#I can see him having a weighted blanket before he replaced it with the reader and soap.

[chaotic-laila]

Hello! I was hoping I could request one where reader helps Eddie/Venom during a fight and gets hurt and they have to save her, lots of angst but a happy ending? Thank you very much!

Heyyy sorry it took a while. But I tried my best to write this. Hope you like it.

Shadows of Regret

The city was drenched in shadows, the alleyways pulsating with a darkness that seemed to wrap around you like a suffocating blanket. The distant hum of traffic echoed against the bricks, but you hardly noticed. Your heart raced as you stepped into the alley, the harsh, flickering light from a nearby streetlamp casting an eerie glow on the cold pavement. Clad in your favorite worn leather jacket, faded jeans, and scuffed boots, you felt a mix of adrenaline and fear. You had insisted on coming to help Eddie, even after he had urged you to stay behind. “You don’t understand what’s at stake,” he had said, his voice raw and pleading, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he turned away from you.

But you did understand. You understood the depths of his pain and the darkness that clung to him and Venom like a second skin. You couldn’t just stand by while he faced the chaos alone. You needed to be there for him, to remind him he wasn’t as lost as he believed.

When you arrived at the warehouse, the musty smell of metal and decay hit you like a wall. You could hear the distant growls and snarls of Venom as he clashed with the gang that had been terrorizing the city. Eddie’s gruff voice broke through the noise, tinged with anger and desperation. “Get out of here! You don’t belong here!” He didn’t see you, his back turned as he fought, but you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you.

“Eddie!” you shouted, your voice barely rising above the chaos. You stepped forward, heart pounding, your instincts screaming at you to turn back. But you couldn’t. Not now.

In that moment, Eddie spun around, eyes wild, his breath coming in harsh gasps. When he saw you, a flicker of shock crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by fury. “I told you to go! You shouldn’t be here!” His voice was a thunderclap, reverberating off the warehouse walls. The venomous edge in his tone cut deeper than any physical blow.

You recoiled slightly, hurt flashing across your features. “I’m not leaving you,” you said, struggling to keep your voice steady. “You need me.”

But Eddie’s expression hardened, and you could see the internal battle raging within him. He stepped toward you, fists clenched, his body taut with tension. “You don’t get it! I can’t protect you if you’re here! I won’t let Venom hurt you. You have to trust me.”

A deep ache settled in your chest as his words sank in. You knew he was right to worry, but you also knew that pushing you away was tearing him apart. The guilt that shadowed his every move was palpable, and it stung you to see him like this, so raw and broken. “Eddie, please…” you began, but before you could finish, a loud crash echoed through the warehouse, pulling both your attention away.

Venom’s monstrous form loomed in the dim light, a twisted amalgamation of muscle and shadow, his white eyes glowing with a fierce intensity. He was strong, fierce, and ready to fight, but you could see the flicker of concern in those glowing orbs as he watched you.

“Get back!” Eddie shouted again, panic rising in his voice as he stepped in front of you, a shield against the chaos. He was imposing and protective, but the fear behind his eyes was unmistakable. “I can’t lose you too!”

You felt your breath hitch, a mix of hurt and determination swelling inside you. “Eddie, I can handle myself!” you insisted, pushing past him, refusing to cower. But the moment you stepped forward, the atmosphere shifted, a palpable tension crackling in the air.

Venom roared, lunging at the gang members, a mass of dark tendrils and fury. You turned to see the fight erupt, but the chaos quickly descended into a blur of fists and snarls. Suddenly, one of the attackers broke free, rushing toward you with a wild look in his eyes, and in that split second, everything changed.

The air was thick with tension as Eddie and Venom fought side by side, a chaotic whirlwind of violence and desperate energy. You stood there, torn between fear and the desire to help, watching as Eddie threw himself into battle. Every part of you screamed to turn away, to run and get out of harm's way, but you refused.

"I’m not leaving you," you whispered under your breath. You wouldn’t run, not after everything he’d already sacrificed. You refused to be another person to abandon him when he needed someone most. But in the instant you stepped forward, trying to close the gap between you and Eddie, the world shattered.

One of the gang members—a hulking figure whose face was contorted with anger—saw the opening. His eyes locked onto you, and before you could react, he lunged. You instinctively tried to dodge, but your foot caught on a loose piece of debris. Time seemed to stretch in that split second as you felt your body stumble, your knees buckling under you.

The pain was immediate. His hand clamped around your wrist like a vice, jerking you into the air before slamming you against the brick wall with a sickening thud.

"NO!" Eddie’s voice rang out, filled with raw terror, but you couldn’t hear him clearly over the buzzing in your ears. Your vision blurred, and your breath hitched as your side exploded with pain. The air was knocked from your lungs, sharp and searing. The wall scraped against your skin like jagged glass, sending an icy, fiery sting through your entire body.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You couldn't think. Your body burned with the sensation of the world falling apart.

"Shit!" Eddie's voice, desperate and filled with anguish, reached you just as the air around you felt suffocating. His figure, all tension and fury, collided with the gang member. The force of the impact sent the man crashing backward, but Eddie didn’t even hesitate—he turned back to you in a heartbeat.

“Stay with me,” he begged, his voice breaking. His eyes were wide, frantic. The moment his gaze met you, it was as if he saw everything he'd been running from. His face contorted in fear, the protective mask he'd worn for so long slipping, revealing the broken man beneath.

You wanted to respond. To tell him you were fine, that it wasn’t so bad. But your body was betraying you, the pain spreading like wildfire across your ribs, your lungs. You gasped for air, but all that came was a pained, shallow breath. Your vision spun, and you could feel the sharp heat of blood pooling beneath you. The world around you dulled as your consciousness began to fade.

Eddie reached you before you could slip into unconsciousness, his hands trembling as he cradled your face. “No, please don’t do this,” he muttered, his voice jagged with desperation. “Don’t you dare leave me… I can’t… I can't lose you.” His words seemed to echo, thick with a vulnerability you’d never seen from him before.

Venom raged inside Eddie, a furious entity locked within him, but even Venom—powerful, violent, and untamed—seemed to share in Eddie's fear, his sense of helplessness. "Stay with her, Eddie," Venom growled, his voice like a thousand serpents hissing in the air. "You can't lose her. Not like this."

Eddie’s hands moved over you like he was trying to hold your brokenness together, his fingers grazing over the bloodied side of your body. “You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay,” he said, more to himself than to you. His voice was trembling, shaking with a fierce, raw energy. But his touch, frantic as it was, wasn’t enough to stop the blood that stained your clothes and soaked into his hands.

He looked at you again, his breath coming in desperate pants, his face pale. His eyes, usually sharp with intensity, were now wide and filled with terror, as if every bit of him had unraveled in an instant.

“I told you to stay back,” he choked out, his voice breaking, full of blame, guilt, and grief. “I told you… I told you it was too dangerous.”

But you hadn’t listened. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t leave him.

And now, seeing you so fragile, so hurt, Eddie felt like he was crumbling. He tried to push the guilt down, tried to focus on you, on getting you to safety. “I should’ve… I should’ve kept you safe.” His hands shook as he tried to stop the bleeding, but the blood kept coming, your life slipping away with every passing second.

“You shouldn’t have been here,” he muttered, the words coming out jagged, broken. “I never wanted this for you.”

Venom’s voice cut through the storm of Eddie’s thoughts. "Eddie, don’t—" The symbiote’s voice softened, a rare moment of calm in the midst of the chaos. "She chose to be here. She chose you."

Eddie swallowed, his breath uneven, and for the first time, he looked at Venom as though he’d never truly understood the weight of his own feelings. “I—no, I can’t lose her, Venom. I just can’t.”

Tears welled up in Eddie’s eyes as he pressed his palm to your side, trying to steady you, trying to hold onto you. “Please don’t leave me. I need you… I need you to stay.”

But your body was growing colder, your breath coming slower, and as much as Eddie tried, as much as he wished, he knew he couldn’t control everything. He couldn’t stop what was happening to you.

"Don't go, don't leave me..." Eddie repeated over and over again, each word a fragile thread he clung to as though it were his last lifeline.

Eddie’s frantic voice echoed in the stillness of the warehouse, as he tried desperately to keep you with him. The panic that had initially gripped him began to take on a sharper, deeper edge—the weight of everything pressing down on him. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not after everything he’d done to keep you safe, only for you to be hurt because you refused to leave his side.

The blood was still coming, staining the fabric of your clothes and soaking his hands as he tried to staunch the flow. The fear in his chest was suffocating. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to you or to himself when he muttered, “Please, don’t leave me... please...”

His heart hammered against his ribcage, and he was on the verge of losing control. “You can’t leave me,” he said again, but his words felt hollow, too desperate, too broken. “I’m sorry... I’m sorry I told you to go. I should’ve let you stay. I should’ve trusted you.” The words were coming out in a rush, tumbling from his mouth as he clung to you, his hands trembling on your bloodied body. The guilt felt like it was suffocating him.

Venom surged within Eddie, the symbiote feeling the devastation pouring through him, but the anger and frustration were twisted with a strange, painful sense of helplessness. “Eddie,” Venom growled softly, his voice trying to ground Eddie through the chaos. “We have to focus. Stay with her. We will fix this.”

Eddie’s grip tightened on you, his eyes locked on your face as though willing you to respond. The world around him seemed to blur, and all he could focus on was you, the person who had refused to leave him no matter how many times he told you to go. His heart ached in a way that words couldn’t describe. You were slipping away from him, and he couldn’t stop it.

But then, just as the darkness started to close in around the edges of your vision, you felt a warmth—slow, steady, like a flicker of life trying to push back the cold. A faint pressure on your side. You could feel Eddie’s hands trembling on you, but there was something else. Something deeper, stronger, as though the bond between you and Eddie was pulsing, alive, trying to fight back.

You didn’t know how long it had been, moments stretched into infinity, but the warmth you felt began to grow, spreading through your body, igniting something inside you. With effort, you forced your eyes open, the dim light from the broken windows above casting a shadow on Eddie’s face. His expression was a tortured mess, eyes filled with unshed tears as they locked onto yours.

"Eddie..." you whispered, the sound rasping from your throat, but just the act of speaking, of breathing, was enough to bring a glimmer of hope.

His name was a strangled sob. He leaned down, his forehead touching yours as though you were the only thing that mattered in the world. “You’re awake... You’re awake.” His voice cracked, the rawness of his emotions spilling out in that single sentence. “I thought... I thought I lost you.”

He was shaking now, barely able to breathe, his hand gently cupping your face. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...” Eddie repeated over and over, as though he could make it all better if he just said it enough. His lips trembled as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. The love and pain mixed in that kiss, raw and unfiltered.

“I couldn’t... let you leave me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I need you.”

Venom’s voice rumbled from deep within Eddie, but it wasn’t filled with fury this time. Instead, there was a strange warmth in it, almost as if the symbiote itself had recognized the gravity of the moment. “You’re both stronger than you think, Eddie. Together.”

Eddie’s hand slid down to your side, gingerly pressing to the wound, but this time, the blood flow had slowed. The bleeding had stopped. Venom, in his own way, had reached inside, using his healing abilities to stitch the torn pieces of your body together. The symbiote worked quickly, trying to make sure you were stable.

You could feel the pull of Venom’s influence, but it wasn’t suffocating. It was healing. It was saving you.

The moment dragged on, but slowly, you started to feel your strength return, your breathing becoming less shallow, the dizziness ebbing away. You looked up at Eddie, who still hovered above you, his eyes wide, watchful, never leaving your face.

“I’m… okay…” you whispered hoarsely, though you knew it wasn’t completely true. But the warmth spreading through your body, the steadiness returning to your breath, gave you hope.

“Okay?” Eddie repeated, his voice still cracked, but there was disbelief in it, as if he couldn’t quite accept that you were truly waking up, that you were going to be okay. “You’re... you’re gonna be fine. I swear to God, I’ll make sure of it.”

For a moment, it felt like the weight of the world had lifted just a little. Eddie’s hands were still on you, but this time, it wasn’t frantic. It was tender, caring, almost as if he couldn’t believe you were still there, still alive. Venom’s presence—once something terrifying and alien—now felt oddly comforting, like an anchor, steadying Eddie and allowing him to focus on the most important thing in that moment: you.

Your body was exhausted, but the warmth of Eddie’s touch, the bond you shared with him and with Venom, was enough to make you feel like you could hold on.

“We’re not leaving you, not now,” Eddie promised, his voice fierce but filled with relief.

You nodded, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you reached out with shaky hands to pull him closer, needing him more than you had ever needed anyone. “I’m here, Eddie,” you whispered, your voice soft but determined. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Eddie let out a deep breath, his tension easing as he pulled you into his arms, his body cradling yours protectively. Venom was there too, a steady, comforting presence within Eddie, assuring that they would both protect you—no matter the cost.

“I promise,” Eddie murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ll be okay. All of us. Together.”

As the night pressed on, the city still echoing with its distant sounds, the three of you remained, bound together in a way that felt unbreakable. Whatever the future held, whatever dangers awaited, you knew that you’d face them side by side.

[wxnheart]

idea for Ghoapbusters because your last post reminded me of one of my headcanons:

Simon having a PTSD episode, and needs a lot of pressure when these situations happen. And Simon is a bear of a man, so he’d need a lot of it. But even then, sometimes it did work and he’d have to ride it out. But after he got together with you and johnny? He found his solution. He has you and soap lay directly on him and he’s never calmed done from an episode so fast. It’s because the weight combined with physical touch and your smell that calm him down so fast. It’s home to him. When he feels you, and smells your shampoo and soaps cologne, he knows he’s not with Roba, or his father, or back in any other one of his traumatic missions.

He’s at home, safe in his lover’s arms

Home. Simon is home. Safe and secure and loved and—oh fuck, he's loved.

He's all this, things he never expected to be, and doesn't know what the fuck to do with himself. So he works purely on instinct.

Simon tightens his hold around you two and yeah, he's home.

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! Sukuna is mean, Monster fucking, breaking and entering (reader is aware he is coming), somnophilia, choking, hints of masturbation, choking, manhandling, huge huge huge size kink that swings both ways, let’s say Sukuna’s monster cock can fit cause I say so, light pain kink, degradation/taunting/hints of praise if you count being called a slut in bed rewarding (which I do but to each their own), pussy slapping, pinching your clit once, mentions of a toy that he licks once to see if it still tastes like you what can I say he is a nasty fucker,

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧! ❛ there’s so many things i wanna do to you.❜ + sukuna

𝟏𝟑𝐤 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Fey; monster fucking with sukuna always hits just right but when you add consented to somnophilia + breaking and entering

Sukuna slowly pulls your curtains back, the full moon illuminates you bedroom well enough. He grabs your blanket and gentle peels it off, bunching it at the bottom of the bed.

The inhuman toy cock next to you catching his attention. It’s thick but yet it still pales in comparison to his’ own. It’s hot that you have something like this to occupy your time when he is away.

Did he ruin normal men for you? He hopes so. He wants your sloppy cunt to crave his inhuman cocks.

Sukuna picks the toy up and licks it, tasting your sweet cunt. Swirling his tongue around it’s tip. He considers triple stuffing you, but which hole should he shove it in?

You roll onto your back and stretch your arm out, seeking your blanket. Promptly giving up when you didn’t immediately find it. You’re in the perfect position for Sukuna to play with you.

Making quick work of his sweats, his shirt having ripped off when he transformed before he broke into your house. Something you’ll have to pay for.

He carefully climbs onto the bed, towering over you, giving him a thrill. Comparing himself to you, you’re so small, weak and vulnerable, perfect for manhandling and stuffing his cock into.

Whimpering in your sleep, “Sukunnn..” Your soft cunt quivers around his thick fingers. You’re so wet, soft and tight around him. Licking your soft clit with his hand’s tongue. Whilst slowly spreading your legs apart.

You furrow your brows, and slowly open your eyes. “Whaaann?” He bites your thigh when you try to close your legs. Using his weight to force your smaller, soft body into a mating press.

He accusing you, “You’re a brat, there wasn’t a window or door unlocked for me.” Roughly smacking your soft wet cunt.

You whine, “I know!” Another harsh slap, and he glided his thick fingers in, licking your clit. You mewl, “Nnn you can pick the lock!” His fingers and tongue is magical on your cunt. Your thighs trembles, toes curl and your cunt is soaking his hand.

Sukuna looks down at you, “You got tighter, does it turn you on thinking about me wanting your sloppy cunt so badly I’d break in for it?”

He glides his fingers out, smacking your cunt whilst crooning. “What a depraved slut!” Pinching your soft clit, smirking when you cry. You’re so helpless in his large hands, it’s so easy for him to manhandle and fuck you as he pleases.

“I’m your depraved monster cock loving slut.” Sukuna stuffs his hand’s thick tongue in your soft aching cunt. Squeezing your throat, fondling your breast, switches between sucking and biting.

He fondles your soft breasts, sucking on your nipple. “Let’s see how much my cum my cocksleeve can take before falling back asleep.” Replacing his soft tongue with his long thick fingers stretching your cunt out.

He insists, “There are so many things I wanna do to you.” He loosens his grasp on your throat. “How long do you think you can keep me entertained for?” Gliding his fingers out, smearing your slick on his cock.

“I dunno I’m sleepy, but you can keep fucking me even after I pass out.” He’s monstrous, towering over you, nudging your soft cunt with his fat cock.

You winch when he rolls his hips forward, giving you just the tip. His cock above it, rubs your soft clit. You whine reaching down, splaying your hands above his stomach’s mouth. He grabs your wrist, raising it above your head tightening his grasp around your neck.

Sukuna lifts you bed, sinking you down on his cock. Your head reaches his chest, tilting your head back Sukuna makes you look up at him.

He sneers ,“Since you already had fun without me I don’t have to stretch you out right? I can have my fun, use your soft little cunt how I want.” Pressing your smaller body to the wall, you’re so helpless.

He smirks, “This is the kind of perverted shit that gets a monster fucker like you off isn’t it?” Sukuna is beating your pussy up, making her squelch and your toes curl.

You clench your cunt and his smirk drops with a loud groan. “Stupid little brat with your dumb little cunt.”

all works

[thegettingbyp2]

Can you do one where jasper hale and the reader are doing the deed and Carlisle and Esme walk in on the thing happening. Thank you ❤️

Also fem reader plz

DRINK WATER thanks love ya

Caught

You whined softly as Jasper’s hips pushed gently into yours again, one of his hands firmly planted on the bed next to your head in order to keep his weight off of your body as his other hand trailed softly along your body. Jasper was getting better with understanding that you weren’t going to snap if he held onto you a bit tighter, but when it came down to sex, he was still terrified of hurting you. Your whine caused Jasper to stop suddenly as he looked down at you, bringing his hand up to your cheek.

‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked, worry filling his eyes.

‘No,’ you replied, running your hands up his chest, gripping onto his shoulders as you pulled yourself up, pressing your chest against his. Jasper brought his arm around your waist to keep you against him as he buried his head into your shoulder, kissing your skin gently. ‘Jasper you’d never hurt me. If you wanted, you could go faster, you know, harder?’ you continued, your cheeks heating up, suddenly glad that he wasn’t able to see your face.

‘(Y/N), I don’t think I’d be able to control myself, I barely have it together at the moment,’ he said, chuckling into your shoulder, his chuckle turning into a groan when he felt you clench around him.

‘I trust you,’ you said, pulling his head up until he was looking at you. ‘You won’t hurt me, please Jasper, it feels so good.’

Jasper looked at you for a few seconds before pressing his forehead to yours. ‘You tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?’

‘I promise,’ you said quickly, nodding your head as he lowered you back down against the bed. You shivered when you felt his grip tighten on you ever so slightly as he thrust into you again, a cry being torn from your lips at the force. Jasper continued to pick up the speed of his thrusts until he had a gasp falling from your lips every time his hips met yours. Dipping his head back down to the column of your throat, your breath stuck as you felt him graze his teeth along your skin, silently wondering what if would feel like if he sunk his teeth into you.

He was so lost in you that he didn’t hear the sounds of Carlisle and Esme coming back home from a hunt. Carlisle and Esme heard the sounds of your cries and instantly ran up the stairs, following the sound to Jasper’s room, afraid that their newest son had lost control while they had been away. When the door opened, Jasper’s gaze shot over to the movement and, upon seeing who it was, pulled out of you and wrapped your naked body in a blanket before you could blink.

