairs, and fuck Her until she screamed his name so loud all the glasses in the house fucking broke. 

All that was left was getting something called a Roomba.

“What fuck is that thing.” Ben muttered, frowning at the metal disc in Her hands. It just looked like fucking junk.

“It’s a robot.”

“A fucking what.”

“Robot. Robot vacuum. It’ll clean the floor-“

“That circle is going to clean the floor-“

“Yep.” She glanced at the label on the shelf. “Do you think we need max power? I don’t really know what average power would do- Ben-“

He’d grabbed the robot—fucking robot—from Her, and was examining it. He didn’t know what the hell he was looking for, only that he wasn’t finding it.

“Ben-“

“This thing is not a fucking robot.” He muttered. “Robots aren’t real.”

“They very much are real, old man.”

“There’s not a chance in fucking hell this thing can clean a floor-“

“Well, it does.” She took the circle back, placing it into the cart and giving Ben a teasing look of disbelief. “Are Roomba’s really going to be the thing that gets you about the 21st century?”

He scowled. “They’re not fucking real, Sunshine-“

“Benjamin, my love.” She moved to stand right before him, holding his gaze to Her’s with amusement dancing all over Her perfect face. She was so fucking beautiful. “You can throw nuclear energy with your brain, pick up trucks with one hand, and I’ve seen you jump off a building without flinching. We’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected. When I orgasm, I make both of us hallucinate. This,” She pointed to the so-called robot. “Cannot be the thing that gets you.”

Shut up, brat. Ben rolled his eyes, kissing the back of Her hand before glaring around the rest of isle. Are all of these things fucking robots.

No, these are just normal vacuums.

Does this place have other robots.

Yeah, probably.

Ben’s eyes narrowed. Where.

———————

You’ve made a grave error.

You don’t think you’re ever going to leave this Costco. 

After the Roomba, you’d shown Ben robotic litter boxes, and drones, and a smart speaker. You’re pretty sure that’s where you’d went wrong. 

“This thing can hear me?”

You’d nodded, watching him with a small smile you were having a hard time fighting. To any passerby, Ben would’ve looked furious, but you know him. Know that right now, his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes meant that he was shocked and confused. 

It helped that you could feel it, pricking on his skin and cloudy around his head. It was kind of adorable. 

“It can hear all of us.”

He’d scowled. “Why the fuck is it listening-“

“So you can tell it what to do. Here, look- Alexa? Play Steely Dan.”

“Playing- Steely Dan.”

Low music started to fill the space, and you’d had to bite your cheek to stop the snort at Ben’s expression. He’d looked like he’d been shot. It had been adorable. 

And now, two fucking hours later, you didn’t think you’d ever get sick of that expression on his face. He was like a five-year-old loose in a candy shop, walking from aisle to aisle and asking you grumbling questions about various technologies and appliances. If you’re being honest, the only time you’ve seen him look close to this was whenever he’d fuck you. It was a similar expression of pure, raw joy and wonder, but devoid of all the darkened, animalistic need. 

“What the fuck are these?”

“Security cameras.” 

Ben frowns. “They look like fucking doorbells.”

“They’re both.” You say, resting your head against his chest, and he nods slowly.

“We should get one.”

“Ben-“

“For fucking safety, Sunshine, it would be damn insane not to have cameras when all those fucking pussy Homelander supporters are still out there-“

“I agree, my love.” You smile at him, forcing yourself not the climb into his arms as his concrete concern and resolve wrap around you. “That’s why I asked Hughie to install some already.”

Ben pauses, something hot and sore flaring on his skin. “Why the fuck did you ask Hughie.”

“He’s a tech nerd, and Annie said he’d know the best ones to get.” You kissing the underside of Ben’s jaw, humming against his skin. Next time, I’ll ask you, Benjamin. It’ll be so fucking funny to watch you try to install them.

Ben scowls, adoration flaring in his chest as the soreness eases, and you manage to walk him away from the doorbells. 

Most of the afternoon has mostly become walking Ben away from things. For some stuff, it’s easy. Noise canceling headphones wouldn’t work on him. You don’t need a slightly larger TV, because your current one is perfectly fine. You don’t have the space for a hot tub.