‘You’d gone out,’ Jasper said, panting slightly, his body hovering protectively over you.

‘We had, but then we came home,’ Carlisle said, a small smile appearing on his lips.

‘We heard (Y/N) and thought,’ Esme trailed off when he saw the look of sadness and guilt that passed across Jasper’s face.

‘You thought that I’d lost control and hurt her,’ Jasper finished for her. ‘I’m getting better and - ’

The combination of your hand coming to rest gently on Jasper’s cheek and Carlisle’s words cut him off before he could start to get worked up. ‘We know, son. But with a human in a house full of vampires, that’s the first thing that comes to mind when,’ Carlisle gestured in front of him, his shoulders shaking with supressed laughter. ‘But we can go back out, let the two of you, you know,’ he said, smirking slightly as he wrapped his arm around Esme’s shoulders and led her back downstairs, closing the door behind them.

‘You know, for someone with amazing hearing, you probably should have heard them come in,’ you teased, trying to cheer Jasper up. It worked as a small smile replaced that sad frown that had taken over his features and he turned his attention back towards you.

‘Well sorry ma’am if I was a bit distracted,’ he replied, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. ‘I am getting better though right, being around you?’

‘Baby,’ you cooed, tugging him down until he was lying next to you and you curled your body into his chest, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. ‘You’re amazing, you didn’t need to get better at anything, you just had to get used to being around me. And based on what was interrupted, you’re definitely used to me being around,’ you said, unable to hide the smirk on your lips.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

sappy smutty drabble

pairing: older leon x reader

cw: heavy daddy kink, size difference, p in v, not proofread enough, love (ew)

a/n: i hate this bc i went a little too "poetic" on the description rather than sexy. i always want to apologize for every post bc i hate it ugh just tell me i suck already so i delete my account

wc: 828

Your breath is shaky as you try to adjust to Leon’s size. You’re determined to take all of him. You have before. You can do it. You’re a big girl, right? Leon’s voice rings in your mind despite the man himself being relatively quiet, reduced to less-than-steady breathing. He’s too focused on self-restraint and paradoxically, the way his cock looks when it disappears inside you. He tries to shove moans back down his throat but they get caught in his windpipe. The jagged edges of the sounds he makes still pass by your ear smoothly. His shameless moans are a rare delicacy, sexy and angelic.

You slip back into reality when the stretching sensation turns to pain. Leon watches tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, halting his thrusts.

“‘S too much, Daddy. Can’t do it.” The tears don’t fall due to any physical sensation, rather to your disappointment in yourself for being incapable.  

“Hey, hey, hey,” Leon whispers, soothing you, “It’s no big deal, baby. I’m so proud of you for trying.” He cups your cheek in his big, reassuring palm, rubbing his thumb over your soft skin. 

You sniffle and wipe your nose with the back of your hand, trying to pull yourself back together. Leon takes both of your hands in his and interlocks his fingers with yours. He kisses each one softly and pins them down to the bed. He encases you in the way a weighted blanket does, steady, heavy, and warm. Especially warm when he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles. 

“Do you wanna keep going? It’s okay if you can’t take it all.” He means it. You can do no wrong in his eyes, now more than ever, since your velvety walls are massaging the head of his cock and it’s the only thing he can think about. In a way, it’s hotter like this, watching you try so hard to please him, and knowing how you like to be filled, but you’re so little. You’re just his little girl. 

You look down to see him only halfway inside you. All the confidence Leon had given you mere seconds before shatters. 

“Hey, look at me, Princess.” He lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I meant what I said. I’m proud of you.” He points down to the place where your bodies meet. “Look, you’re doing it. And it feels so good, baby. You’re makin’ Daddy feel so good.”

It’s reassurance with a hidden plea behind it that you won’t make him stop completely. He can get off easily like this. His words are genuine as evident by the fact that his cock twitches inside you. 

“Feels good, Daddy,” you echo his words with a nod.

“Feels good for you too?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is higher and breathier.

“How ‘bout this?” He begins to roll his hips slowly in and out in shallow thrusts, not forcing himself any deeper.

“Thank you, Daddy.” Your words nearly get lost in your moans, but the sentiment rings loud and clear. “Love it so much.”

“Daddy loves it too,” he reassured you.

You chew on your t-shirt - he’d left it on you. The tears that appear in your eyes are a product of pleasure, not pain.

“You’re doin’ so well for me.”

You put your thumb in your mouth, and he replaces it with his own, letting you suck on it for comfort. You tighten around him as your oral fixation is sated.

“Let go, baby girl. Daddy’s right here with you.”

You scrunch up your face and arch your back, leaning your head back as a result. You’re loud when you come - enough to get you a noise complaint - but the only comprehensible word that comes out is ‘Daddy’ while you soak Leon’s sheets. The rest is just a strangled moan. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re pushing me out,” he says, knowing there’s nothing you can do about it. The way you clench around him only feeds the fire inside him. Your arousal coating his cock is gasoline to a flame and your warmth captures his self-control. You’re lucky he’s held in place by the tight grip of your walls because he’d pound into you with an animalistic fervor if he wasn’t. 

With the briefest warning, he comes inside you, breathing heavily into your ear. It’s unfortunate that he can’t fuck every drop further into you - not yet - but he’ll happily settle for the sight of messy white leaking out of you, further ruining the sheets beneath your limp body. 

You’re still caught in the aftershocks when he rubs the tip of his dick over your clit, making you squirm. 

“No more, Daddy,” you cry, “I’m too sensitive.”

“Sorry, Baby,” he says, planting a kiss on your forehead. 

Your tiny hands grab his face and pull him into a sweet kiss. 

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you more,” he says and you’re too tired to argue. 

[irisintheafterglow]

Hey there!

Saw your requests were open (if it isnt,just ignore this)

But i just love your satoru x reader and co parenting megumi????and i would KILL to see like, something bad happening to reader (like a mission going wrong,she passing out or getting sick or all) and boys just panicking cause satoru loves reader,and megumi sees her as his mother???

Sorry,im a sucker for hurt/comfort trope

Lots of love!!! you're amazing!

aww this is so cute, thank you for the request anon <3 wrote it as sick fic instead of injury since i,,,, have written like 3 things with that trope recently so let's do a fluffy sick fic instead lol. hope you like it :))

cw/tags: established relationship (pet names babe, baby, sweetheart), gn!reader, some explicit language, mention of eating

"the kid thinks you're gonna die," your boyfriend says as he enters your room, setting a grocery bag on your desk and digging around for the bottle of orange juice. "you're starting to worry me too, honestly."

"i'm not gonna die, babe; i think it's just the flu," you groan, propping yourself on an elbow and attempting to sit up. you're unsuccessful, the throbbing in your head and the chills in your arms too overwhelming. you fall back against the pillow with a less-than-ceremonial thump. satoru crouches in front of you, eyebrows drawn and forehead wrinkled in concern. he pulls down his blindfold and you're met with the bright blue eyes you loved so much.

"yep. looks like you're dying soon," he declares with a curt nod and you scoff, a chuckle turning into an aggressive fit of coughing. satoru is lightning-quick, grabbing a new bottle of water and snapping off the cap before holding it up to your lips. "here, drink." you push his hands away, wordlessly insisting that you can drink on your own while still hacking relentlessly. "nuh-uh, just let me help you." with a frown, you let him tilt the bottle toward you and take a few careful sips. "you are frustratingly stubborn," he sighs.

"i have to be if i need to deal with you all the time," you joke hoarsely, sips of water becoming gulps.

"yeah, but you love me for it," he finishes and you agree with a shrug. "easy, there," he warns as you keep downing the water. "don't want you choking again."

"i'm fine, satoru."

"you've been working yourself too much, you know."

"hypocrite," you counter and he frowns, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. you were right, even though he didn't want to admit it. satoru was always the first one to say that someone was working too hard, just to take the burden for himself. it was a red flag, you said a few weeks ago over convenience store sushi; you also noted his 'concerningly inflated ego, lack of spatial awareness, and general disinterest in things that could be momentarily unpleasant.' you'd finished it, though, with a long-winded comment about how his red flags, in all their scarlet glory, made satoru himself. maybe it was just his melodrama, but he'd cut off his hand if it meant you were able to joke like that again.

"i'm serious. i think your body's shutting down because-"

"because i've been away too long, i know. i don't need a lecture right now, satoru." you swallow the last of the water and settle back onto your pillow, grumbling when you feel the side of your bed sink with your boyfriend's weight. "baby, you're gonna get sick, too."

"that means i get to take a day or two off," he points out, fitting his face into the divot between your shoulder and neck. despite your complaints, he throws off the comforter and replaces the blankets with his arms. "don't grrrr me, babe. you need to burn off your fever and i run warmer than any of these sheets."

"aren't i sweaty and stinky and yucky? how can you be touching me when i'm all gross?"

"you mean, how can i love on you right now when you're just being a human?"

"mhmm. you don't find it gross?"

"of course not, sweetheart," he reassures you with a kiss to your shoulder. "i'd be a real dickhead if i only loved you when you were feeling 100%."

"yeah, you're only half a dickhead for other reasons," you murmur into the pillowcase and he laughs, the sound reverberating against your back. before your eyes settle shut, you catch the door of your room opening and vaguely make out a messy head of black hair peeking around the corner. "megs?"

"oi, adults only," the other occupant of the bed threatens, pulling you closer and attempting to flip you to your other side to face him. you unbuckle satoru from around you, though, and manage to sit up. megumi pads carefully into the room, like you'd crumble into sand if his steps were too loud. "come in, i guess," your boyfriend says dramatically with a wave of his hand.

"satoru, i swear-"

"sorry, baby. shutting up." satoru flops back onto your bed and you reach out to megumi, who stares at your hand for a moment before rushing into your arms. "hey, megs. since you're here, you mind grabbing me a soda from the breakroom?"

"i thought you were shutting up, satoru," you remind him, voice poisonously sweet. he echoes your reminder in a mockingly high-pitched voice. "i'm gonna kick you out of my room if you don't stop, mister."

"you wouldn't dare," he gasps.

"oh, i would."

"yeah," he concedes. "you definitely would, but i love you for it." with satoru temporarily placated, you return your attention to the small child in your arms.

"you doing okay, megs?" he nods, eyes shut against your chest and holding you tight. "i'm not gonna die, buddy. i promise." you rub your hand up and down his back, combing your fingers through his hair when you're abruptly swung backward onto the bed. "jeez, satoru, what are you-"

"get the kid, it's nap time," he mumbles with finality, resecuring his body around yours and motioning for megumi to climb in. he does, and you drift off sandwiched between your boys, feeling a little lighter for the first time in days.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[rileyslibrary]

Idk if you’re taking commissions rn but if you are.. Can you do one where reader acts as Ghosts weighted blanket after an anxiety attack? I feel like he’d love that xx

I’m glad you asked for the reader to act as Ghost’s weighted blanket instead of the other way around because that would be like being flattened by a road roller. Also, it is good to note that anxiety attacks are not the same as panic attacks. Yes, they do have some similarities, but they differ. This story is about Ghost having an anxiety attack, so bear that in mind.

And let’s be clear here: he would never explicitly ask you to do such a thing.

Never.

In fact, he would never ask you to do anything that would need you to be physically attached to him, neither from the front nor back. And his anxiety, if he ever suffers from it—which I’m sure he does because, come on, who doesn’t in our times, plus it is mentioned in the comics—he can cover it pretty well.

But it takes one to know one, right? You’ve had your fair share of anxiety attacks; you know they are not sudden or obvious. Instead, they develop slowly, gradually. That sense of general unease lingers, haunting him for weeks, even months. He doesn’t start trembling or shaking out of nowhere. This one is subtle but constant, like a leaky faucet that drips every few seconds. He feels restless and triggered by something vague that he can’t understand himself. All. The. Time.

He knows what a panic attack is; he experienced it multiple times before, mainly due to the nature of his work. But an anxiety attack? To a soldier who associated the word “attack” with something swift, sudden and imminent? There’s no such thing as an anxiety attack to him.

No.

He doesn’t comprehend this constant need to stay in control, why he’s always tense, his inability to take a full, deep breath. To him, that’s just how his body functions. Relaxation has been a foreign concept since childhood, so he’s normalised it. And he learned how to bear these symptoms instead of understanding what triggers them and learning how to alleviate them.

You’ve observed the pattern; he tends to become like that a few months before a mission, so you were able to put one and one together.

And one day, you find him lying face-down on the bed. Something prompts you, and you crawl on top of him. He shifts and asks you, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing”. Maybe he even tries to stand up while you are on his back, and you ask him to trust you; he’ll see.

He’s hesitant but obeys, though he’s more alert than ever now. You settle on top of him; he feels like he’s carved from wood, but not because of his physique. He’s tense. Stiff. Rigid. He’s afraid to let go. He holds his breath. His palms are pressed into the mattress beside his chest, ready to spring into a burpee and launch you back to where you came from.

Yet he doesn’t do it. Slowly his muscles relax under your body, and you feel him gradually—though clumsily—release tension in each body part; his legs, back, and then his shoulders. He finally lets go of the breath he’s been holding, replaced by a long exhale, his first in months. He places his hands on the sides of his body and lets out a repressed chuckle.

You ask him why he’s laughing, and he asks you to turn your face away because you are breathing into his ear. You comply.

With you not watching, he can finally close his eyes now. Good.

But even Ghost can take so much weight. Or so much intimacy. After a while, he snaps out of it, and he wriggles out from under you, letting you fall on the mattress, muttering a brief “Enough.” He doesn’t thank you for anything. What did you really do? Yes, he feels a little lighter, and his mind is clearer, but all you did was rest on him. That’s all. No need to thank you for that.

He needs it, though. Again and again. No, he doesn’t need you, of course. No, silly. He craves that sensation again—letting go. So whenever he feels overwhelmed, he awkwardly gestures toward his back and asks you sternly to “do that thing”. And you try to suppress your laughter and obey his command.

And slowly, just like his anxiety attacks come and go, he realises that it’s not just your weight on top of him that soothes him. It’s you, your will to make him feel better, your heart beating against his back, your form attached to him that makes all this chaos in the world feel a little bit more manageable than before.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Seeing all this stuff on Cat König and Horangi being complete assholes just makes me wonder how they’d act if they saw their caretaker just..genuinely upset..like when they’d usually be yelling at König for eating all the food or at Horangi for being a little destructive goblin their just nowhere to be found, and of course they get confused because come on..the person who’s always yelling just goes silent out of nowhere? So when they look for them they find them just in their bed, completely covered up, not moving, and that just makes me wonder how they’d react, would König go for the sit on them till they suffocate and have to move..Horangi with the constant baps..or would they actually try to give them little head buts or just lay by them? I don’t know it just seems like an interesting scenario to me ever since I kept seeing all this stuff on this topic.

I think Horangi would be the first to notice, but König would be the first to actually check on the reader. Not that Horangi doesn't care, it's just when he notices what's going on he feels so bad that he doesn't know what to do. When König notices, he makes a plan.

König would be eerily silent. Normally he's so anxious that he always has his claws out, making little tippy taps as he scurries about. For this one moment, he's calm and prepared.

He ever so gently lays down beside you as close as he can to you. Maybe he might lay on you if he thinks that would be good for you, but I see him more as the type to lay down by your side and lay his chin on his paws. He'll swish his tail over top of you and press in close.

It takes a second for you to notice. At first, you're too miserable to move, but you remember your therapist told you to pet animals when you're distressed, so you figure you might as well.

As soon as you start petting König he lets out the most glorious purr. For a cat with such pathetic crackly mews, the purr he lets out is so deep and rich you'd think he was replaced by a fake. He rolls into you and burrows into your arms. He tries to rub his face against yours and tries to pull you in close to his side.

As soon as Horangi notices that König hasn't been punted to the other side of the room, and rather that König's actually helping, he's in on it too.

He comes up to your other side and curls around you too. He's purring too, bright and comfortable. He's a bit more playful and energetic in his affections. He's rolling over to let you scratch his belly, but then he grabs you with soft paws and licks your hand. He's a giant sweetheart about it all. Unlike König, who's all snugggles, Horangi likes to lick your fingers, hands, your face if he can get close enough.

If König isn't there to give Horangi the ques, it takes him a bit longer to figure out that he needs to get out of his own head and help out. He's scared to reach out. You can't blame him. I know you might want to, but he's scared to make it worse.

He can't leave you to suffer forever though. It isn't that long before he's trepiditiously padding over to your side. He sits by your head and just watches nervously for a moment. He hesitates, but he does do the little nervous batting. He tries to get your attention as carefully as he can.

When you turn over, his heart breaks. If König were here, he'd know what to do. Horangi tries his best to figure out what he can do.

Soon, he's pulling a König move, something Horangi never does. Horangi's an independent cat. He doesn't like being picked up, he doesn't like being held. You can hold König upside down, but Horangi doesn't really like to be touched too often.

When you're sad and broken, he pushes all his pride aside and crawls up to sit on you. He's not a crushing weight like König, he's just a warm little blanket. He sits on top of you and he purrs.

It doesn't make everything go away, but feeling Horangi reach out to you first, it melts your heart. You can't help but smile when you reach up a hand and Horangi shoves his face into your palm. He's desperate to see you smile just a little bit more.

Both cat hybrids genuinely care about you. They can be menaces, but they're good men. They love their owner (König a bit more possessively than Horangi) and both of them want to see their owner happy. They'll do what they can to make you smile when you're feeling down, no matter what.

[therealmrsgojo]

Timeless

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: you have been dreaming of a man ever since you were little; different lives with him were spent in your dreams, but when you wake up, his face becomes blurry, and you forget his name. maybe, in your real life, you might see him too. warnings: past lives, reincarnation au, kinda inspired by a song called timeless, soldier gojo, captain gojo, doctor reader, mentions of injuries, dreams, death, angst, comfort, and happy ending. word count: 10.5k

"I know that you and I would've found each other In another life, you still would've turned my head."

Present day

Sitting in the hospital break room, you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of your exhaustion.

The walls around you are stark white, and you lean back in your chair, cradling your third cup of coffee for the day. Despite the caffeine coursing through your veins, you can't shake off the fatigue that has settled into your bones.

Still holding your coffee, you trudge the hallway toward the restroom, your feet dragging on the tiles. You're grateful for the brief respite, a chance to relieve yourself, and take a moment to collect your thoughts.

You entered the restroom, and you glanced at yourself in the large mirror above the sink.

"What a sight you are." You can't help but chuckle at your unkempt hair, crumpled collar, and slightly moist eyes that beg for rest. You quickly run your fingers through your hair, trying to smooth it down and look presentable.

As a third-year general surgery resident at the prestigious University of Tokyo Hospital, you know that exhaustion is par for the course. Your days are filled with evaluating patients, obtaining medical histories, performing physical examinations, and assisting in surgeries.

In spite of the exhaustion and doubts that creep into your mind, you remember that one gratitude from a patient can make it all worth it.

Helping people has always had your heart in it.

You finished using the restroom and washed your hands at the sink, cleaning rigorously. After drying your hands, you grabbed your coffee cup and sipped the last bit of your warm beverage before disposing it in the nearby trash bin.

Exiting the restroom, you checked the time on your watch and realized with dismay that you had been working tirelessly for 14 straight hours. Your mind and body begged for rest.

Sighing deeply, you called it a day and reached for your smartphone to text your colleague about your departure. You made your way towards the rest areas of your residency building, eager to collapse on one of the double deck beds.

Entering the rest area, you couldn't help but smile at the sight of the inviting beds that you had been dreaming of all day. You remove your top shirt, knowing no one is around to see you and replace it with fresh clothes from your mini drawer.

After removing your shoes, you crawl onto the soft mattress and let out a small laugh of contentment.

"Fucking finally." You stretched your limbs and pulled the blanket over your body, feeling the softness of the fabric against your skin. You close your eyes and let out a deep breath, feeling the day's stress slowly melt away as you drift off to sleep.

1944

The morning was calm and peaceful, with warm kisses pressed onto your skin, creating a sense of comfort and safety. You could feel your husband's hands roaming around your waist as he whispered sweet promises on your skin.

Slowly waking up from your slumber, you reached out to the hands holding your waist, sensing something amiss.

"Satoru, what's wrong?" Your worried voice asked as you looked at the man hugging you as if it were the end of the world.

"Just hugging my beautiful wife," he replied with a smile as he moved closer to you, kissing your lips lovingly and slowly. You gazed at him, seeing his white hair and piercing blue eyes that always made your heart ache with love and longing.