“What about these.” He points to the third golf set, and you sigh.

“Ben, you hate golf. You’ve told me it’s a weak fucking pussy sport.”

“And it fucking is, but these things can be damn good weapons-“

“We are not buying weapons.”

“What if someone fucking breaks into the house with a gun-“

“You and Ryan are bullet proof, and I can’t be killed-“

“What if it’s a fucking supe-“

“Then you can blast them with your special sauce, and they won’t be a supe.” You wrap your arms around him, raising your brows. “We’ll be fine, Ben. No golf clubs.”

He scowls, and moves on. 

From the golf clubs. And the iPad, and other security cameras, and air hockey table.

But other things are harder. 

Because you make a second mistake. You agree with him that you should buy a generator, because it’s practical. But what Ben learns is that you can say yes to things. And now you have an ice cream maker, an air fryer, a truly unreasonable amount of batteries, and lawn sprinklers.

And a vibrator, because Ben had grabbed it, shoved it into the cart, and raised his brows in a silent challenge.

You’d sighed. Ben, I don’t need-

I’m going to have to travel, Sunshine-

I know, but I think I can keep it together until you get back to fuck me yourself.

Or. Ben had winked at you, and you felt his hunger spread in your gut. We could do that Zoom shit, you could imagine that thing is me. He’d lowered down, starting to leave wet, sloppy kisses up your neck. And I could tell you exactly how I’d want to fuck you. How I’d play with that perfect fucking pussy until you were begging for me, then I’d stuff that smart fucking mouth with my cock and start to finger fuck you, make your squirt on my hand while you choke on my dick-

You’d buried your face in his chest, muffling your whimper in his shirt. Jesus fucking Christ, Ben-

You like that, darling? Like thinking about how I fill you up, how fucking good I pound into that pussy, how I make you cum on my cock and hands and face-

You’d agreed to buy the vibrator, but mostly because if he had kept talking, you might have climaxed just from Ben’s voice.

You should’ve left Costco an hour ago.

But Ben still doesn’t seem to be done yet.

“How the fuck are they doing that.” He mutters, poking remote and watching the LEDs shift from green to pink to yellow for the fifth time. 

“Semiconductors.” You say, trying not to look like such a dopey, lovesick idiot as you smile at him. “We do have to go home soon. Ryan’s almost done with school.” 

Ben grunts, grabbing one of the LED light strings and holding it up for you to see. 

You take it from him, kiss his cheek—your lips barely brushing his beard before he’s moving you to his mouth, and you almost fall over—and place the box in the cart.

The total amount of money you’ve spent today is disgusting, but the grin on Ben’s face makes it worth it. All of this is so fucking worth it, because you’re happy in such an average, normal way. You’re happy because Ben’s happy—glowing and furious in your whole body—and he’s everything. He grabs you a chocolate bar in the checkout isle without you asking, and insists unloading everything into the trunk himself.

“Go wait in the car, Sunshine-“

You shake your head, trying—and failing—not to gawk at him. So goddamn handsome the broad daylight, muscles flexing as the moves bag after bag, all yours to climb like a tree when you get home-

You won’t have to get until your get home.

Ben chuckles as you stare at him, and the moment the last bag is in the car he grabs you by your wrist, tugging your back into his chest and slamming his lips down to yours. It a rough, heavy kiss that probably isn’t appropriate for a parking lot, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. Ben’s love is strong and focused and everything in the world that matters. He’s swaying you back and forth in his arms, grinning as he nips at your lower lip and tugs a little at your hair, and you don’t think you’re ever going to get enough of him. Of how forceful and bloody and devout his love is, just in broad daylight when you’ve done nothing but smile at him. 

When he pulls away, neither of you bother to fully separate. Ben grins at you, and you smile at him, and when he brushes a little hair away from your face you do the only thing you can think of, and kiss him again. Softer this time, moving your hands to hold his face, allowing yourself to feel so purely safe and warm in the best place in the world. In Ben.

Because you know this will never fade. The love for him in your body that only grows more and more powerful with every passing moment. That you’ll always feel Ben’s love for you, no matter if you’re resting in heaven—caged between Ben’s body and a bed, sleeping or fucking or just smiling at him—breaking down in a hell you’ve visited countless times in life and will visit more in sleep, or standing somewhere domestic and mundane. 

You have a life now where you get to be domestic and mundane. Where you get to make out with your husband in a public place, until someone rolls down their window and wolf-whistles, and you have to restrain Ben from picking up their car and throwing it across the lot. Where you get to drive home with Ben’s hand on your thigh and your head resting on his shoulder, and you get to act like that’s all your life has ever been.

It’s all it will have to be now. 

For the rest of your life—which will likely be simply the rest of time—all you’ll have to do is be domestic. You don’t think you can be mundane, not when Ben grumbles something and you can feel his love spark and flare in his chest, or when you park the car and Ben carries all fifteen of your heavy bags inside at once without even a grunt. You can’t be mundane when, the moment he puts the bags down, you jump on him, he fucks you against the kitchen counter, and you burst into a flame that sets off the smoke alarm and drenches you both in the sprinklers. 

But you can be domestic. You can dry off and cook dinner with Ben—like a normal husband and wife probably do—and let him wrap his body around you and kiss that spot on your neck until you give up on focusing and ride him on the floor. 

You can eat with Ben and Ryan, try not to laugh as Ben works out how the ice cream maker works, and curl in Ben’s arms on your couch. Watching TV and sitting easily in the dark.

Ben can tilt your head back for a deep, slow kiss, smirking against your lips when you moan, and mutter your name like a prayer.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says, rubbing firm circles on your thigh, and you let out a long, slow breath as you flush.

“I think you abuse that word, Benjamin,” you mumble, and he shrugs.

“I don’t give a fuck. You are.” He frowns, turning you to face him in his lap. “I fucking love you, Sunshine, you’re my whole fucking world-“

I know. You smile, leaning down for another, softer kiss that makes Ben groan in your mouth and the whole world start to get a little hazy. I love you, too.

He grunts, but doesn’t bother to do his usual pushing about how you still don’t get how much he loves to you. You do get it. You can feel it, and it’s the most powerful thing in the world. Sometimes you worry Ben doesn’t understand how much you love him. How you can’t even begin to picture a world where you’d never clawed your way through blood and grime to find him. How you can feel his love and resolve and care all the time, and your own love is so eternal and vast you could probably power a universe with it. 

But you’ll have all of time to fight with him about who loves who more. 

Right now, everything can just be Ben and you on a couch, eating ice cream, and knowing that this—You and him, burning together—is forever.

End Note: Had to make the smart speaker an Alexa. We are in an Amazon based universe. I don’t think they sell Alexas at Costco, but we’ve established that Costco sells whatever I want it to sell. So, Alexas.

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@lovelywebber

[roystartt]

It's been a few weeks since Tommy finally cracked and went and spoke to Evan and the pair managed to actually communicate.

And the last few weeks have been heavy, lots of talking, there's been tears and mini arguments as they both valiantly tried to finally make the other understand where they were coming from. But it's been good too, they both want to make this work, extracting promises to always talk in the future before running away or jumping five steps ahead.

But there's also been quiet times where they just soak up each others presence in a way neither of them can get enough. As if they can make up for those missing months by pure osmosis.

Tonight's one of those nights where they're trying to reconnect with each other, on this journey they're on to finally get to know eachother. They'd ordered takeout and were now tangled up together on the couch whilst some romcom played on the TV in the background. Not that they're really paying attention to the TV, preferring to switch between lazy makeouts that neither are really trying to get to lead anywhere anytime soon; and just staring into each others eyes, sometimes murmering gentle conversation.

'You know,' Evan starts, when he pulls aways from another lazy kiss, 'the 118 were surprising good at never letting me know.'

This just confuses Tommy, but by now he is more than used to being behind in the conversation as he knows that whenever Evan speaks, there's a trail of mental gymnastics happening silently inside his head before he ever speaks out loud. It impresses Tommy whenever Evan explains to him all the different jumps he makes to connect two subjects. He wishes sometimes he could climb inside Evan's mind and truly experience it.