As the kiss ended, you whispered, "It's today, isn't it?" His smile faltered, and you could sense the anxiety and fear in his eyes.

It was today, the day your husband was to be deployed to the war. You felt a churn in your stomach as you remembered all the stories of the horrors of war and the uncertainty of whether he would return home alive or not.

You avoided his gaze, afraid that he would see the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You knew you needed to be strong in front of him, to support him and lift his spirits. You didn't want him to be stressed or distracted on the war front, as that would be the last thing he needed.

"Sweetheart," he said, his voice low and soft, "Can we hug more before we get out of our bed? I wouldn't mind being late today if that means I get to be with you more."

Without a word, you nodded and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly. You looked into his eyes and said, "I love you."

"I love you too, (Y/N)," he replied, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

Minutes that felt like seconds passed, and before you knew it, your husband was walking away from the porch of your home. You watched him leave as you stood on the porch of your home, cradling your hands to your chest.

It was hard to hold back your tears as you watched him walk away, the distance between you growing with each step.

But then, Satoru turned back, looking at you with a pained expression. Without hesitation, he ran back to you and tightly wrapped his arms around you. You sobbed, feeling his tears fall on your shoulders.

"I promise to get back home as soon as possible, okay? Don't be too sad. I promise I'll come back to you. We'll see each other again, every time. You wait for me," he said, his voice cracking with emotion as he cupped your face as if trying to memorize your features.

He kissed away your tears and continued, "I'll write you letters so you won't get too lonely."

You nodded, feeling a mixture of love and sadness in your heart. "Take care of yourself, Satoru. I'll wait for your return," you said softly, holding him close.

Kisses were exchanged, hands were tangled in each other's hair as the two of you promised to see each other again. It was a bittersweet moment, but you knew your love would endure, no matter how far apart you were.

As time flew by, days turned into weeks, which then transformed into months, marking the most prolonged duration you had ever been separated from your husband since your marriage.

The distance between you both seemed unbearable, and the only way to stay connected was through letters sent back and forth. Every word written in these letters was crafted with the utmost care and love as both of you poured your hearts out on the paper.

Gojo Satoru took every opportunity to share the most minor details with you, expressing his love and longing for you.

You developed a daily routine of reading his letters, savoring each and every word as if it were a vital source of oxygen. The mere act of holding those pieces of paper in your hands and tracing your fingers over his familiar handwriting brought you a sense of comfort that nothing else could.

It was as though your heart could only find solace in the assurance that he was still out there; he's alive in the middle of the war, thinking of you and missing you just as much as you missed him.

Letters that can soothe the ache in your chest.

I can't even begin to describe how much I miss you, my dear wife. Every single day, from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed, you're on my mind. I think about the way you laugh, the way you smile, the way you move, the way you talk, the way you love. You are the most important person in my life, and I cherish every moment we've spent together. I know we're apart right now, but please know that my love for you is as strong as ever. I hope to see you soon, hold you, kiss you, and tell you how much you mean to me. You are the light of my life, my light in this war. I love you more than words can express, and I can't wait to be with you again.

As you finish reading the final lines of the latest letter you received, you can't help but feel a warm glow spread across your chest. You place the letter on your bedside table, making a mental note to write back tomorrow and express how much you appreciate their words.

With a contented sigh, you reach for your comb and carefully work out the tangles and knots in your hair. The rhythmic motion of the combing is soothing, and you feel yourself growing more and more relaxed as you prepare for bed.

After caring for your hair, you finally finished and decided to call it a night. You tossed and turned around the bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but to no avail.

A deep frown formed on your face as you kept your eyes closed, hoping that sleep would eventually come.

You let out a deep breath, slowly opening your eyes to find that your husband's side of the bed is empty. Your heart sank as you stared at the vacant space beside you, looking bare and empty.

You try to shake off the feeling, but it persists, and you find yourself unable to look away from his spot.

After several minutes of staring at the bed, you finally pull yourself out of it and walk to the closet. You start digging through your husband's clothes, searching for something that still carries his scent.

Finally, you find one of his shirts and hold it up to your nose, taking a deep breath.

The familiar scent of his envelops you; tears start streaming down your face as you clutch the shirt to your chest, whispering silent prayers for your husband's safety. You sob into the shirt, longing to be with him and wishing that he was there to hold you to sleep.

You were only able to sleep, hugging his clothes tightly on your chest.

Another month passed, and you found yourself walking back to your humble abode, a basket full of fresh produce tightly clutched in your hands. The sun began to set, and the sky was painted with hues of orange and pink.

You smiled as you thought about the meal you would prepare for your husband, Satoru, later that evening.

You received a letter from him just last week informing you that he would return home today after being finally discharged from the war.

Standing in the kitchen, you were determined to prepare the dish to perfection, having the recipe memorized like the back of your hand. You carefully measured the ingredients, double-checking each one to ensure everything was just right. As you stirred the pot, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction at the sight of the fragrant steam rising from the mixture.

You knew your husband deserved the best and were determined to give him just that.

With each passing moment, your anticipation grew as you imagined his face with his bright blue eyes, knowing he would like this delicious meal he craved from his letters.

The savory aroma of your cooking wafted through the entire kitchen as you put the finishing touches on the plates and set them on the dining table.

Everything was ready; all that was left to do was wait for your significant other to arrive.

You walked over to the living room and positioned yourself near the front door, where you could see and hear anyone approaching. You checked the time and noticed that it was getting late. You couldn't help but wonder if he would be later than usual.

As the hours ticked by, the darkness of the night seemed to grow heavier, food forgotten and cold as your anxiety began to mount.

You waited patiently, but worry was evident on your face. You found yourself staring at the clock, hoping to see his arrival soon.

The minutes turned into hours, and your eyes grew heavy as you sat alone, waiting for him to arrive.

Eventually, you couldn't keep your eyes open any longer and decided to rest, thinking that his knock would wake you up.

You were startled by a series of loud knocks on your door. Your eyes fluttered open just in time to catch a glimpse of the bright sunshine peeking through your curtains.

You realized that you had slept through the entire night, and it was morning.

Feeling a sudden rush of excitement, you quickly got out of the couch and dashed towards the door, a wide grin spreading across your face. You were unfazed by the delay. All that mattered was that your husband had finally arrived.

You opened the door, and a tall and muscular man with long black hair partially tied up in a man bun greeted you.

Your smile faded, and your heart sank as you realized he was not who you were hoping for.

"Good morning, I'm looking for Gojo Y/N," he said softly.

"I am Gojo Y/N," you answered, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. You wondered who this man was and why he was looking for you.

He then started to search his backpack, and you finally took notice of his clothes. It was no doubt that he was in the military, judging by the clothes he wore. He wore a green camouflage shirt and pants and a black tactical backpack slung over one shoulder.

Finally, he pulled out an envelope and a dog tag, which he held out to you. Your heart began to race as you saw the familiar handwriting on the envelope - it was your husband's.

"What?" You took the items with your trembling hands, muttering, "What is this?"

Your mind had some understanding, but your heart refused to believe.

"We were on our way back when a sudden explosion took place. It occurred from the military truck he was riding with. Despite our efforts, we couldn't find survivors or even bodies. It was a devastating experience that left us shaken and heartbroken." He started, eyes looking down as he continued, "I am sorry for your loss -"

"Stop," you interrupted him firmly, lips quivering with emotion, "Please stop."

He looked at you with a mixture of sorrow and concern. "I'm Geto Suguru," he introduced himself, his voice gentle. "Tomorrow, we will be holding a memorial for them, even if we don't have the remains. You can find me there if you go. I'm sure Satoru wouldn't like for you to be alone. He would hate me if that happened." He paused momentarily, adding, "I'll come back and check on you. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Leave," you said, your voice shaking with emotion. You didn't have the strength to look at him, so you turned around and closed the door loudly.

You took heavy steps towards the bedroom, feeling the weight of your grief crushing down on you. As you entered the room, you sank to the ground, the letter still clutched tightly in your hand.

You began to hyperventilate, your chest heaving with sobs as you struggled to catch your breath. You let out a loud, piercing scream, the pain and anger in your heart bursting forth. You threw the letter to the ground and shouted curses into the empty room, your hands gripping your hair tightly as you rocked back and forth.

"You're a liar!" Tears streamed down your face as you shouted, consumed by the overwhelming heartache and anguish that had taken hold of you.

Reading that letter would mean accepting his death, and you refused to do so.

You cried uncontrollably for hours, hugging yourself tightly as if to protect yourself from the harsh reality. Your face was puffy and red from all the tears you shed as you called out for your husband's name, wishing this was all a dream.

But deep down, you knew he wouldn't come back. If only you had known, you would have never gone to the trouble of cooking his favorite meal, fixing his clothes, preparing his bath, or smoothing the side of his bed.

Now, all you have is you, sitting amidst the dark walls of your home and the weight of misery that surrounds you. It's a deep grief that seems to envelop you like a heavy blanket that you can't escape from.

The only sounds you can hear are the sobs escaping your lips and the breath you no longer want to take. You look around, taking in the familiar surroundings that, once filled with hope that he would return as he promised you, are now unattainable and shattered.

A sense of heaviness seems to saturate every corner of the room, leaving you feeling adrift and detached from the world outside.

As you sat there, lost in your thoughts, time seemed to slip away unnoticed. Before you knew it, the sun had set, and darkness enveloped the room.

You realized with a start that you had been sitting in the same spot for hours, unmoving, ever since you received the devastating news about your husband.

Your mind was racing with a million thoughts and emotions, and you felt utterly paralyzed by the weight of it all.

As you looked around, you noticed the letter your husband had left on the ground, still untouched. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you were ready to face whatever was written inside. But then you took a deep breath and made up your mind to read it.

Slowly, you reached for the letter, fingers trembling with anticipation and anxiety.

As you unfolded the paper, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread wash over you as you saw your name first.

My dearest Y/N, If you are reading this letter, it means that I have departed from this world, my wife. But I have not left you. I could never leave you alone, not even for a moment. I would never do that to you. I want you to remember that my love for you will never die, not even in our next life. I will carry it with me always, wherever I go. As a soldier, I am aware of the risks involved in every mission, and I write this letter to you with a heavy heart that I can barely breathe, hoping that you will never have to read this, and if you do, please forgive me. The time we spent together was the best years of my life, and I cherish every memory we created. When you came into my life, heaven had opened its gates for me. Knowing you was the most incredible honor I could ever have. Even if gold or silver is placed on my grave, nothing will ever compare to the love you've given me. I don't have any major regrets in my life, but if there is one thing that I wish I could have done differently, it's that I wasn't able to give you the gift of a family. I know that having children was important to you, and it hurts me deeply that I wasn't able to make that happen for us. I hope you can forgive me for not being able to fulfill this dream of ours. I am scared, Y/N, scared that you will not take care of yourself, scared that you will forget about me. Please promise me that you will care for yourself and live a long and happy life. I do not want you to worry about me or grieve for too long, for I will always be with you, watching over you. Please always remember that I love you more than anything in this world. I promise I'll return to you, and we'll find each other again in our next life. You can count on that. You can rely on that. I could write endless letters, but I don't want to cause you any more pain. Please know I'll always be with you; I will keep my promise. Your husband, Gojo Satoru PS: I know that we will meet again, my wife.

You feel a tremble in your hands as you finish reading the letter your husband wrote to you. Tears flow down your cheeks despite the pain that it causes your eyes, as you have been crying for hours.

You hold his letter tightly against your chest, whimpering your husband's name as you take shallow breaths. The words he wrote to you are etched deeply into your heart and soul, as they are the last you will ever hear from him.

Gojo Satoru had loved you until his very last breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, 'Toru," you croak out, sobbing uncontrollably as you whisper apologies like a mantra that could somehow bring your husband back to life.

You regret calling him a liar earlier, and you wish that you nothing but take back those words.

Present

You suddenly opened your eyes, whines leaving your lips and the heaviness in your chest. You were crying.

Confused and disoriented, you looked around the room and noticed Shoko, your colleague resident doctor, sitting beside you. She had a startled expression, but she was doing her best to gently comfort you by patting your back.

You knew you must have been dreaming again, but the details were hazy and blurry. It was strange and unsettling, like you had just awakened from a different reality.

Trying to recall the details of the dream, you realized that it was vivid, but you couldn't remember everything.

"I'm sorry I woke you up, Y/N. You have been crying and trashing in your sleep." Shoko gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "Another weird dream of yours?" She added, giving you a bottled water.

You nod in agreement, feeling a bit dizzy. Shoko was your childhood friend whom you have known since grade school. She had been the person you had confided in about your strange and unsettling dreams for as long as you could remember.

You took a sip of water and tried to gather your thoughts. "This time, he was a soldier, and he, he died," you muttered, barely able to articulate the jumbled images that had been plaguing you. "God, I swear I can see his face and say his name in my dreams, but it's all blurred now."

Shoko nodded sympathetically, her expression one of concern. "This has been going on since we were kids, Y/N," she replied, her voice gentle and soothing. "I remember the last time you cried like that, was when you told me about that white-haired man and how you ran away together because you were supposed to marry another man." She paused for a moment, searching for the right words. "I suggested that you seek help, maybe from a dream interpreter or something."

You take a few moments to regain your composure and try to piece together what happened.

The memories of your past dreams rushed back to you, and you were sure it had been the same man you had never met before.

"I don't really have the time for that right now. I can barely manage to go home and visit my mom," you replied, gripping your hair in frustration. Your best friend then stood up to take off her lab coat.

"I also researched some things about that," Shoko said, trying to reassure you. "It can be your past life or past memory."

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. "I think I'm going insane," you muttered, entirely overwhelmed by the situation.

Your best friend chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Yeah, that's another possibility, too," she said. "Especially since you've never even had a boyfriend at the age of twenty-five. You're a hopeless romantic, my friend."

You couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed. You had tried to put yourself out there, going on blind dates and meeting new people, but nothing ever seemed to stick. You just couldn't seem to fall in love, no matter how hard you tried.

And now, with these dreams, you felt even more lost.

"I feel like I'll betray him if I did," you mumbled to yourself, feeling guilty for even considering the possibility of falling in love with someone else. You knew it was irrational, but the thought of being with anyone else didn't sit right with you.

You glanced at Shoko and wished her a quick goodbye, knowing that she was going to take some rest now. You then got up from bed, feeling refreshed after a good six-hour sleep.

You walked over to your assigned drawer and picked out all the necessary items; you went to the bathroom to shower.

The warm water cascaded down your body, washing away all the tiredness and exhaustion from your mind. As you finished your shower, you quickly dried yourself off and got into the fresh set of clothes you had picked earlier. You then took a moment to dry your hair and put some moisturizer on your face to keep it hydrated throughout the day. Lastly, you applied a thin layer of pink lipgloss, ensuring your lips were soft and supple.

After getting ready, you checked your phone and saw a few notifications reminding you of your daily responsibilities.

With a deep breath, you set out to tackle the day head-on, feeling energized and motivated to fulfill all your duties.

You made your way down the hospital's long hallway, and your footsteps echoed through the corridor. You straightened the collar of your white lab coat, feeling the cool fabric against the back of your neck.

Approaching a corner, you saw two nurses chatting quietly to each other behind the information table. Nobara, one of the nurses, noticed you and greeted you with a warm smile.

"Good morning, Dr. Y/N!" she exclaimed, holding a folder towards you. "Here are the files for the patients you'll be doing morning check-ups on today."

You took the folder and smiled back at Nobara, appreciating her enthusiastic attitude. You flipped through the pages, taking note of any potential issues or concerns.

The hospital loudspeaker blared out, "Code Blue, Code Blue! All available doctors, nurses, and medical staff near the emergency room are needed. Code Blue." It was a clear indication that something serious had happened that required the attention of all medical personnel in the vicinity.

Without wasting time, you quickly handed your folder to Nobara, who stashed it away and promptly moved to join you. The two of you rushed to the emergency bay, and as soon as you arrived, your eyes widened in shock as you saw a chaotic scene; medical personnel were running around, attending to the patients.

Stretchers were being hurriedly moved around, and people rushed around the hospital room in a frenzy.

As you tried to take in the situation, a first-year resident named Maki called you, "Dr. Y/N, there has been a shooting incident, and we were instructed to apply first aid as soon as possible." Her voice was filled with urgency, and you knew that time was of the essence.

"Got that, Maki. Nobara, please gather some supplies." You immediately got to work, assessed the situation, and walked towards the patient nearest to you.

You heard Nobara's footsteps approaching; she quickly laid out all the necessary medical supplies beside you. Your focus was solely on the patient before you, and you worked with precision and care as you began cleaning the wounded area. The nurse beside you looked on in amazement as she watched you work.

"Dr. Y/N, I must say, I have never seen someone work as swiftly and diligently as you do," she mumbled in awe, her voice filled with admiration. You couldn't help but let out a small chuckle in response before turning your attention back to your patient.

After skillfully completing the stitching procedure on your patient, you took a minute to ensure everything was perfectly in place.

You then carefully removed your medical gloves, disposing of them safely while relaying crucial information regarding the next steps your patient needs.

"Help! My captain needs help, anyone please!" You suddenly heard a panicked voice calling out. You turned around to see a man with pink hair, dressed in a green military uniform, running towards you with a look of desperation on his face.

He then grabbed your wrists and pulled you towards one of the bed stretchers in the hospital.

You gently removed his hands from your wrists and asked, "What happened? How can I help?" The man was panting heavily, and it took a moment for him to compose himself. He explained, "My captain needs help urgently. He's been injured protecting me, and I think he stopped breathing. I don't know what to do."

You quickened your pace upon hearing his explanation, and as you approached the scene, you caught a glimpse of his captain lying on a stretcher, looking pale and in pain.

But as you moved closer, your eyes widened in shock as you recognized the white-haired man lying on the stretcher, the same man who had been evading your dreams ever since you were little.

Throughout your life, this man has appeared in your dreams, eluding your grasp and leaving you with a sense of longing and curiosity. He has also been a constant presence in your thoughts, occupying your mind as you go about your daily life.

When you were in high school, you found yourself drawing him in the back of your notebooks, trying to capture his essence on paper.

There were times when you even cried over him, missing him despite never having met or even knowing his name.

This man has left an indelible mark on your heart and soul; now he is in front of you, unmoving and not breathing.

"No, no, no." The memories of your last dreams played in your head, making you panic, and your breaths became labored as a surge of panic engulfed your body, causing you to tremble uncontrollably.

Suddenly, Nobara's voice called out your name, breaking you out of your trance. "Dr. Y/N! Are you okay? He's not breathing," she said, noticing your distress, as she sat beside the man.

You immediately sprang into action, shouting orders frantically, "Step back, now! Get the Defibrillator and ECG Machine, immediately. Call for a cardiac doctor, too."

You quickly propped yourself on the man's bed, removing his pillow to flatten his body. Your hands pressed down on his chest as you began giving him chest compressions, counting 30 on your head while taking notice of his face.

You weren't mistaken. It was him. How could you ever forget his face?

Tears welled up in your eyes as you continued with the chest compressions, making sure the steps were precise and accurate. Nobara returned a moment later, quickly followed by one of the cardiac doctors named Utahime, who placed the medical equipment on the body of the white-haired man. But your focus remained on the compressions as you ignored everything else.

Utahime noticed the sweat on your forehead and offered to take over, "Dr. Y/N, I can take over." But you shook your head, "No. Start working with the Defibrillator, please. I'm almost done."

You and Utahime worked together, following the necessary steps to revive the man. The minutes seemed like an eternity as you could barely breathe due to nervousness.

Finally, you heard his heartbeat back in the monitor beside you. You stared at him, your hands shaking lightly as you finally calmed down.

One medical staff wheeled the captain into one of the rooms, and Utahime turned to you, "Do you know him? Don't worry; he is in good hands. We'll do everything we can to help. Everything is under control now. You can take a rest."

You fulfilled your other responsibilities, your mind remained preoccupied with thoughts of the white-haired man you had encountered. Despite the passage of time, he continued to linger in your thoughts. His face kept flashing in your eyes.

Throughout the day, Utahime informed you about the man's condition, providing updates on his progress as he received medical attention.

You expressed your gratitude to her for keeping you in the loop, and she promised to let you know as soon as he woke up from his unconscious state.

"Y/N," you were startled by Shoko's arrival, "You haven't eaten, have you? I heard you helped with the emergency earlier, too. Come on, let's eat." She said.

You nodded wordlessly, following your friend to the cafeteria. As she ordered, Shoko noticed that your eyes were fixed on the ground, and you kept sighing. Sensing that something was troubling you, she asked, "What's wrong? Tell me."

You hesitated at first, not knowing how to convey your thoughts. You finally took another deep breath and said, "I don't know if you'll believe me, but I met him earlier." You sighed, feeling a heavy weight in your chest as memories of him flooded again in your mind.

Shoko looked at you quizzically and asked, "Who?" You looked back at her, not knowing how to answer when you didn't even know the man's name. It took a few minutes for her to understand, but when she did, she let out a loud screech of shock and shouted your name. "What? What's his name? Where is he? What happened!?" she asked, her hands shaking your shoulders.

Shoko's expression softened as she saw the tears welling up in your eyes. "Oh, I see," she said empathetically. "How can you be sure that it's him? What are your plans, honey?"

"It's him, Shoko," you said, feeling your voice shake a little. "I can't believe that I even forgot his face. But I don't know. I feel like I should not approach him at all. I would sound like an insane person if I ever did."

She sighed and said, "Who said you need to tell him immediately? You can just drop by and say hello. Let fate play out on its own, Y/N. You don't need to do anything about it."

You smiled at your best friend, grateful for her advice and carefree attitude that you needed. You spent the rest of the meal together, describing him to her and enjoying each other's company.

You were bidding farewell to Shoko outside the hospital cafeteria when she received an urgent call for her assistance in surgery.

You watched her quickly approach the operating room while you headed toward the elevator to check on one of your patients. As you approached the nurses' station, you noticed a familiar figure - a man with distinctive pink hair, eyes scanning the area intently as if searching for someone specific.

He was the pink-haired boy who asked for your help. As you approached him, you noticed his anxious expression and asked, "Sir, is everything okay?"

He seemed taken aback momentarily before gathering himself and responding, "Oh, there you are, Miss Doctor! I was looking for you." He scratched his head awkwardly and continued, "I just want to thank you personally for saving my captain. We owe it all to you." He bowed deeply, his gratitude palpable.

You smiled warmly at him and patted his shoulders when he stood straight again. "Thank you for acting so quickly. Your help made it possible for us to save him."

The boy beamed, a light flush rising in his cheeks. "Thank you again, Dr. He's very important to us all," he said earnestly.

You were intrigued by his words and asked him to elaborate. "Really?"

The boy looked surprised by your question and answered, "Yes. Tell me anything you want, and we'll try to do it for you in return."

"Well, do you mind telling me his name?" you asked shyly, your eyes avoiding his gaze as you gripped your coat.

"Huh? Um, yeah, he's our captain, Gojo Satoru," the boy replied, looking at you curiously.

Gojo Satoru.

When he spoke the name, you felt a jolt of recognition run through you. It was a name you had never heard before, but you couldn't quite place it where. It felt familiar as if you had muttered that name countless times before.

"Does, does he have blue eyes?" Your voice was barely above a whisper as you struggled to control your emotions.

The man across from you tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Yes," he finally answered, his tone growing more puzzled by the second. "Why do you ask?"

Feeling your heart thump back in your chest, you replied quickly, "Just, just because. I better be going now. I have some work to do." You turned around to start walking away, your mind racing about what could happen if you stayed.

However, before you could get too far, the young boy's voice cut through the silence. "Doctor! Once he wakes up, please pay us a visit! So he can thank you too in person." You kept walking, answering him in silence.

You had faced challenging surgeries and worked consecutive shifts in the hospital, but the thought of seeing him again in his awakened state sent shivers down your spine. You didn't know if you had the strength to face him.

It was as if you weren't wishing to meet him throughout your life, wondering if he would love you as he did in your dreams.

The day ended, and you left your workplace and walked home to your apartment, which was located nearby. You were looking forward to your rest day, scheduled for tomorrow.

Utahime texted you in the morning to inform you that Gojo Satoru had finally woken up, letting you know there would be no complications.

You spent the day resting, finding it difficult to sleep as your thoughts kept returning to the white-haired man.

You were scared that he might not even spare you a second glance, and you felt a sense of helplessness as you wondered about the possibility of him being discharged from the hospital quickly.

This could mean you would lose the chance to meet him again and be left in the dark about his whereabouts.

Despite your fears, you found yourself walking back to the hospital in the afternoon, unable to resist the urge to catch a glimpse of him, even if he was far away.

You felt a mix of emotions - hope, fear, and uncertainty - as you tried to calm your nerves and prepare yourself for whatever lay ahead.

Let fate play out on its own, Y/N.

You arrived at the hospital, and friendly staff greeted you warmly when they saw you. You explained that you were just there to retrieve something you had forgotten from the doctor's resting quarters.

Your nerves didn't stop you from walking on autopilot, your feet carrying you toward the private room where he was supposedly resting.

You longed to see his face, hear his voice, and just to see him again.

When you approached the room, you noticed the door was slightly ajar, and you could hear laughter and voices coming from within.

You were about to leave when a familiar voice called out your name, and you turned to see a pink-haired boy beaming at you. He was holding a brown bag filled with snacks, and a dark-haired boy stood beside him, nodding at you in acknowledgment.

"Miss doctor!" the boy exclaimed. "Did you come to visit us? He's awake now, too."

"I just happened to be passing by, dear. I'm sorry to disturb you," you replied, trying to keep your voice calm.

You turned your gaze back to the private room and noticed the door was now open wide, and the people inside had heard your conversation. Your eyes widened as you finally saw Gojo Satoru, the man you had been thinking about all day.

He looked at you with his cerulean blue eyes, witnessing your conversation with the pink-haired boy; his white hair was slightly unkempt, and his skin glowing as the sun reflected off it.

His head was slightly tilted as he inspected your face, and he looked ethereal.

You were so lost in his gaze that your background blurred, and it was as if the two of you were in your own little world. It took some time before he finally spoke out, "Yuuji."

You broke the staring contest you had with him and felt a rush of blood to your chest as you avoided his gaze. "Come on, let me introduce you," Yuuji said, holding your elbow and guiding you into the hospital room.

As you walked into the room, you noticed that the people with whom Gojo Satoru was laughing earlier excused themselves before you came in. You cleared your throat awkwardly and noticed that Satoru was still looking at you with curiosity in his eyes.

"Captain! This is the doctor I told you about. Be nice, she's your savior!" Yuuji exclaimed while laughing. He put down the brown bag he was holding on the nearby table.

Satoru was surprised and said, "Hello. Nice to meet you, and thank you for everything, Doctor." He gave you a small smile, grateful as his eyes memorized your face.

"It's good to see you up," you mentioned while returning a small smile. You fiddled with your fingers as your heartbeat became louder in your chest, finding it hard to keep eye contact with him.

"Megumi and I have been looking for you, Miss Doctor, since the captain woke up," Yuuji interjected, mentioning the black-haired boy beside him, whom you realized was Megumi.

"It's actually my day off every Sunday. I just needed to stop by to get some things," you countered, explaining your civilian clothes. "And you can call me Dr. Y/N; just Y/N is fine, too. Whichever you prefer."

The pink-haired boy laughed, and a blush crept on his cheeks as he told the efforts Megumi and he made to find you. His stories made you laugh, especially when you learned that Nobara scolded them for accidentally entering the nurses' resting room.

"We aren't hogging you, are we?" Satoru's voice cut you off, and he added, "Since it's your rest day, you should be resting. I apologize if Yuuji disturbed you." His stare observed your reaction.

"Oh no, not at all; I'm about to leave anyway." You bowed, embarrassed.

"Thank you again, Dr. Y/N. Let me know if I can do anything for you." He softly spoke, giving you another sweet smile.

"You can return the favor by not letting me see you in that state again, Satoru." To your surprise, he seemed to be taken aback when you mentioned his name, and you noticed his eyes widen and mouth agape lightly as he watched your face.

Yuuji and Megumi stood frozen at the interaction. It was their first time seeing their captain be speechless as he was the one to give snide remarks. But now, they were surprised to see the stoic man seem enchanted when you mentioned his name.

You were the first to break eye contact, bidding farewell as you quickly stepped out of the room without glancing back.

Walking into the hallway of the hospital, you found your eyes become wet with tears; spilling out of your eyes without your consent. Sobs that you were stopping made your lips quiver.

Your hands balled into fists with sadness and frustration, preventing yourself to have a mental break down out in the public space.

You have faced countless uphill battles during your life, ranging from witnessing some of the most gruesome injuries to undergoing the most complex surgical procedures.

Despite all of the challenges you have encountered, you have never before felt as vulnerable as you do now.

You thought it was the end. You would never see him again. When you mentioned his name, he seemed taken aback, and you thought he might see you as a creep that snoops around patient records. You were not even his attending doctor. You were not his friend, not his girl, not his betrothed, not his wife.

You are not the girl he loved timeless in different timelines, like what your dreams showed you.

You were just a mere doctor who happened to be near when his heart stopped, doing what's expected to treat patients. You are a stranger to him.

Standing inside the empty elevator, the silence seemed to amplify the weight of your emotions. The sobs that have been welling up inside you break free, echoing off the walls of the elevator and filling the air with your anguish.

You felt alone and overwhelmed; the moment's solitude only added to your desolation.

The feeling of being trapped in the small metal box only heightened your anxiety, and you longed for the doors to open and release you from the suffocating confines of the elevator.

It was a painful reminder that sometimes, no matter how much you prayed for something, it's just not meant to be.

You couldn't help feeling a void in your chest as you stepped out, wiping your tears with the sleeves of your clothes, knowing that life is not a fairytale, and dreams will remain just that - dreams.

One week after

In the aftermath of your encounter with Gojo Satoru, you decided to avoid him at all costs and made sure to steer clear of his designated room in the hospital.

Your days quickly became repetitive and monotonous as you focused on your hospital duties and tried to keep your distance from him.

One day, as you were walking outside the cafeteria, you bumped into Yuuji, who greeted you warmly and tried to strike up a conversation. However, you were quick to end it, explaining that you had a lot of tasks to do.

You didn't want to risk getting too close to anyone close to him.

The vivid dreams that had been a constant presence in your life disappeared since your encounter with Gojo Satoru. Although you had once wished for them to stop, they had become a source of comfort and solace for you in your darkest nights, reminding you that someone out there might have loved you in your past lives.

The thought of never having a chance to say goodbye to those dreams was haunting, and you found yourself grieving for them.

It was like letting go of a cherished friend without being able to say goodbye.

Sharing your recent encounter with your best friend, Shoko, she enveloped you in a warm and tight embrace that made you feel safe and secure. Her brown hair tickled your face as she whispered reassuringly that she was always there for you, no matter what. The feeling of her support and care lifted a weight off your shoulders.

Your final shift of the week ended; all you wanted to do was go home, slip into something comfortable, and unwind in the peace and quiet of your own space.

You politely declined Shoko's invitation to hit the town for some drinks, letting her know you needed time alone to gather your thoughts and reflect on the week that had just passed.

"I'm going home now, see you." You bid goodbye to your Nobara, who waved back at you with a happy smile.

"Get some rest, Dr. Y/N!" Nobara hollered after you, making you chuckle as you walked toward the elevator.

As you walked out of the hospital, you were welcomed by a breathtaking sunrise, illuminating the sky with a blend of warm oranges and pinks. The sun gradually creed up on the horizon, casting a soft, golden light on everything it touched. As the wind caressed their leaves, the gentle sway of the trees caught your eye, creating a soothing rustling sound.

The pavement was bathed in a warm, amber light, and it radiated a positive energy that spread throughout your body, leaving you feeling content and serene.

Suddenly, something caught your attention, and you looked up to find yourself across none other than Gojo Satoru himself.

He was leaning casually against a brand new-looking 2022 Cadillac as he donned a luxurious black polo shirt and slacks that accentuated his impressive physique.

His eyes met yours with relief, making it seem like he had been waiting for you.

The scene felt surreal, making you squint your eyes to ensure you weren't imagining things.

You feel your pulse quicken at the sight of him approaching. Every step he took echoed in your ears, drowning out the noise of the crowd around you. Your hands instinctively clenched as you braced yourself for his arrival, nervous as you waited for him.

He stood before you, looking hesitant and unsure of himself. "Dr. Y/N," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please tell me if I'm overstepping or saying too much."

His sudden appearance still perplexed you, and you couldn't grasp what was happening. "Huh?" You answered, hoping to get some clarity.

He took a deep breath and continued, "I'm sorry if this comes out too weird, but I just wanted to offer to drive you home, or maybe we could grab dinner together. As, um, as a thank you." You saw the hope in his eyes as he spoke.

Seeing a military intelligence captain being so nervous in front of you was pretty surprising. Your presence seemed to have impacted them, leaving you wondering about the cause of their nervousness.

"You don't really need to do that," you said, but you immediately regretted your words as his shoulders slumped in defeat. "But I haven't eaten yet, so I find it hard to say no," you continued, giving in to your emotions and favor towards him.

As you spoke, you noticed his eyes widen slightly at your words. His reaction reminded you of one of your dreams, where his teenage self would throw his head back in laughter at your banters. However, you quickly snapped out of your reverie when he called out to you, leading you to his car.

You followed him closely; he opened the passenger door with a gentle hand and helped you settle inside. You fastened your seatbelt while watching him get inside, his hands on the wheel as he started driving.

"What would you like to eat, Dr. Y/N?" he asked, turning his head slightly to face you.

"Anything is fine, and you can just call me Y/N," you replied politely.

"Alright, Y/N," he said, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Hearing your name from his lips made your heartburn, making you remember the familiar voice of his name in your dreams. You turned your head to face the windows, feeling your eyes moisten.

You had heard his voice in your dreams before, and it was a surreal feeling to listen to it now.

"Have you been waiting for me outside?" you asked, still looking out the window.

"Yes, I remembered last time that you told me every week you have Sunday as your rest day, so I waited," he replied as he continued to drive.

"Waited?" you asked, intrigued now. You finally glanced at him with curiosity in your eyes. "For how long?"

"Yeah. For 4 hours. Since I was not sure what time you'll be out," he chuckled, tapping his fingers nervously at the steering wheel.

"What? You could've asked for me. That's too long; I'm sure you have other things to do," you said, feeling guilty for keeping him waiting.

"I didn't want to disturb you, and don't worry because I have requested a leave today, too," he said reassuringly. He stared back at you with a warm smile, his blue eyes shining like the ocean on a sunny day.

You were fully aware of his striking blue eyes, having seen them for the first time when he woke up in the hospital. But every time you looked into them, you couldn't help but feel a rush of admiration for their pure beauty. You two had been gazing at each other for a while, lost in thought and captivated by each other's presence.

Suddenly, a car horn blared behind you, causing both of you to startle. Satoru cursed under his breath and accelerated, seeing the traffic signal turn green. "Shit, sorry."

Stepping into the restaurant, you were immediately drawn to the opulent decor surrounding you. The place was adorned with intricate details that exuded elegance and luxury.

Satoru gave you a warm smile and guided you to your table with his big, gentle hands resting on the small of your back.

You both sat down to eat, the aroma of the food wafting around you; you engaged in light conversation, exchanging short stories here and there. Satoru spoke fondly of his subordinates, sharing anecdotes that painted a picture of a kind, respectful leader who genuinely cared about the people he worked with.

You listened to him speak, and you admired him for his qualities and how he treated his team with the utmost fondness and care. It was evident he was a good person, just like the one you had seen in your dreams.

"Would you like some wine?" he asked, offering a drink.

"Yes, I'll just take a glass or two," you replied, smiling at him as you accepted the glass and sipped the expensive-tasting wine. You watched him drink his wine, too, his eyes fixed on you, making you blush.

"Y/N," he began, "I wanted to apologize for my behavior last time. I fear I may have come off rude by not speaking much and being surprised when you called me by my name. Yuuji mentioned that he told you my name, so I'm sorry if I was taken aback." His eyes seemed to soften as he spoke.

"Okay," you shyly replied, feeling like a teenager again. He took a sip of his wine, then looked up at you with a serious expression.

"To be honest, I've wanted to talk to you for a while now," he said. "Ever since I was a child, there's been this girl that I've been dreaming about. I can't recall much about her features, but one thing that has always stayed with me is the vivid memory of her eyes. They were the most beautiful and expressive eyes I had ever seen. It broke my heart whenever I saw tears streaming down her face in my dreams. I know it may sound strange, but I was mesmerized the first time I saw you because you have the same eyes as the girl in my dreams."

As you stood there listening to him, your heart skipped a beat, and your breath became shallow. His words were like a punch to the gut, "And after I met you, whenever I think of that girl in my dreams, all I keep seeing is your face instead." You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks, and your palms started sweating.

"Tell me," you shakily said, "Tell me one of your dreams."

Satoru stared at you, joining his hands on the table as he leaned in. "There are many of them; it's like different versions of myself, but there was this one time that I was a soldier, and--"

"And you died in the war," you cut him off, continuing, "And you left a letter to your wife, apologizing for leaving her, not giving her kids, and saying that you'll meet again."

As you locked eyes with him, you noticed a look of bewilderment on his face reflected in your expression. Both of you were left speechless, lost in contemplation, as you realized your dreams had been intertwined.

"I get them too, Satoru. I see those same dreams every day, but I can never remember your name for some reason. Your face becomes a blur every time I wake up, and it's heart-wrenching," you said, your voice shaking as tears streamed down your face. You instinctively wrapped your hands around yourself, seeking comfort from your embrace.

Satoru looked at you; his heart tightened with emotion as he observed the tears streaming down your face.

At that moment, he realized that his heart still belonged to you, and all his doubts and apprehensions vanished into thin air, realizing that you, just like him, were deeply invested in your shared dreams of the past.

"I could tell it was you from the moment I looked at you, but I wasn't sure if you would know me. It's funny, a year ago, if someone had told me that you were real, I wouldn't have believed them," you said with a bitter chuckle. Your head hung low, avoiding eye contact with him. "Despite that, I always held onto the hope that we would find each other again. I knew you would still turn my head like you did all lives ago."

You rested your hands on the smooth surface of the table. Satoru's hands moved towards you without a second thought. They were warm and welcoming, fitting yours perfectly as if they were meant to be there.

His voice was gentle as he said, "Let's get you home, sweet girl."

Satoru gently wiped your tears away with his thumb, his touch warm and reassuring. He then helped you into the car, carefully protecting your head as you got in. He was extremely careful and attentive towards you, ensuring you were comfortable and safe.

Once settled in your seat, Satoru made sure your seatbelt was fastened correctly. His hands moved precisely, checking and adjusting until he was satisfied that everything was secure.

"Can you tell me your address and phone number?" he asked softly, his hands resting gently on your thigh.

Satoru began to drive, clasping your hands in his, taking a different route than usual. Knowing that he had your best interests at heart, you didn't question it. You trusted him implicitly, knowing you were safe with him above all else.

The car gradually slowed down and finally came to a halt. You gazed out the window and saw a vast, open field that immediately caught your eye.

The scene was so picturesque - the colorful flowers on the sides and the lush green grass in the center welcomed you warmly. And as you tilted your head toward the sky, the countless stars shining down upon you took your breath away, filling your heart with a sense of wonder and awe.

As you both sat down, the silence was filled with the gentle rustling of the leaves and the twinkle of the stars above. The cool breeze brushed against your skin as you gazed up at the sky, admiring the constellations.

After a few minutes, you felt a soft touch on your hand and turned to see him looking at you with a gentle smile.

Without a word, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "I've never been in a relationship before," he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours, "Because I was waiting for you, Y/N."

You felt your heart swell with emotion, and a soft smile spread across your lips as you leaned towards him. Wrapping your arms around him, you inhaled the scent of his cologne mixed with his natural musk, feeling the warmth of his embrace as he pulled you closer.

He kissed the top of your head, and you could feel the gentle movement of his lips against your hair. It was a moment of pure bliss and contentment, a feeling that words could not describe.

You spent the moment getting to know each other, from the simplest things like birthdays and favorite foods to the grander things like your hopes, dreams, and beliefs.

It was like two lost souls finally finding their way back to each other, and you felt yourself falling deeper in love with him with each passing moment.

Satoru drove you back to your apartment, chatting and laughing with you. When you arrived at your doorstep, he didn't just drop you off and leave - instead, he walked you towards your door, patting your head affectionately as he said, "I'll text you as soon as I get home. And let's schedule our next date soon, okay?"