''What do you mean, sweetheart?' He probes when it doesn't seem like Evan was going to clarify.

Evan shifts a bit to lean his back against Tommy's chest and reaches for one of his hands to fiddle with his fingers. 'You know, when we were broken up, they would never let on when they had seen you. Your name went from being one of the most popular topics of conversation to basically taboo.' He elaborates with a laugh.

But his new position meant he could feel more than see Tommy freeze and tense up at his words. Evan turned his head back so he could see his boyfriend's face and frowned at the look upon it. 'What is it?'

'Evan...' Tommy started, hesitantly. 'What makes you think any of the 118 saw me when we were broken up?'

This caused Evan to fully shift back around so they were facing eachother again, he out a hand on Tommy's chest, half for balance and half to ground himself in the other man. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, I'm pretty sure I was their public enemy number one,' Tommy explained softly, bringing a hand up to stroke one of Evan's curls, 'Not that I blame them of course.'

This only caused the frown lines on Eva 's face to deepen. 'B-but you were friends with all of them before we even got together the first time. Chimney never shut up about how glad he was to properly reconnect with you past a phonecall every few years. And I basically had to share custody of you with Eddie!'

Tommy smiled softly, leaning up to press a comforting kiss against Evan's birthmark. 'That's true, but then I went and broke their brother's heart.'

'You were just trying to protect your own heart!.' Evan defended him fiercely, causing Tommy to chuckle. He loved how far they'd come in understanding and forgiving each other.

'Yes, but they didn't know that sweetheart.'

Evan deflated, sinking all of his weight onto Tommy. 'They really stopped doing things with you?'

'I would cut ties with anyone that hurt you like that too, Evan. I'm just eternally grateful that you gave me a second chance.' He leaned in to give him a proper kiss, hoping to distract Evan from the topic of conversation.

It only worked for a few seconds before Evan was shooting up, indignant all over again. 'Please say they at least texted you to check in on how you were coping?'

'Evan, I-' Tommy sighed, struggling to find the words to calm Evan down, not wanting to further incriminate their friends, but also not wanting to lie.

Evan could read what Tommy wasn't saying and before he could stop him Evan was off the couch and storming towards the door. 'Babe! Wait, where are you going?'

'I am going to give them a piece of my mind. They spent weeks eating my baked goods and telling me not to call you, and they couldn't even pick up the phone to check on you!?' Evan was practically seething at this point.

Moving quickly, Tommy met Evan at the door, stopping him from where he was angrily trying to shove on a jacket. 'Sweetheart, it's 11pm at night, I don't think waking them up from sleep to shout at them for being on your side is going to do much good. They were just trying to look out for you the best way they knew how.'

'Yeah, well who was on your side Tommy? You deserved to have someone looking out for you too.' Evan exploded, heated.

Tommy grabbed Evan by the hips and pulled him in close, hugging him until he could feel Evan start to calm. 'Well, luckily, I have you to look out for me. And I'm not going to be foolish enough to give that up ever again.'

His words were enough to finally have Evan fully relax into Tommy's arms. 'Well good, because I'm never letting you give it up again, either.' He sighed, before quietly continuing; 'I'm just disappointed that they didn't also look out for you. I thought they were better than that.'

'They're your family, Evan. They acted out of love for you, they didn't owe me anything.'

'Bullshit, you are their family now too, and they best never forget that again.' Evan grumbled, his face pressed into Tommy's neck.

Evan smiled coyly, before waggling his eyebrows, 'I did defend you pretty hard. It's going to take a lot to show me how really grateful you are.'

'How about you hold off on their lectures for now, and let me take you to bed.' Tommy proposed, tilting his head back so Evan could see his face. 'You could let me show you how grateful I am to have you as my biggest defender.'

'Hmmm, let me try,' was Tommy's reply before he took Evan's lips in his own, this kiss considerably more passionate than the ones they had been exchanging on the couch earlier on. If Tommy had his way, he'd never stop trying his best to show Evan just how eternally grateful he is to have him by his side.