You laughed at his eagerness, teasing him, "Date? Have you even asked my permission if it's alright to court me?"

"I'm sure we all know you have been my wife," he teased, flashing his charming smile. "And I'm sure you won't resist my handsome face." His lighthearted comment made you double over in laughter.

Finally, it was time to say goodbye. You closed the door, and your smile slowly faded away. You had expected him to at least kiss you - even a peck on the cheek would have sufficed - but he didn't.

Feeling a bit disappointed, you walked towards your living room, wondering what could have you done wrong. However, your thoughts were interrupted when you suddenly heard your doorbell ring.

Your heart skipped a beat as you turned around and walked back to the door, peering nervously through the peephole. To your surprise, you saw Satoru standing outside, looking just as nervous as you felt.

Opening the door, you were surprised when he grabbed your face without hesitation, lowering his head and pressing his lips against yours. Your arms snake around his neck, pulling him closer still as his tongue darts out to gently sweep across your bottom lip, seeking entry.

With a gentle moan, you open up for him, allowing your tongues to dance in a passionate embrace. He deepens the kiss, using his free hand to tangle his fingers gently into your hair, holding you firmly in place.

He continued to explore every corner of your mouth, savoring the unique flavor that is uniquely yours. You break away from the kiss to catch your breath, only to see his eyes hooded as he stares at you with admiration.

Satoru pulled you into his warm embrace, whispering, "I'll see you soon, my wife."

The endearment immediately made your eyes well up with tears, as it was his favorite in your past life. You held onto him, cherishing the moment.

Eventually, he released you, giving you one last peck on your lips before walking away towards his car. You watched as he approached the driver's seat and waved back at you happily.

"See you soon!" you called out, trying to keep your voice from trembling. Satoru winked at you, making your heart skip a beat.

The memories of your past lives flooded your mind as you watched him drive away, and you were grateful for the chance to start anew. The journey ahead was uncertain, but you were ready to face it together with Gojo Satoru by your side.

Deep down, you knew you were ready to spend this lifetime with him.

Note: Writing this made me cry and emotional, and I hope you liked it. Soldier/Captain Gojo makes my brain melt.

[juniperdugong]

Confess - Satoru Gojo

WC: 840 || Genre: Fluff || Gojo x GN!reader (established relationship)

"SATORU GOJO!" Your scream reverberates across all walls and furniture like a gong to Toru's ears as you enter your shared bedroom.

"Uh oh..." He's digging himself into the sheets as fast as he can, the sound of your footsteps feeling like a literal horror movie, he nearly suffocates himself by wrapping the blanket over his head.

"Yeah. Uh oh." You loom over the cacoon he's created for himself. You can feel him shiver as you gently tap at his protection. A slight giggle from you and suddenly the blanket inflates like a balloon. "Satoru... you did not." the annoyance in your voice is evident.

"Don't know what you're talking about lovebug." You can practically hear the jittery nervous smile he's faking for himself under all this mess.

"Yeah? So you didn't just put your infinity up so I can't reach you?"

"Would never dream of doing that in your presence..."

You rip the sheets off and sure enough your hand faces an invisible wall. "Wouldn't dream of it, right?" Sarcasm drips from your words as you meet his face, a completely fake expression of happiness and innocence adorning him like a mask.

You flop yourself over the barrier like a sea lion, allowing yourself to drape over the nothingness and everything separating the two of you. To anyone else's eyes, this looks like a magic trick and you would be impressed too if this little charade weren't getting on your nerves. Your face droops into a pout as you wiggle yourself to stay on top. Toru's breath hits your cheek and you can just barely see how he mimics your pout in response.

You let out an exaggerated and heavy sigh knowing which strings to pull, "Don't do this to me, baby!" His pout turns sad and his voice gets whiny.

"I'm not the one doing anything." Each of your words is punctuated with a poke to, what would be his body, but instead is infinite space. You turn so you're at an angle where he can't see the smirk on your face, consider his strings pulled at this point!

Another heavy sigh is all that it takes before you feel yourself drop and your body thud heavily onto the man beneath you with a pained groan. You quickly try and move your body but your efforts are thwarted as Satoru squeezes you with all of his limps. Wiggling does nothing as he just gets tighter with every sudden move. Eventually, you have to concede because the heat of the friction you're causing is making you sweat and you go limp atop him.

"Gojo Satoru." Your voice is muffled as your face is smothered in Toru's chest.

"Oh, not the full name baby!"

You finagle your head so you can look up at him, your expression obviously upset and angry. "Confess your crimes."

"Crimes? What crimes? I don't see any crimes here sweetness." He looks around the room pretending to be oblivious but you're just too cute with your little pout, how can he resist such charms?

Like a man confessing to god he tilts his head back and towards the sky, putting on a fake look of sadness he lets out a sigh, "I, Gojo Satoru, confess to the crime of..." he pauses.

"Of?" You look at him expectantly.

"...Of eating all of y/n's snacks while they were away on a business trip." He bites his bottom lip looking down at you with puppy dog eyes.

"And?"

"And... for not replacing said snacks before they got home."

"And." You grit your teeth as you say the word.

"And... for waiting till they noticed and got all showered and comfortable after such a long and strenuous trip to mention anything..." His entire body suffocates you, squeezing you impossibly tighter as he finishes his confession, "Please don't hit me when I let go, honey..."

"Hmph" you gruff in response, you make no such promises in this situation.

He slowly releases you from his grip and tenses bracing for impact. Not feeling the weight of your palm against his face he opens an eye curiously.

*THWACK*

He's thrusted backward as you slap him hard in the chest, the surprise elicits multiple fake coughs from Satoru - you know he can take much more than a few of your measly punches but violence from you was always gonna do more damage to his heart than any curse could.

"cough cough ...you promised" he squeaks.

"I didn't actually. You're the one who promised not to touch my snacks... so???" Satisfied you leave him in his state of disarray, traipsing out of the room.

He lets his head hit the pillow, eyes following you in amusement as you walk away. He chuckles to himself completely amazed at your conviction and head over heals even for your little tantrums.

He knows you'll forgive him once he finishes placing all the orders for everything that he ate... maybe you'll even forgive him enough to let him have some if he asks nicely...

Nah, probably not.

A/N: A little something something for the jjk side of things... I definitely did not write this while completely exhausted at 4am... hope y'all enjoy though! First Satoru fic! Not proofread if you couldn't tell lol

Please Reblog and Comment if you enjoyed! (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @iluvmattyb

[noyasmashing]

hmm so like a doubting oikawa who thinks he’s not good for you or anything similar after when they lose against karasuno in that one match, and you just show him how much of a good boy he is and reader basically comforts him. can be fluff or smut

ughhh i need him so bad 😔😔

anyway no nsfw in this one! just lots of love!

Oikawa always projected an air of confidence, strength, and a touch of arrogance. It was one of the many reasons why you find yourself attracted to him. So when you first started dating, you never expected how much reassurance he required. But that was okay! you were much more than willing to provide it for your special lover.

However, walking into your bedroom to find him curled up sadly under the warm blanket broke your heart. Deep down, he was a sensitive man, and seeing you being hit on by someone else had shaken him deeply. He resented the way you smiled at the other guy, as if you didn't have someone you loved. His insecurities were running wild; maybe he was right, maybe you didn't love him after all.

As he lay there in that moment, lost in his thoughts, your warm hand gently slid across his waist, pulling him closer. You spooned him, feeling his tense body against yours, trying to offer comfort.

"Toru? Are you alright?" you asked softly against his exposed neck, genuinely worried. He turned to face you, surprised to see the concern in your eyes as you gazed at his sadness.

"I... you hate me," he stammered, his voice shaky with doubt.

"What? No, Toru, I could never hate you. I love you, really," you reassured him soothingly, causing the tips of his ears to turn red in a mix of flattery and relief.

Before he could respond with more of his insecurity, you intervened, saying, “Is this because of that guy I was talking to earlier?”

He nodded hesitantly, feeling a pang of shame for letting such a minor interaction affect him so deeply. "you were flirting," he mumbled, unable to meet your gaze.

Your hand reached up to gently caress his face. "Why would I flirt with anyone when I have you, my dear?" you cooed, your tone full of warmth and reassurance.

As you continued to stroke his face gently, Oikawa felt a rush of relief wash over him. Your words and touch melted away his insecurities, replacing them with a sense of comfort and belonging.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, finally meeting your eyes. "I just... I can't stand the thought of losing you."

You smiled tenderly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "You're not going to lose me, Toru. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

His tense shoulders began to relax as he took in your words. The weight of his fears seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of your embrace.

"I love you so much," he confessed hiding his red face into the crook of your neck, his voice soft and vulnerable.

Your heart swelled with affection at his cuteness. "I love you too, Toru. More than anything."

[acaaai-t]

3 months and counting

[modern au! scaramouche x gn! reader]

cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, hints at suicide, probably unhealthy coping methods idk

The taste of bitter coffee and overly sweetened scent of dandelion tea lingered, lingered for a little longer than he liked.

Wilted flowers lay by a small vase of fresh ones. The pile of dead flowers seemed to grow bigger with each passing day.

The house was dim, with the only source of light being a weakly lit candle surrounded by empty dishes and untouched cutlery on the dining table. For a place that had felt so big not too long ago, it suddenly seemed to be so small.

Scaramouche hummed quietly to himself as he gently dusted at the debris that clung onto the picture frames. His touch was delicate as his fingers brush against the cold glass. The tune he has been singing echoed off the walls, traveling down the silent hallway.

How long has it been? He wonders.

Three days? A week? Two weeks? Scaramouche had long lost count.

Once he was sure that the picture frame was clean, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. In this empty house, the only thing that stood out most was the wall of what Scaramouche called ‘memories’. Golden frames surrounded photos of all kind, taken by you and hung by him.

He misses you.

On most days, Scaramouche would stay huddle in what once was a shared bedroom, buried deep beneath the blankets, scrolling through past messages. Dark circles heavily marked his under eyes, a stark contrast to his porcelain pale skin.

For the first month, he was a utter mess. Unable to process the tragic news of your sudden death.

It had just felt like yesterday, when the two of you were just out on a date, laughing and giggling.

The world was mocking him, taunting and laughing, watching the hallow shell of the man he once was as he stood there alone in the cemetery. Flowers previously placed by your grave was removed and tossed away, replaced by a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers.

The night you were buried under the willow tree, was the only night he had ever worked up the courage to sit by your grave, and wallow in the despair.

“I miss you,” the three words etched into his mind, quietly spoken into the empty void.

What about the plans you’ve made with him? The promises of a happy ending, a beautiful future.

Gone… all gone, far too soon.

“Will we get a cat too?” your voice was eager, full of hope.

Scaramouche smiled and pressed a small kiss to your temple. “Whatever you want.”

You giggled. “Let’s get a black cat then. I can see the resemblance between you and them.”

“Hey,” he whined.

You beamed up at him. “I love you.”

How he wished time could’ve stopped right there and then, allowing that precious moment to last for an eternity.

“I love you too.”

God, it was so fucking unfair. Why did you have to be the one to die?

It could’ve been anyone else, but you just had to be there at the wrong time.

He slumped down on the empty couch, cushions and throw blankets sitting in the same spot as before. Scaramouche didn’t dare touch anything. He was scared— terrified that if he even so as much move anything a centimeter away, he’ll lose the remaining parts of you that he had so desperately been trying to cling onto.

Scaramouche had already lost you once, he couldn’t lose you for a second time.

The soft golden glow of the ceiling lights flickered in and out for a brief moment, a sign that the electrical bill was long overdue. It was fortunate enough that the landlord took pity upon him and gave Scaramouche an extension to pay his bills.

3 months.

It’s been three whole months since the accident. Three months since he’s shut himself off from the outside world. Three months he spend crying and grieving, fantasizing scenarios of you and him. He knows it’ll never come true, but he can only hope.

Head barely above water, the bits of hope he has is all that’s supporting his weight, preventing him from drowning. Yet as the clock moves, he finds himself sinking lower and lower.

Two hollow knocks to his door startled him out of his trancelike state. “Who,” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

When the answer was delivered with another two knocks, he spoke louder. “What.”

“Scaramouche,” the muffled voice of Childe floated through the thick wood. “Open the door.”

He scowled, body already moving before his mind had even processed Childe’s words. The door cracked open with a soft creak, a silver of the sunlight spilling into the dark house. Scaramouche squeezed his eyes closed, momentarily blinded by the light. It’s been so long since he’s seen the sun.

Childe’s shadow stepped in and blocked out the light. He gave Scaramouche a tired smile. “Archons you look like shit.”

Scaramouche said nothing and kept his silent gaze on him.

The ginger sighed. “I was hoping you’d come visit… them, with us.”

There were no names mentioned, yet Scaramouche almost instantly knew who Childe was referring to. He felt his body tense up.

“Look, I’m not trying to force you or anything, but we all miss them, and you too, ‘mouche… you haven’t talked with any of us in three month now.”

Guilt gnawed at his heart, eating away yet another piece.

He hadn’t meant to neglect his friends. None of the things he was doing was intentional.

“… I’m sorry,” he whispered, lowering his gaze, unable to keep eye contact with Childe. He fear that if he continued, tears would begin to formulate, and there’d be nothing to stop them from flowing.

“Mind if I come in?” Childe’s voice softened.

Scaramouche felt tears prickling at his eyes. Childe placed one hand on his shoulder, gently giving a pat— and that was what finally broke him. The water droplets fell uncontrollably, rolling down his cheeks. A pitiful sight to behold.

Childe pulled him into a hug and remained quiet. There wasn’t much he could say to comfort Scaramouche’s pain. Everyone was still grieving, him included.

His quiet sniffles slowly died down. Just this one time, he thought to himself, wiping away at a tear. It’s the least he can do.

“Let me get my things,” Scaramouche’s voice was hoarse. A pain-like expression was scrawled across his features as he pulled away from Childe and step back into the shadows of his home.

There wasn’t much he needed to do to get ready. He’d given up on life the moment he was given the news that you didn’t make it. Why he had been fighting for so long, he didn’t understand.

He threw on a simple black cardigan, it was a handmade gift from you to him. In your words, it took you a week and a half to make it— “i hope you’ll like it,” you said sheepishly.

Of course he’ll love it. Cherish it even till death.

He took in a deep breath and went to look for Childe. The medications stored in his pockets jangled against the hard plastic with each step he took.

The last strands of hope snapped, and he sunk. Bubbles floating to the surface as his darkened silhouette slowly disappeared under the void of water.

Tonight, he decided. Tonight, he’ll be able to see you again.

The lights sputtered out as Scaramouche flipped the switch. With the last bits of power it has, the lights illuminated the series of letter sprawled across the glass coffee table— each one address to someone dear to him.

Then it all went dark.

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— this was fun to write

© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate

[dalchiid]

𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖘

Covetous Namjoon is the gift that keeps on giving.

Pairing: Yandere Vampire Namjoon x Fem/AFAB Reader

Word Count: 6,211

Warnings: Yandere, Possessive, Obsession, Mild Choking, Fingering, Spanking, Smut, Biting, Blood

I do not condone the behavior being exhibited in my work. This is solely for entertainment purposes and I hope if any of you are ever in a situation like this that you have the chance and ability to run away from it. Take care out there.

DO NOT copy, edit, or repost my work anywhere.

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! I'm still working on the OT7 Yandere fic but I wanted to gift you all something. We're paying Alternate Ending Covetous Namjoon a visit. Just a little smut to hold you all over until the OT7 fic comes out 😉

It's so cold out. You can hear the way the wind whistles and it's what initially stirred you from your slumber. That and a weight on your back that sends chills down your form. Your naked back is caressed slowly from the top and down the length of your skin in soothing touches. In soothing kisses. It feels nice but it's not what you want right now. What you want is to sleep some more as you revel in the warmth of the blankets that were slowly pulled from your flesh.

You tremble a little as your skin pricks in goosebumps. It's enough to make the weight on top of you chuckle deeply and spread open mouth kisses across your shoulders.

Whining you blindly reach for the covers that rest loosely around your naked waist. You try to tug it up and over yourself but it's pushed aside.

"No," you cry uselessly. "I'm cold."

The kisses stop for a moment as the person's lips are replaced by gentle fingers.

"Do you want me to raise up the heater?"

Your eyes are still closed but you shake your head nonetheless in response. "I just want to stay in bed a bit more."

The person hums but you know he's not just any person. You've been stuck with him for months now and you guess he wouldn't take so lightly that he's listed as some random person in your head.

He hums again before he pulls back leaving your back exposed to the warm air that feels chilly once his form leaves you.

"I got you something," he says.

You don't dare open your eyes but you feel whatever it is he's holding dangle before your face.

"Namjoon I want to sleep. Please?"

You let out a pained yelp when you feel his fingers pinch your backside and that's enough to get you to open your eyes.

"Don't be such a brat." There's no malice in his tone but you can tell he's not fond of your dismissive attitude right now.

You wish you could sleep a little longer as you had a hard time sleeping last night. You've been having a hard time sleeping most nights.

After the day Namjoon found you you were a shivering wreck of a mess. You cried a lot and that lead to sleepless nights and short naps you cried yourself into. Despite time having passed you still have worries. Most of them about Hoseok and how you're waiting for him to find you again.

You honestly don't know if you'd prefer that over the life you're living right now because it's far from perfect. If anything you think you're living on edge because it's only a matter of time, right?

Last night was no different. It took Namjoon warming up some tea for you and holding you close until you felt your resolve begin to crumble - as it has almost every day because now you're back to square one. You're hooked again. Hooked on Namjoon's saliva the way you were on Hoseok's. It's sad really but you don't have time to pity yourself like you would like to. Namjoon doesn't stand for it. He doesn't like it when you feel sorry for yourself. Instead he prefers you place all of your attention on to him because he believes he can distract you enough. With his kiss and with his body.

Namjoon shakes the bag in front of your face to catch your attention and now with your eyes open you see that it's a gift. A pastel pink bag covered in glitter. You don't reach for it at first but all it takes is for you to see the way Namjoon's brow raises in silent question for you to take it.

Slowly you grab for it and once it's in your hands he lets go.

It feels pretty light. There is a slight weight to it and you briefly wonder what it could be. You look over to Namjoon who rests on his side of the bed perching his head on his open palm.

"What is it," you ask.

"Why don't you wash up and put it on. I'll wait for you right here."

You frown at his demand but you know you don't have much say when it comes to him. Whatever it may be - it's Namjoon's way.

You get up from bed and hold the bag close to your naked chest. It's not like he hasn't seen you naked before but you always feel so seen around him. Naked. Figuratively speaking. Raw. You feel raw with Namjoon. It's nothing like with Hoseok who over time you grew used to being naked around each other. You feel like prey around the vampire and you think you always will be.

Hurriedly you make your way to the bathroom that's connected to this room. The floor feels chilly against your feet forcing you to balance on the balls of them as your toes try to curl.

The bathroom looks pretty similar to Hoseok's which you don't know if it was designed to be that way on purpose or not. When you first walked into it you froze. It sent your mind reeling and when you asked Namjoon about it he only hummed like he was intrigued.

"Interesting," was all he said in response.

You don't think this was a coincidence at all.

You remember asking him how he got a hold on this place. Was it built specifically for the brothers? There weren't a lot of rooms so you figured that was probably a no but Namjoon answered you and stated it's a place he had built for himself. He would come here if he needed some space. No servants worked here so it was only him and now you. Your new prison meant you had more privacy. No one to come fetch you when you're alone and no one to intrude on whatever you and Hoseok were doing.

To be honest you thought that you had a chance to easily escape then. Despite this place being far into the forest which meant any help that there could be was far from your reach. Any cars that come here are by Namjoon's orders. Whether it be because they're picking him up or dropping him off. Or even when the person is dropping off some groceries or whatever else it was that Namjoon needed. Outside of that you thought you still had a chance to leave until one day when you were alone did you realize your predicament. The door could only lock with a key. Both outside and in. There was no way for you to unlock the door and escape and only the gods know how distrustful Namjoon is of you so no he doesn't leave you with a spare key.

That was an Earth shattering realization for you and that meant you had to conform to this new life.

"Don't take too long." You're brought of your head when Namjoon calls out to you. "I have to be at my brothers' after this."

Which means he'll be washing up without you after you put on whatever it is he got for you. He has to to avoid any of his brothers smelling you on him. It's how he's gotten away with it for these past few months.

Is it wrong that you kind of want to get caught? You'll be back with Hoseok... Is that any better than being with Namjoon? You don't know. It's a little too scary to think about.

Placing the gift onto the counter you quickly set things up. From brushing your teeth to taking a warm shower that heats you up from the cold weather that wants to seep into the house. You wish you could stay beneath the water for just a bit longer but you don't want to deal with Namjoon's mouth.

The shower comes to a stop so you can dry yourself. Despite not wanting to hear his mouth you take your time to do your skincare.

You're feeling a little apprehensive in opening up this gift of yours. He's given you gifts before and now with it being Christmas day you're not surprised at all with being gifted something yet again.

You look over to the bag before looking back into the mirror as you take a wild guess to what's inside. It feels pretty light so it has to be clothes. There's some weight to it but not much but you can't even begin to think as to why. You know you'll have to look in the bag eventually so once you're done everything you reach for it with shaky hands.

Opening the gift bag up you pull out the decorative tissue paper from inside. What's inside leaves you feeling breathless but unsurprised. Lingerie.

It's all black and he knows your size because he's measured you before. A lace top that's in the shape of a butterfly up front and thin straps that hold up the back. There are more thin straps - two that stretch along your legs with loops at the end in the shape of garters. Reaching into the bag again you find a matching high waisted double strapped thong.

You sigh because Namjoon buying you lingerie is nothing new to you. He does it quite a bit and because of that you know his preferences being that you place the thong over the garter because he wants to take it off without having to undo everything else.

"What's the fun in wearing lingerie if you have to take it off for sex?"

His words from the past are loud in your head but you get it. Occasionally he'd pull the underwear to the side but again, you've learned his preferences.

Before putting the lingerie on you go to toss the bag onto the floor but you feel something shift in there and you're reminded of the weight you felt in it from before. Curiously you peak inside the bag and see something else that has your brow raising in interest.

You reach in and take out a bondage collar. The leather is thick and holds three o shaped rings. One in the middle and two on either side. On the middle one there's a black heart shaped charm that when you turn it around you see the word 'Princess' engraved into it.

You can't help but to huff a laugh. Both in indignation and something else. You were interested in this collar that's for sure but you weren't going to admit that to Namjoon. Otherwise he'd think he was winning you over somehow.

Much like Hoseok you... tolerate your captor but it's because what he can provide for you. Providing his saliva that leaves you susceptible to his advances. You don't think much of it because it's what you want, but there is one issue. Namjoon enjoys toying with you. Meaning he enjoys withholding from you his saliva until you're practically begging him for it. He has a power trip knowing he can make you beg for him to do anything and everything. Him leaving you stupefied until you're begging for more than just his saliva. It's annoying really and on more than one occasion you've fought back. Mouthed off at him. You know you hit a nerve when he flexes his jaw but despite that he manages to reign you in. Eventually...

Looking into the mirror you bring the collar to your throat and strap it on like a belt. It doesn't feel too tight but it's not loose enough to hang. Afterwards you put on the lingerie that slips over your body perfectly.

Heaving a big sigh again as you look at your reflection you roll your eyes before heading out of the bathroom and into your shared bedroom.

On the four poster bed Namjoon awaits you. He's typing something out on his phone and when he's done does he grace you with his attention. It starts off small but then his smile widens until his dimples show.

"Come here." He extends a hand out towards you.

You tongue your cheek and try to make yourself look as uninterested as possible because you're both clearly wanting different things. He wants sex and you want your high. They oftentimes come together but it depends on how much you annoy him at first.

You walk over and crawl across the bed to him. His hand slowly retracts the more you crawl towards him until you come to a stop once you're straddling his waist.

Namjoon looks you over with a bite to his bottom lip. His hands come up to rest atop your thighs where he runs them appreciatively before his eyes roam up to watch the way the heart shaped charm jingles against the metal when you scoot up more. His smile just turns absolutely devious and with a finger he loops it through the o shaped ring that holds the charm and tugs you forward.

"Like your present, princess?"

You don't give him an answer but it doesn't stop him from laughing.

"You look good enough to eat."

"Not until I have my hit."

Namjoon's brow raises and his smile falters a little.

Strike one.

"You can have what you want after I've had my fill of you." He goes to grab your waist and flip you over but you fight to keep upright.

Strike two.

"Y/N," he warns.

"Namjoon," you bite back in a mocking tone.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as you see him trying to calm down. You're so close to a strike three and you know it.

You hop off of him and sit by his side. Your arms cross as you huff and now you wait to see what he has to say.

Namjoon sits up and looks over to you with the eyes of a dragon. That's what you liken them to whenever he stares at you like this. He's clearly upset but there's something else in that look of his and it's that your attitude is turning him on.

"Why are you such a brat?"

You give him a deadpan look. "You made me this way."

His brows shoot up and he has to fight to control his laughter. "I made you this way?"

Nodding you look off towards the side. You know you shouldn't but you can't help what you mumble next. "I was never like this with Hoseok."

There's a stillness in the air and before you know it you're pushed onto your back with Namjoon straddling you.

Strike three.

His hand comes around your neck and if it weren't because of the collar you're sure he would choke you.

"What did I say to you about mentioning my brother's name in front of me? Hm?" There's a slight tremble to his voice as anger surges through him.

You wriggle uncomfortably beneath the vampire and bring a hand up to claw at his own. You grunt at the discomfort but it doesn't stop him.

"I'm sorry," you strain out.

Namjoon laughs. "You're never sorry, Y/N. It's the same shit with you all the time."

He brings his face closer to yours and bumps his nose against your own. His lips ghost over your own and you find yourself parting them for what's to come.

His tongue slips out to roam across your awaiting mouth but when he feels your own peek out he pulls back. You whine at the loss of contact and it takes everything in Namjoon not to laugh.

A smirk breaks across his face as he eases up his hold around your neck. "You think you deserve it after saying what you said?"

Your hand that clawed at his one holds him tight and without resistance from his end you move it until he's cupping your breast.

You give a half hearted moan. "Please?"

Namjoon huffs a laugh. "You're so pathetic, but all mine."

His words do hit a nerve that you try to ignore. It'll only sour your mood the more you think on it but there's a lingering pain left behind. It's quickly smoothed over though when his hand cupping your breast begins to make a descent towards your sex where you're not quite wet yet and you know he knows this.

He hums and looks down to admire your lace clad body. His pointer finger follows along the design until it finds your clothed sex where he applies pressure over it in search of your clit.

"How wet can you get for me," he asks.

You know he's not really interested in a response but you say something anyway.

"As wet as you want."

This makes his smile grow wide until his dimples show. You're complying with his advances but you both know it's because you want that high. You'll do anything for it. Even if it means that you'll make a fool out of yourself.

He slips his fingers across the length of your thong until he pulls it to the side to expose you for himself. His index and middle fingers run along your slit where slowly but surely you begin to grow wet with your arousal and it makes him groan.

"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

You look off towards the side in embarrassment but Namjoon isn't having any of that. With his other hand he grips your chin and directs your attention over to him.

"Don't tell me you're growing shy on me," he laughs. "After how many times I've had a taste of you?"

Your eyes shift around as you try to just revel in the feel of him but the more he talks the more you grow annoyed.

You huff in irritation and it catches Namjoon's attention.

He raises a brow at you all the while his fingers rub against your clit. "Care to share what's on your mind?"

No actually because you know if you tell him to shut up and get the act over with so you can get your high it will only entice him to do otherwise.

Your silence is loud and it makes Namjoon suck his teeth in a mocking way.

"You always have something to say. What is it," he asks with a smirk. "Too afraid of risking punishment?"

There's a small pout on your lips that quickly parts in an o shape when he slips a finger inside. He curls the digit over and over again and it has your legs trembling just the slightest bit.

"You know for someone who talks a lot of shit you're very quiet right now. I may have made you into a brat so go ahead. Act like one."

Your eyes are directed onto him and they squint in suspicion.

You know Namjoon enjoys punishing you and clearly he's trying to get you to talk so he can do so again. The question is if you're going to fall for it or not. The faster you get through this the faster you can get your high but you also can't give up the chance to mouth off at Namjoon. Does that make you a masochist? Maybe but it also brings up the thoughts on whether you enjoy doing these things with Namjoon. You don't like to think about it the same way you didn't like to think about it with Hoseok. You're doing this for yourself you reason so it's alright you guess.

"You want me to act like a brat?" Your eyes close in pleasure when he adds a second finger in. "Then how about you do a better job in fingering me first."

You have to stop yourself from whining when he stops all together. You're about to open your eyes to stare at him but they're quick to stay shut when you wince in pain.

Namjoon spanks your cunt once then twice. "There she is. I was wondering where she went."

You clench your teeth together in mild frustration. "Yeah she's here and what? It doesn't change the fact that you're doing minimal effort to get me off."

You can't help the way your eyes widen when you feel Namjoon grip your face. It's with the hand he wasn't touching you with and he holds on to you hard. He's giving you those dragon eyes again as he observes you. You can't tell if your words were too much and maybe now he's pissed. You normally don't complain about the pleasure he gives you or lack of so this is kind of new to you.

He softly shakes your head side to side as he tongues his cheek. "Anything else you have to say?"

You huff in disgruntlement. "Yeah. I hate you."

A chilling grin overtakes his face. "I know, princess."

Your hand comes up to slap his own off of your face but he barely budges.

"You can be so ill-mannered you know that," he says in an almost concerned tone of voice. "Where did I go wrong with you?" He doesn't give you a chance to answer when he roughly turns you over onto your front. "Did I spoil you too much?" He places a hand on the back of your neck and holds you down. "Or is it just because you like getting me riled up?"

You grunt but arch your back when his other hand glides softly along your spine. He chuckles at this.

"I'm guessing you enjoy this as much as I do otherwise you'd give me a harder time than you already do."

Your eyes squeeze shut when his fingers find their way back to your sex and sidesteps your thong to dip them in. The feeling makes you moan and it makes Namjoon chuckle. The sound of it just makes you want to roll your eyes beneath the lids.

"I do it for the high," you admit.

Without a second to process anything you gasp when Namjoon strikes your right cheek.

"Oh I know you do you little shit," he curses. "But that doesn't take away the fact that you enjoy it whenever I touch you."

He's right but you're not about to admit that to him.

"You wish."

Another smack comes down but this time it's your left cheek. You can't help the way that you gasp again. Even more so when his fingers find themselves in you once again. This time the two digits go fast and hard into you and the feeling has you moaning out loud.

Your hands come up to grip the comforter all the while Namjoon pleasures you. It's insane how good he makes you feel but again you're not about to admit that to him.

He pulls his fingers out of you and you cry out from the loss of them. You try to sit up but his other hand keeps you firmly down by the back of your neck.

"Fuck Namjoon," you whine.

"What was that, princess?"

Gritting your teeth together you writhe as you try and find a way to get up. "I said fuck you."

Two loud smacks for each cheek has your head growing hazy from his sadistic pleasure. It's a euphoric feeling in of itself and it just makes you crave the inevitable high even more.

His fingers find their way inside of you again and it's a torturous dance of pleasing you to spanking you even if you don't mouth off at him. It has your mind reeling with you unsure if you were coming or going. All you understood and felt were a mixture of things. Almost like hot and cold with what Namjoon was doing to you. Hot from the heat he was creating inside of you and cold from the chilling feeling of being physically marked by him. It brought tears to your eyes that remained closed in absolute pleasure.

At some point Namjoon stops all together to let you regain your breath.

All that's heard in the room is your heavy breathing and your heart beat in your ears. The weight of his hand on the back of your neck is still there and it becomes even more apparent when he applies more pressure.

"How are you feeling, princess?"

His question to you sounds genuine and it's moments like these that you have to remind yourself that you're doing it all for the high. His concern for you will not shake you. You won't allow it.

You clear your throat before nodding. "Good."

He finally releases you and pats you on your backside. "Stay there," he demands and you listen because you're too out of it to say or do otherwise.

Your eyes remain closed but you're aware of the way he moves around you. You know what's coming next and your skin pricks in anticipation.

Namjoon presses his front to your back where you feel the lukewarm touch of his naked skin. A hand comes down to take your thong by the straps and slowly ease it down your thighs until they rest above your knees.

"You smell divine," he says beneath his breath.

Your face flushes with heat as he peppers kisses along the back of your neck and shoulders and it's with a soft gasp do you react when you feel the weight of his cock pressed up against your ass.

He cages you in with his strong arms and with a hand he grabs your chin to angle your face towards him. He's smiling at you but the way one would when they have their prey right where they want them and you are very much where Namjoon wants you.

"Bear with me for a little longer and I'll give you what you want, yeah?"

You know he means about his saliva and though the idea of having to wait more time to get it leaves you feeling glum at least you're almost there.

He releases your face from his grip and with one hand he guides his cock towards your entrance.

He's thick and though you've gotten used to having him inside of you it doesn't change the fact that you have to deal with the initial stretch each time. Your eyes shut when he prods at your entrance - running the head up and down your slit. When he's satisfied with what he's done he pushes forward until his head breaches through your hole.

You let out a sound that's a cross between a moan and a whimper of delight. Namjoon grunts when he feels your walls clamp down on him and shushes you gently as a way to get you to relax for him.

"Relax," he says softly. "That's it. Good girl."

You screw your eyes shut the more he goes in and though there's a stretch what you mostly feel is pleasure.

A long drawn out moan comes from deep inside of you when he reaches the hilt and he's snug within you.

Namjoon releases a shaky breath and rests his forehead against your shoulder. He's letting you get used to him before he makes a move and you're appreciative of that.

"Tell me when," he whispers.

You have to fight to keep your walls from fluttering around him but you can't help it. He moans every time you do and he has to grip your arm to ground himself. The feeling of his grip helps ground you too and so with a nod do you let him know to go on.

"Do it."

Namjoon wraps an arm across your front and holds you close to his chest and with that you brace yourself for what's about to come.

His legs are on either side of yours caging you in and from there does he begin to piston his hips. He goes fast and hard jostling you up the bed. If it weren't for his hold on you you're sure you'd bump into the headboard.

You gasp and moan at the way he pounds into. You're left feeling breathless as your body tingles from head to toe. Gripping the sheets beneath you your eyes begin to water as your body is completely ravished by your captor. You don't want to admit it out loud but even then he knows how you're really feeling by the noises you make.

He's making a mess in between your legs. Your arousal gushes out of you with every push and pull of his hips leaving your inner thighs sticky and wet. In any other situation you'd feel embarrassed but he's making you feel so good you can hardly care.

From this angle his cock drags over the roof of your cunt just right. You're practically panting at this point because of it.

With a particularly harsh thrust you cry out loud and it makes him chuckle.

"Feels good, princess?"

You clamp your lips shut and breathe heavily through your nose.

"Oh don't get so quiet now. I know you love this," he laughs. "How about we try another position? Shall we?"

Without giving you time to think he pulls out of you and flips you over onto your back. You gasp at the sudden movement and before you can complain he spreads your legs apart and slots himself within you once again.

He's back to a brutal pace but keeps you close by slipping his arms beneath you and holding your shoulders in his hands. The move keeps you where he wants you - under his control.

Your eyes are shut but it doesn't stop a tear from leaking through your lashes. Even though you won't admit it out loud you are feeling good. More than good. With your back arching off the bed your breasts press up against Namjoon's front making him groan. The sound makes your walls tighten around him causing him to groan even louder.

"Keep doing that princess and I just might come."

You open your eyes and staring back at you are his icy blue ones. His frenzy is active and you know sooner than later he's going to need to feed, but not until you have what you want first.

Your lips part in waiting making Namjoon's brow raise in interest.

"Please," you beg.

He comes to a slow stop - sweat trickling down from his hairline. A dimpled smile takes over his face as he shakes his head. "You're so impatient, baby."

The way he stares at you like he adores you makes your stomach roil a little.

"Please Namjoon. I can't wait any longer." Your words come out with a whine.

He looks over your features in a sudden silence with nothing to express but that doesn't last for long.

He huffs a laugh. "I'm feeling awfully nice today since it's the holidays so yeah. Why not?"

Your pleading eyes widen a little in excitement and it makes him chuckle.

Without a second to waste Namjoon leans over to kiss your lips. You meet him halfway and immediately peek your tongue out to run across the seam of his lips. There's little resistance on his end as he parts his own and slips his tongue out to meet with yours. Then it hits. Pure elation. Pure euphoria. Pure ecstasy. It doesn't matter how many times you get it. It just gets better and better each time.

The kiss is long and deep with passion. Your tongues grind against one another in a sinful dance that's made of pure lust. Maybe if you weren't so far gone you'd be ashamed but that's not the case right now. You're enjoying yourself too much.

Your hands come up to Namjoon's back where your fingers dig into his flesh. He pulls back to hiss in pain but you don't miss the way his cock twitches inside of you.

Everything about how you feel right now is superb. You're on cloud nine. You can't help but to close your eyes and revel in the feeling. Even more so when Namjoon picks up where he left off. He's back to fucking you fast and hard to the point that you're left gasping. The man knows what he's doing. He's hitting all the right places that have you seeing stars.

Your walls start to flutter around him indicating that you're close. It forces Namjoon's hips to stutter.

"Fuck," he curses. "Think you can come for me?" Though he asks he knows that you can.

He switches his position slightly so that he's kneeling and brings a hand down between the two of you. His deft fingers quickly find your clit where he rolls the pearl around until you vocalize the pleasure he's giving you.

Behind closed lids your eyes roll back as you whimper and moan. You're so close and there's little else that needs to be done to make you fall over the edge. Just one more roll of his fingers and you gasp before a long high pitched whine breaks free from deep down in your chest. Your legs begin to shake as your walls clamp down on Namjoon. He chokes on a moan but it doesn't stop him from moving.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he grits out.

You don't see the way he clenches his teeth and how he bares them in unbridled rapture. He pushes forth - on and on until he suddenly stops. His hips jerk forward and he's spilling all he's got deep within you. You feel the way he empties inside of you filling you up to the brim. It's something you can never get used to but it's not a bad feeling. It has you sighing before the next thing to happen happens.

Namjoon's teeth bite into the side of your neck and hard. It makes you wince slightly but the high helps stave off any pain you would have felt otherwise. You feel the pull as he sucks your blood and it's a bit odd. Having your life force being pulled from you is an... interesting feeling. Especially when you're higher than a kite.

He takes from you a bit more before he stops and heals your wound with his tongue with a long and slow swipe. You hum at the feeling and he responds back with a hum of his own.

"You alright," he asks softly.

You hum again with a barely there nod.

When you're like this it's oftentimes best to just let yourself be. You don't enjoy any interruptions as you go through the motions of your high but you know Namjoon is being innocent when it comes to checking up on you.

He leaves a kiss on your forehead before pulling out and it makes you hiss. You're so sensitive down there. So much so that not even the high can mask the feeling.

Your eyes are shut so you don't see what Namjoon is doing but you know what his course of action will be. It's just a moment of silence before you jump a little at the feel of a warm washcloth between your legs. He cleans you up well and urges you to push to get some of his cum out. It's at this point the high starts to slowly leave you but the residual effect prevents you from feeling any sort of embarrassment as Namjoon cleans you up.

Without a word, once he's done, he heads to the bathroom where you know he'll wash up. You didn't forget that he needs to cleanse himself of you so he can go and see his brothers. They are no doubt waiting for him patiently or impatiently. For a brief moment you think of Hoseok. You wonder how he's doing ever since you left. You never bothered to ask Namjoon on how his brother has been because you never forgot that your captor has a penchant for lying. Who is to say he'll tell you the truth or not? Even then do you actually care to know? You don't know.

You curl up onto your side as sleep slowly starts to take over your hazy brain. Your semi-naked state trembles as it seeks warmth but you can't bring yourself to move and cover yourself up. Call it laziness or whatever but you can barely care.

You're in and out of consciousness all the while thoughts, meaningful and meaningless, flit across your mind. Neither here nor there - just simply existing. It's in this state do you register the sounds Namjoon makes when he comes back from showering. You know he can hear the way your breathing pattern begins to ease up so it's without a doubt in your mind that Namjoon knows you're about to fall asleep. Still, he checks up on you before tugging down the sheets so he can lie it over your body. As soon as the covers blanket over you goosebumps line your bare skin from the warmth. In response you give a pleased hum.

"I'll be out for a while." You vaguely register Namjoon's words. "Rest up and I'll see you later."

You give another hum though this time it's in acknowledgement despite how sleepy you're sure you sound.

"Merry Christmas, princess," are the last words you hear to keep you company until your captor comes back to you. Until you're back in his arms and until he'll have you again.

[sweetbutpsychobutsweet]

I Wasn't Completely Nude

Chapter 2

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You and the company are off to reclaim Erebor. But how long will you and Thorin be able to last until you're back at each other's throats?

Warnings: angst, implied sex work, no use of y/n

author's note: I already wrote the first 8-9 chapters of this series so there will be a lot of frequent updates while I'm editing those!

Word count: 1506

The sun has barely started to rise over the hills of the shire when you are awoken by a gentle shake to your shoulder.

 “Rise and shine, lass,” Dwalin’s voice pulls you further from sleep.

You groan and pull the blanket over your head. Your head is pounding from the ale and you’d love nothing better to slip into a death-like sleep for at least another week. 

Unfortunately, the leader of your company has other plans for you.

“If you aren’t ready in the next five minutes we’re leaving without you,” Thorin calls.

You peek your head out from under the blanket to see him packing his things back into his bag. “Everyone else is already up,” he glares at you.

You shove the blanket onto the floor and reach your arms up overhead in a good morning stretch. “Yeah well, not everyone else drank their entire body weight in alcohol last night.” 

“No one asked you to do that,” he reminds you with a grunt.

“Well if you’re going to spend the entire journey to Erebor talking down to me like that, I think I’m going to need a lot more alcohol in my system.”

“If you’re going to have a problem with being under my command, you are more than welcome to stay behind with Master Baggins.” He reminds you. 

You push yourself to your feet ready to tell him exactly what he can do with his command, when Balin appears between the two of you before you can continue. 

“Honestly you two, we haven’t even stepped foot on the road yet and you’re already at each other’s throats!” Balin redirects Thorin’s attention to going over the map again in the dining room before you can continue bickering.

You let out a huff of annoyance as you stomp off to the spare room to change clothes. 

You are determined to not let Thorin’s presence distract you from the excitement of being able to wear pants again. Of course, your mother never let you wear anything other than dresses growing up, and although your dwarven blood has always drawn you to all things sparkly and beautiful, you have always been a warrior at heart.

Fighting in a dress, while not impossible, is both impractical and extremely frustrating. When you aren’t working or traveling you try and wear them as often as you can. Traveling as a woman wearing anything other than a dress and corset attracts too much unwanted attention to make the freedom of movement worth it. 

But you figured traveling with a company of 13 dwarves and a wizard was already going to make you stick out, so you might as well be dressed for the fights that will inevitably be waiting for you.

You sigh in relief as you finish unlacing the corset, slipping it and your dress into your pack for now. You replace it with a form-fitting pair of trousers, a flowy blouse, and some comfortable riding boots. You decide to let your hair hang down around your shoulders for now, the braided strands by your face keeping it out of the way enough for now. 

There are still a few hunks of bread and fruit left in the pantry for you to munch on while gathering up the last of your things from the hobbit’s home. You regret that you aren’t able to thank your host before stepping out the front door but after last night's excitement and the early hour, he must be dead asleep.

Your pony, Onyx, is waiting for you outside, whimpering happily when she sees you approaching. You whisper sweetly to her as you stroke her mane, letting her nibble on some of the fruit you set aside for her.

She is a beautiful creature, with a strong frame and hair as dark as the night. If it weren’t for her small stature and sweet disposition you’d think she had galloped right out of hell’s gate. You pat her side affectionately as you start securing your things to her saddle. 

You feel a pair of eyes on you and you turn slightly to look over your shoulder at Thorin, who is openly staring at the curve of your rear in the pants.

He abruptly turns away when he sees that you’ve caught him staring. And it suddenly occurs to you how long it’s been since he’s seen you in pants, since the battle at Moria, where his grandfather, your King, Thror, was lost. But even then you had been wearing heavy layers of Dwarvan armor. Unlike now, where only a few layers of fabric cling to your form, revealing the silhouette of your curves.

You slowly bend over at the waist, pretending to fix the laces on your boot with a wicked smile on your face. You could swear you hear his jaw clenching behind you. It would seem you’ve found a way to pass the time on the road. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite the nip in the air, you decide to forego wearing a cloak. Preferring instead to feel the air whispering against your skin and running through your hair. Even as the rain starts pouring down above you, you ride on. Despite the fact, that your white blouse is now completely soaked through, revealing your chemise underneath.

The other dwarves are very polite about it, if they notice they don’t stare or draw any attention to the amount of skin you now have on display. The same can’t be said of your leader.

You feel a heavy cloak gently come to rest on your shoulders and you turn to see Thorin has moved ahead to ride beside you.

“I’m fine, thank you,” you say, pulling the warm furs off of you and handing them back to him.

“That wasn’t a request,” he replies curtly. Tossing the cloak back to you, more assertively this time. “I won’t have you catching cold and slowing down the entire company.”

You roll your eyes in annoyance and toss it back to him. “I appreciate your concern,” you reply, voice dripping with sarcasm, “but I’ll be fine, I don’t mind the rain.”

He grunts and picks up the cloak again. “If you try and hand that to me one more time I’m going to let it fall in the mud,” you warn him. 

He believes you, of course, but isn’t ready to let it go. He growls your name in a low warning. You keep your eyes directly on the road ahead, pretending to be completely oblivious to his frustration.

“I can see your underclothes,” he whispers as if you didn’t already know. You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly. Giving Onyx a gentle kick to pick up the pace, but Thorin stays right alongside you.

“I can see your breasts,” he elaborates. Again you shrug, and that only seems to irritate him more. 

“Just be glad I’m not making you pay for it, how do you think I made a living all these years?” you tell him with a wink. He looks at you in confusion for a moment, before it all clicks. 

“Did you? Are you a?” you laugh at the panic in his eyes.

“Oh relax, it’s not what you think. I was just a dancer. I kept my clothes on. Most of them anyways…” The legendary Thorin Oakenshield is left speechless as he stares at you with eyes wide, before narrowing them at you in annoyance.

“I went to great lengths to ensure you wouldn’t ever have to do anything like that. And you’re telling me you just threw it all away to dance naked in front of countless men for money?” you scoff at his accusation. It’s true that he secured you a respectable job in a quiet town and a long term room at an inn, but only so he could leave you behind to continue on with the rest of your kin. With a few halfhearted excuses and harsh words he turned his back on you when you needed him the most. He had been your closet friend, the one person you trusted most in all of middle earth and he let his pride get the better of him. All you had left after you watched him ride off towards the blue mountains that day, was a heavy grief and a burning anger that has never fully extinguished. 

“Were you even listening? I said I wasn’t completely nude. And don’t pretend like you made some big sacrifice for my benefit. You went to those great lengths just so you wouldn’t have to put up with me anymore.” you snap.

You wait for him to counter with a jab of his own but it never comes. 

When you look over at him he’s looking back at you with a sad look on his face.

“Is that what you think?” he asks in a low whisper, “ that I was trying to get rid of you?”

You force yourself to look away from him. And this time when you urge Onyx further ahead of him, he lets you go.

Next Chapter

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXVIII. “eleventh hour”

parts: previous / next

plot: witnessing the breaking of Bruce, your desperation reaches new heights.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, mention of suicide, description of panic attack/psychosis, light gore, angst, hurt/comfort, ableism (internalized; ‘crazy’ etc.), manipulation/lying

words: 8.8k

a/n: if you do not wish to read this, I will post a blurb at the front of the next chapter to summarize what happened in this one so you can still follow along. this is the last chapter for a while to talk about it explicitly.

prev. chapter summary (XXVII): You visit Bruce at Arkham, and share a tender moment. Bruce is moderately injured. Dr. Crane explains to you the protocol for interacting with patients who experience schizophrenia or psychosis, including not directly engaging with their delusion. Bruce remembered a powerful, owl-like creature attacking him, but it was ruled a suicide attempt. Bruce visits your apartment after his hold ends, where he tells you he didn't try to kill himself. Frustrated at not being believed, Bruce leaves, with no intention of getting medication or therapy.

In the afternoon you awoke, even more upset than the night before. Sleep allowed the weight of your task to internalize—you nearly passed out peeking at the news on your phone, fully anticipating news of his death—though you found nothing, the fear wasn't alleviated. A look at Scypher proved no one knew he'd been to Gotham General or Arkham, either. As day crept into night, you found yourself pacing about your apartment. Your mind's current fixation was on whether or not you should go to Alfred, and if so, whether to leave now or later. Now would increase the odds of Bruce seeing you, probably as he donned the suit and left the tower for another shift; that could leave him agitated. Leaving later would increase the odds of danger finding you, make it a sketchy Uber driver or chancing a walk across town in the total dark; neither option bode well, but there was no chance you would stay here. Every tick on the clock felt like a drop of blood spilling out of Bruce.

You paid extra for Uber Luxe, hoping that might decrease your chance of being assaulted or beheaded. Your taser sat thick in your sweatpant pocket, jostling with every step. You'd given the driver instructions to drop you off a block before Wayne Tower grounds, at the last convenience store. The drive was unfortunately short, leaving little time to plan what you wanted to say. Alfred would likely still be awake, waiting up for Bruce who was ever so ungrateful to have someone waiting and praying for his safe arrival.

Walking up the grounds was ominous; this wasn't what you thought a celebrity's house would be like, and you cringed thinking of him that way. There were no overlording guards, security staff peppering the outskirts, or someone watching the door. It was empty, quiet, and dark. The steps to the main entryway were broken concrete. The door was thick wood, double the height of a regular door, and equally wide. When you knocked it hardly made a sound.

The door opened without fanfare, the only sound the echoing creak of the door hinge bleeding into the foyer. Alfred's eyes brightened momentarily, and only slightly, at your arrival. He gave a watery grin and stepped aside for you to come in. "Miss Y/N. Master Bruce told me you visited at Arkham." You were struck by how different he seemed; his previously warm, jolly demeanor was replaced with all-encompassing fatigue, dread swaddling him with a sweaty blanket. "If you want to check on him, I'm afraid he's out." He walked to the unlit kitchen and grabbed a glass from the counter, drawing water from the sink before taking a gulp. His hand rested on his waist, his head facing the ground as he sucked his teeth. He rubbed his eyes.

You shut the door behind you, crossing your arms round your waist. "He looked pretty beat up."

Alfred gave a solemn nod. "Did they tell you what happened?"

You reciprocated. "About his great grandfather too." You paused. "Doesn't seem like he believes it."

The sigh the man heaved could've moved mountains. "I've tried to get through to him." His voice cracked. "Only seems to make him more resentful." He laughed hollowly.

Your heart hurt for Alfred. Maybe you'd only scratched the surface and the old man was some abusive piece of shit, maybe Bruce was perfectly right to disregard him, maybe it was all a show, but from what you'd experienced with Bruce, he seemed unwilling to consider his impact on others, not the other way around. "Did he seem worked up at all?"

Alfred, though exhausted, easily sniffed out your not-so-subtle attempt at gathering info. "I see—the psychiatrist brought all hands on deck." He'd wondered why you'd visited; it was hard to believe that Bruce would have asked for you, even if he'd wanted you. The boy hadn't even asked for him—though that could've been his altered consciousness after the attempt, or shame, embarrassment. On a good day the boy was tough to crack. He hadn't heard a thing about you since your leaving the mansion in the spring.

When Alfred got the call he panicked, quite literally dropping what he was doing to rush to him, but it was when he was pulled into a private room with the doctor that his heart shattered. How alone did Bruce feel? How isolated, lonely, and helpless had he felt? That night when Bruce arrived home from Arkham he'd had a long, heartfelt, one-sided conversation with him while they waited for his med timer to go off. He went on about whether Bruce would attempt again, and how Alfred could help prevent that. Bruce averted his eyes and listened, for a while. Eventually he stood with dewy eyes and told him he hadn't done it. The ensuing argument was steeped in desperation from both sides; Alfred hadn't slept a wink since. He checked on the boy every half hour as he slept and hadn't left his general vicinity until he slunk off in the suit.

"You know him best." The hallway cast an echo to your words. "Do you think there's anything you or I could do, or say? To make him get help?"

Alfred's laugh startled you. "That's precisely the issue, Miss. Bruce has an unforceable hand." He set the glass down, body tense. "He has to want it for himself. And he doesn't." The way he planted himself into the dining chair had you wonder if the sink wasn't actually filled with vodka. It almost looked like Alfred had given up. It pissed you off—not at the sorrowful man before you, but at Bruce. If your mom had begged like that, you wanted to believe you'd try something. This path of destruction he was on...

He interrupted your fuming. "Is that why you paid him a visit, to convince him to seek help?"

You nodded but his back was turned. "Yeah. Dr. Crane seems to think I can get through to him. No idea how. Said I was the last point of contact."

He huffed. "At this point anything's on the table." So maybe he hasn't given up hope... or maybe he truly sees no scenario where Bruce makes it out.

Footsteps sounded from the shadowy hallway at the back of the kitchen and before you knew it, Bruce arrived in the suit. His black eyeshadow had smeared at the edges. The cowl hung in his left hand.

"Master Bruce,"

His voice was terse, still hoarse. "What's she doing here? Did you call her?" He strode past Alfred in the kitchen to rip open the fridge and grab an apple. God, you wanted to scream. As he moved toward the elevator, you nearly flew off the handle at the combination of his back facing the two of you and his disgruntled sigh. With how fast he was escaping, that rage was unable to be tempered in time for a measured response. "So you're gonna act like I'm not here?"

He stopped but didn't look back. "I asked him a question."

"I didn't call her, Bruce." He rubbed his temples, a migraine forming. Alfred sighed and excused himself to grab an aspirin upstairs. Bruce kept forward. His stomach twisted into knots seeing you here again—intrusive, meddling, righteous. He took massive care to avoid limping.

The scene was poetic: Bruce disdainfully walking away while his butler (and only guardian) went to medicate for a stress-induced ailment. Metal clanking signified his nearing departure and you snapped. "Do you see how much you're hurting him?"

That was the single most aggravating and entitled thing you did: pretend you had any damn idea who Alfred was or had even a crumb of knowledge about their relationship. He spun around. "You know nothing about him—"

"I know he's exhausted and miserable waiting on you, he's alone in the kitchen at 10 pm with his goddamn head in his hands—"

"I told him he doesn't have to worry."

You could've laughed, but your body wouldn't let you. "You are genuinely risking your life, how the hell are we not supposed to worry?"

His eyes flashed at your pronoun choice. "You're ridiculous to think you're in any alignment with him."

"Are you?"

He stepped out of the elevator, his chest thick with tense breathing. "You don't know when to stop talking, do you?"

You shot an icy glare. "Is that a threat?"

He snarled. "Observation."

Heat rose to your cheeks for reasons you couldn't yet decipher. The longer he stayed arguing with you the less time he'd have for seeking behavior, but you had to toe the line. He was getting too riled up. "We-I just want you to be safe."

He stared at you for a good few seconds, trying to do a temperature check. You were hard to read. Ever since you'd come back he'd been decidedly disappointed in your intermittent composure. These glimmers of bite made him feel curiously alive, in ways both delightful and infuriating. "You got what you wanted from me. Why are you still here?"

It was like he was ignoring you on purpose; like he hadn't cried into your touch a day prior, like he couldn't fathom if he had been successful, Alfred would be planning a funeral right now. You shrugged, your chest procuring an exasperated sound to accompany it. "Do you not know how serious this weekend's been, or do you not care?"

He paused only briefly, enough for him to shoot a dagger stare. "It's not serious in the way you're painting it."

"Can you suspend your disbelief just a moment?" Please. Please. Please. You began to sweat.

"I could say the same to you."

You were losing him, you knew it. Whatever thin string tied you to him was threatening to sever. You opened your mouth but he cut you off, knowing if he gave you space to speak he would implode. "I know what I saw." His hands flexed in and out of fists, trying desperately to metabolize the stress, to temper the helpless rage bubbling in his stomach.

No idea what to say and at an utter loss, you stood and looked at him. The moon only lit up your half of the kitchen. The air was tense and brittle as ice. Dr. Crane's voice was a subtle pulse cocooning every sentence you thought you might say. "I know you saw that, I believe you."

His jaw set. He responded with a colossal eye roll and scornful jeer. "You don't believe it happened, you believe I experienced it."

Your voice lost its gusto, your mind going blank. "I don't know what else to say."

"Say nothing. It's not needed." He moved to turn and you reflexively tossed a lasso.

"You're needed; who will protect Gotham?" You paused too long in the middle there.

He cackled—a jarring, unsettling sound in the chilled air. "There's no line you won't cross."

Fuck. You wanted to stomp your foot, and throw a tantrum to shake the house; this visceral experience of exasperated compassion fuzzed your restraint. "No line you won't ignore."

He stopped turning and scowled, his voice devastatingly cutting. "Says the person loitering."

He needed to know how serious this was; all arrows pointed in one direction. "If you'd been successful, we wouldn't even be t—"

"I didn't do it!" It was the first time he'd really yelled around you, and definitely the first time at you. It peppered goosebumps across your skin and hitched a few breaths. Clamoring steps and Alfred entered, brows raised after a quick scan of the room. "What's going on?"

Bruce turned on his heel and made haste to the elevator, slamming his palm against the button before he rocketed down to the cave. His heartbeat pulsed in his ears, tears springing up for the umpteenth time this weekend. The second the doors opened he bolted through the basement, his cowl catching on the corner of a particularly obtrusive desk in the center of the room. He tossed the cowl, and as he felt the helplessness punctuate into his chest he began ripping off the suit until he was nothing but spandex base layers. He sprinted through the subway doors, past the car, and barreled north. The chilled air slapped his flushed cheeks, the pain in his foot and torso going silent as he sprinted through unlit sidewalks and alleys. He'd find it. Find something. Find anything. His weak ankle slipped on a patch of oil, and he landed swiftly on his back. Unprotected by the suit, the thud knocked the tears out of him, and they slid silently down his cheeks until they joined the puddles on the ground.

Alfred turned toward you and searched your face. "I heard shouting?"

You whipped out your phone and dialed Dr. Crane. He picked up on the second ring; you put it on speaker for Alfred to hear. "Ms. Y/L/N. Is something wrong?"

"I don't know. I went to see Mr. Pennyworth, and Bruce caught me there and, we had an argument and he just, he ran off." The adrenaline rush of his shout lingered much like sweat. You fought to catch your breath as tsunamis of guilt and fear crashed into you. Would he hurt himself right now? Is he gonna die? Dr. Crane sighed. "Certainly not ideal..." Another sigh. "Did he make any threat against his life, or anyone else's?"

"No."

"Did he seem oriented to place and time?"

"Yes."

"Unfortunately there's not much we can do at this point."

Your hands shook. Alfred placed a hand on your arm to steady you. "I could go after him, I don't, I don't know,"

"No." Dr. Crane was quick with it. Alfred shook his head at you too, but remained quiet. "That might push him further. Mr. Pennyworth has this number, let him know to call me if he doesn't come home in the next few hours. Anything else I can do for you?"

God this was hopeless. Guilt ravaged through you, and you barely contained a sob while telling him that was all. You stowed the phone in your pocket, callously wiping hot tears from your face. Alfred dropped his hand from your arm, face empathetic but grim. "Miss. This is not your responsibility."

"I need to leave, I'm not making this better,"

"Let me drive you."

You shook your head. "I need to walk. I have a taser, I'm fine." You brushed past him before you melted into a pile of dust and became unable to command your legs.

Alfred walked across the kitchen and pulled off a piece of paper towel. "At least take my number. I'm a call away." The soft lull of his accent and the smooth feel of the fiber grounded you enough to walk out the door and brace yourself for the two-mile walk back, after a brief embrace and thanks. You stomped along the sidewalks with your arms across your chest, both grateful and suspicious at the lack of people around. Glints of flickering street lamps caught your attention on the wet cement. It shocked you that Gotham still got rain in the summer—much less, yes, but the littering of puddles and slick pavement was an ever-present ghoul.

The sidewalk curved to the left, jutting out to various side streets and alleyways. Some faint yelling punctuated the otherwise quiet evening, but that was usual. As you walked further however, it grew louder, sounding distressed. You grabbed your taser and held it in front with the trigger ready, safety off. The screaming kept an insistent space in the ambiance. Shuffling, hitting, thudding, scrambling. The fuck? Curiosity outweighed the fear that criticized every step toward the noise pollution. By this point the main street's light source had waned, rendering your phone the only way to not trip and break your nose against disgusting concrete. You yelped when someone ran out in front of you—it took a full ten seconds to realize it was Bruce.

His clothes were completely torn up; he wasn't in the suit, which confused you. Is it lying somewhere? Someone could easily trace it back to him. He turned quickly and paced back from whence he came, a small alley littered with garbage and decaying leaves. You could make out even less of what he looked like now. Every time you moved your light up he flinched, turning hard away from it. The puddles refracted the light off your phone, allowing just enough to frame his expressions and movements. He was hunched, shaking like he was in an earthquake, and shreds of his shirt and leggings were strewn about. "Get away from me." He grumbled, loud, his voice bloated and cracked. The hoarseness from earlier had devolved into a scratchy sound, almost like his throat had open wounds. He spoke too loudly, with some words emphasized and shouted while others sounded more swallowed, drowning in the tears he sputtered on as he choked out shouts and screams. You didn't bother to hide your wince; with sounds that heartwrenching and lights so low, it would be futile to suppress. Upon closer inspection some of his bandages had been ripped off too; as if on cue he began ripping more of them off, digging underneath his shirt, sniffing, huffing, and heaving.

"Bruce,"

He looked at you like he'd seen a ghost. "How do you know my name?" He shrieked, doubling over into the fetal position while he anxiously ran his hands through his hair, smearing the bloody, blackened tears into his hairline. His next few breaths were desperate and shallow, and you heard the sound of air sucking through his teeth. You stood about ten feet from him, unable to step any closer due to his erratic movements. He fell onto his ass and grabbed fistfuls of his hair, yanking violently as he rocked back and forth. Spit launched out of his mouth and dangled in the corner of his lips, the hiss of strained airflow clenching your gut into knots. You gulped, your limbs beginning to numb. "I'm calling Alfred."

Your hand shook nearly as much as his as you tried to squint to read his number. After too long, every second passing like ten minutes with the state Bruce was in, he picked up. "Alfred,"

"Miss? Everything—"

"Bruce needs to be picked up." You didn't realize you were gasping until you had to speak through it. It was at that second that Bruce acknowledged you, jumping to his feet and racing to only a foot's distance. "NO!" His pupils were blown, eyes rapidly shutting and squeezing. Crouched to be at eye level, you could see how his lip trembled under the weight of the sweat and tears pooling beneath his nose. His bleary, soaked, inflamed eyes threatened to impale yours with the intensity of their focused attention. He opened and shut his mouth a few times without speaking, and when he did, flecks of spit landed on your chin. A few unsuccessful regulating breaths and heaving exhales later, he whined into the phone. "Don't tell Mom and Dad about this."

Palpable silence. Alfred was the one to break it. "I'll be there in three minutes." The phone sat heavy in your palm after he hung up. Bruce sank to his knees and pressed his forehead to the wet ground. He bloodied his knuckles beating against it. His screams became muffled as you stood, frozen. He gazed at the alley's dead end and shouted unintelligibly, his agitation mounting until Alfred arrived and helped him into the backseat. You couldn't think, couldn't breathe, and the man had to walk you to the passenger seat. "I'll take you home first, Miss."

"You won't tell them, right? I can't be out this late." Bruce wrung his hands together and looked out the window anxiously. You and Alfred exchanged a solemn look. Alfred nodded. "It'll stay between us, Master Bruce. I promise." This was bad, and you both knew it. It was sad, too. Would he wake up wondering where his parents were? Would he have any recollection of this in the morning? Would Alfred have to break the news to him that his parents had died years ago? Did this warrant an inpatient stay? What would Dr. Crane think? The hum of the cabin air was the only distraction from Bruce picking at his fingernails and sniffling up sobs. If there had been any more breathing room in there you would've joined him. But you had to wait until they were gone. Wait until the only thing around you was dark, empty silence. You directed Alfred to your apartment, and soon enough you arrived.

Pulling up to the curb of The Moore, he waited for your door to open before locking the rest. He stepped out and walked over to hold the lobby doors. His steps were slow and a bit shallow. He saw tears streaming your cheeks and stopped before grabbing the handle. "Miss,"

Now that you were out of the car you couldn't contain yourself. "It was my fault, I'm fucking meddling,"

His mouth settled into a tight frown. "As far as I'm concerned you saved him tonight. Who knows what could have happened if you hadn't been there?"

You shook your head, his words not penetrating the layers of guilt. "He wouldn't have been like that if it weren't for me. I'm inserting myself where I'm not needed."

Alfred placed a hand on your shoulder, waiting until you met his eyes to speak. "Efforts to save a life are never misplaced." With that, he nodded and bid you adieu. The walk to your room felt like a million years with the weights on your ankles. Your room was cold, a liminal space between before and after, then and now. If only I hadn't left.

Bruce had woken up screaming five times that night. The first two times he'd bolted out of his bedroom in his underwear, needing to be coaxed back to bed with firm reassurance and breathing exercises. Alfred took to sleeping in a makeshift cot in front of the boy's door to make sure he didn't slip past. When morning came, he hadn't recalled a thing; his head ached, his body felt like it'd been struck by lightning, run over by a car, and chewed on by twenty dogs. Seeing Alfred sleeping at the foot of his door prompted a conversation about what had happened last night—he'd glazed over by the time he was told what he'd said about his parents, though it didn't help the sting.

As much as he wanted to rot in bed the rest of the day until he could go out as the bat, his stomach grumbled to the kitchen. It was there that Alfred threw out the idea of going to see you. "Miss Y/N is the one who found you. She called me." After a few hours of avoidance that only propelled the day to early afternoon, he caved; the hovering presence of Alfred made his embarrassment and frustration peak, and if he'd stayed a moment longer he might have lashed out. So... he found himself once again at the door to your apartment. He felt strange being there, like he wasn't supposed to remember where you lived. He figured a text would have been worse.

You opened the door wearing black sweats and a white tee. You looked exhausted. "Alfred wanted me to stop by."

It hurt more than it should have that it didn't come from him. Moreso than desiring any self-indulgent recognition, you wanted to feel like he didn't hate you. Regret had kept you up the entire night to the extent of wicked nausea. Your knees still ached from kneeling in front of the toilet for hours on end. I'm sorry caught before it passed your tonsils, evaporated before reaching your tongue. All night you'd ruminated about how ridiculous and intrusive you'd been. All you'd done was fuck up his life. Why had you even gone over last night? Because some man in a blazer with a fancy degree gave you a crash course on mental illness meant you had any right to meddle? Those thoughts stormed against others that saw the pain and dangerous denial plainly in him, like a ticking time bomb.

Dr. Crane had called you earlier that morning to warn you about his condition. "It appears he's in a state of delirium. This is the worst-case scenario outside of another attempt... which is usually imminent soon after." His words echoed through your best attempt at listening. You'd have to remove 'works well under pressure' from your resume after this weekend. The call had ended on a sobering note, such lethal stakes nearly forcing you into complete apathy. You'd sat on the edge of your couch with the phone on speaker, sitting on your hands that grew colder the more he spoke. "The gravity of his current condition cannot be overstated."

"Me talking to him only hurt him." Your voice was dry and raspy from lack of sleep. "It sent him into a spiral, I can't do that again." Your arms wrapped around your torso in a sad excuse for a hug. Walter would've been great company right about then.

"Ms. Y/L/N, I assure you: such a high-caliber reaction could not be spurred solely by asking him to get help." But you didn't believe him. At this point you snapped, wanting to drill into him that you were making it worse. "He does not like me. He only gave me the interview because I wouldn't leave him alone, I have been a stain in his life for months."

Dr. Crane sighed. "Y/N." This was the first time he'd addressed you so informally. "I am aware he might dislike you. I hear what you are telling me. My professional judgment remains."

"Wouldn't someone you hate telling you to get help only make you want it less?" This thought had plagued you between dry heaves, the thought of your assistance only exacerbating his refusal. If someone you detested—and barely knew—came barging into your home demanding you get help and told you how much you were hurting your parents... you'd want to slap the shit out of them. It was embarrassing how entitled you'd acted the night before. "I'm making the problem worse. I need to be hands-off."

"I did my graduate studies on interventions for schizophrenic populations—I focused on the different outcomes between estranged and aligned families. Some of these guardians were outright abusive and thoroughly hated by the patient," He spoke the next part emphatically. "Yet regardless of how polluted the relationship, the data was clear:" He needed to drill every syllable of the next part into your very spirit. "Once the patient entered delirium, the families who took a 'hands-off approach' had an 87% increased rate of patient mortality within one week."

If the phone had been in your hands you would've dropped it. "Whatever you need to do, make sure it gets done. Nothing is too far when it comes to saving a life. It's the eleventh hour."

You stepped aside and Bruce walked in no further than required to shut the door behind him. He looked worse than ever. How did he even walk up here in the light of day? If even one camera got a picture of him it would be plastered to the front of every tabloid, he would have to come out with a statement...

He stilled. He saw the strain in your breath, how your chest rose rapidly, the slumped defeat in your body, your swollen under eyes and chapped lips. "I also wanted to apologize." He certainly hadn't meant to, but the anger was dissipating with every second he looked at you. "Last night I wasn't myself."

Maybe he'll say it himself. Maybe this is it, maybe he came to accept it. Hope fluttered against your ribs. No more fighting, no more arguing. "I'm sorry for inserting myself. I shouldn't have said that about Alfred. I'm a stranger." After the call with Dr. Crane, you'd wondered about playing docile, but this wasn't a ploy; this guilt was desperate to purge itself, and he was an altar edging it out.

He blinked at the ground. "You weren't wrong. Alfred is suffering." It hurt to push those words past his teeth. "But there's nothing I can do about that." He snuck a look over, seeing your mouth open. He cringed. "Don't tell me to get help." He grit his teeth and balled his fists, the tension in his body overwhelming. When you didn't respond, he spoke again, trying to show you plainly and clearly how suspicious it was. "It's an anonymous witness. No footage."

You wanted to talk about how the witness probably stayed anonymous because he was Bruce Wayne, someone so rich and powerful they might have feared retaliation if their identity was on record, but the other times you reminded him of his status had sent him spiraling. You wanted to talk about how the city budget was so misused that most of the security cameras around town were out of order, especially in dark alleyways that businessmen didn't frequent—that was the only purpose of justice in Gotham anyway, to protect and serve the elite. But the tension was visible and unnerving; you and Bruce together at a fragile crossroad. That mortality rate sat like a boulder in your gut. Every option was bitter on the tongue.

The one thing you thought to do was the one thing Dr. Crane said to never do; engage directly with his hallucinations. Did you even care about that anymore? Was he even right? Was Bruce right? Probably not. He'd been so beyond himself he thought his parents were still alive, staring at the back of an empty alleyway like someone was out to get him. That couldn't be reasoned with. Another refrain ran laps around you: one week. Seeing Bruce Wayne in your kitchen after hearing that... it seemed the odds were more likely you'd attend a public memorial than speak to him next weekend. Oh. Fuck.

He chased after the shift in your body language. You had that look again from city hall. The expression of being far away, on another planet. It instilled in him an unquenchable urge to thrust you out of it. "Last night... It was like I'd been drugged."

Any explanation to keep him in denial. You shook yourself out of it, immediately replacing the dismissive thought with something more just. It's a lot to accept. Of course he's struggling with it. The most you could manage was to stare at his shoes. Your eyes still glazed. The room muffled. Unaware of every breath. You hadn't dissociated this hard since the first call from the doctor seven years ago. Therapy had helped back then, letting you know this served a function. Holding it compassionately wouldn't do a damn thing right now, locked in your gridlock, dipping your toes in the apathy that lusted to infiltrate your bloodstream. My apathy is deadly. My apathy could cost him his fucking life. But you couldn't shake it. You couldn't look up at him, you couldn't even speak. You burst into tears... or thought you did. You'd heaved an enormous sigh and sat with your head down, unable to well up tears in such a detached state. Even if you could, you wouldn't cry in front of him if you could manage; he didn't need that.

Your sigh had a whimper at the end of it, sending a jolt through him. The stillness of the moment had him noticing the details, like how you hadn't changed since the night before. Your apartment was still disassembled. The time on the stove read 4:18. His mind wandered. Gordon got off on weekends at five; the mask would conceal most of his injuries, and the ones it didn't would make sense. He could investigate it more with him, explore the evidence room... But there you sat. And he didn't want to leave you like this. His tone was tender, like yours had been. "I'm safe."

Arkham. "I don't know what else to do."

"Believe me." He pleaded, a gravelly whine fraying the end. Dr. Crane had warned you about this on the phone call. He asked about your plan if he came over; you hadn't had one, wanting to ignore the possibility entirely. Dr. Crane said it was likely he'd draw more desperate. You'd asked about humoring him. Tried to express how stubborn Bruce was. Nope. Not a possibility. "If you want to throw gasoline on a fire."

Your lids were heavy with sleep, stress, anxiety. You could see how much you stressed him out. How he was on the edge of leaving. How desperate he was to be believed. Fish hooks in your sides threatened to cut you in two, tugging equally left and right, splitting each layer of your skin at the belly button.

At least if you stuck with Dr. Crane's plan and it ended horribly, you would have someone else to blame... You hated yourself for letting that cross your mind. Bruce wasn't an experiment, and this wasn't a low-stakes outcome. As much as the situation juiced your heart until it was throbbing and weak, he was the one with the most to lose, and he couldn't think clearly. He needed you to stay the course. Trust the science. Listen to the data, to reason, not what tugged at your heartstrings. You took a deep breath. "I know it hurts to not be trusted, but you have to weigh the pros and cons."

All he did was glare back at you. You couldn't hesitate, refusing to waste another second. "Worst case scenario is you have some temporary side effects," You ignored how visibly agitated he was becoming, how his hands twitched and his eyes looked away as his jaw clenched. "Worst case scenario of not trying them is you do that again, and not even know it's happening."

He'd far surpassed his limit; every syllable slipping past your lips trying its best to gaslight. You'd been persistent when getting the interview, he should've seen the red flag in your tenacity. "You're never going to believe me?" Posed as a question, meant as a statement. His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer. "Why are you pushing this?" Why would you of all people be shelling this so hard?

It was simple, and you said it as such. "I don't want you to die."

Bruce didn't give it time to linger. His face was sour with a scowl. "Doesn't change what happened."

"Weigh the options. One outcome is far worse." Please. You crossed your fingers behind your back to summon the universe's luck. Please. He just glared at you. Small shaking of his head. You pressed on. "You don't even have to believe anyone, just humor—"

He scoffed, the sound like a slap across the face. "Take medication to humor..." Your audacity... fuck. He could've laughed. He could've rolled his eyes, stormed out, any number of things. His was instead welded to the floor. It didn't make sense. Any of it.

"Please." God, the way you whined. The smallest, most minuscule seed of doubt entered him. Terrified of it manifesting into slipping resolve, he turned to leave. "Where are you going?"

He kept walking. The squeak in your voice, the haze of desperation, the exhaustion weighing you down—had you stayed up all night thinking about this? You couldn't have. He reached the doorknob just as you jumped toward him. "Please, stop,"

He winced. "Stop sounding like that." Your begging was pointless. He'd made up his mind. He'd leave, he wouldn't even look back... he wouldn't think about it, he wouldn't think about you, you wouldn't get to him.

At this point your heart was beating so hard you swore Bruce could hear it. As soon as he slipped out of your apartment he would be unreachable. Every other time he'd left like this, something terrible had happened. He could be dead by the end of the night. The end of the hour. When he turned the doorknob you could've jumped out of your skin. Your vocal cords constricted from overwhelming dread. This is too much. "Where are you going?"

"Don't need to concern yourself." He opened the door and you grabbed his arm; his head whipped around to look at you, startled by the forcefulness of your grip. Through his sweatshirt he could feel how ice cold your fingers were.

"I do,"

He shrugged his arm away. "Keep telling yourself that." The door opened wide with a quick snap; the snarl in his tone, the glare set in his features, you had about two seconds before he was down the hallway to god knows where to do god knows what. Popping into your mind was his insinuation that no one had seen it; no evidence, no corroboration, and you made a split-second decision as he stepped into the hallway.

"Because I saw it." A disorienting combination of emotions swarmed you; immediate regret at having lied, and immediate relief in seeing Bruce freeze, no longer rushing out to his demise.

"Saw what?" His voice lowered and he stilled, like he knew exactly what you implied but hoped you didn't mean it.

It was hard to stay quiet through the sudden flush of tears down your cheeks. The lie ended up gasping out of you. "I saw you jump, I'm the person who called."

You barely contained a sob of relief when he stepped back inside and shut the door. He peeked at you, his eyes searching your face slowly, deliberately. This was the first time you'd had any feeling at all that he was willing to listen. This was your last chance, his last chance, anyone's to get him to safety. "I felt bad about how the interview ended, so I went looking for you."

Bruce could barely hear you, and he could only hear you. The world, his thoughts, everything but the crackle of the flaming pitchforks his defenses held faded away. It would make sense it hadn't leaked to the press yet if it had been you, but.... He said this like an accusation, eyes narrowed with skepticism. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

He was giving you an inch, you were taking a mile. You were yanking him close to you and holding him there. You would've imploded if you had to see him in a casket, knowing you could've done more. Even if it wasn't your responsibility, even if you barely knew him. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Thought it'd be easier."

His heart was in his throat. Hope was lying nearly dead in his chest, gasping for air before a final death rattle. His voice was strained, weary, haunting. "You saw me jump?" His brows knit together just barely, daring you both to be honest and to spare him. "Off a building?"

You bit your tongue until a searing sting. Jesus... You couldn't hesitate. Not with him, not now. Not with him looking at you like that. Not with his pulse hanging in the balance. You nodded and strangled the words out from where they clotted in your throat. "It was horrifying. I thought I watched you die."

Bruce flinched as you said it, your words evoking a visceral sensation of being stoned. Brick by brick it hit his chest, teleporting him to the night his parents died; the feeling of watching blood pour out of their bodies, shucking sounds of it glugging against the wet concrete, seeping into puddles. Like a flipped switch, he had no choice but to believe you. This was his line. The notion that he had caused someone to experience even a fraction of that feeling... no matter how deep his denial, no matter that he saw the creature clear as day, he would have forgotten his own name if it meant sparing someone. If he suffered through the truth, fine; if it harmed anyone else, it was over. Folded. Hard limit. Fear was a tool, but not like this.

You witnessed a clear shift in him. You were too busy swimming in fragile relief to think about why that had connected. Your body was buzzing, and you watched on with bated breath as he stood in silence. If you listened hard you could hear his deep nasal inhale. His shallow, quick exhale.

He felt embarrassed, ashamed, and afraid. He hated how much he still wanted to drill you. How desperate he was to corroborate his experience and dismiss everything else. He wouldn't force you to rehash it. he wouldn't make you relive something like that. The walls began to close in as his reality rapidly dissolved; the owls hadn't been real, the creature hadn't been real, he'd really jumped off a building and his mind was so unreliable he hadn't known? Ooh, this was... this was...

You sniffed. It brought him back to space and time. He couldn't lose it yet. "Do you, uh," He squeezed his eyes shut, his mind completely numbed out. Save the spiral for later. "What do you need?"

You felt absolutely disgusting. What did you need? It churned your stomach. Why did he have to have humility now? Flashbacks to him screaming and hitting the pavement as spit flew out of his mouth. Taped down to a psychiatric bed. The scabs beginning to form on his face, neck, and hands... the pain that surfaced so quickly when you'd even barely touched his cheek. You pursed your lips and blew out a shaky breath to ground yourself. Save the spiral for later.

"You want me to get meds, therapy?" Desperation coated his tone. Like he was counting the seconds until he could leave, or explode, or both.

Your eyes were wide and bleary as you made contact with his. You couldn't bring yourself to nod, or even look him in the face longer than a few seconds. "I just want you to be safe."

He didn't speak for another minute. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he certainly wasn't at peace. You hadn't expected him to believe you. You hadn't imagined a universe where he would ever believe a word you said. But then he nodded. Lost in thought, eyes darting across the floor, breathing labored, and said things you never thought he would. "I'll pick some up in the morning."

The dizzying haze of shock annihilated him. He walked to the door but felt stumbled, like his saliva was thickening in his mouth, blood rushing to his core to sustain him, keep him upright, thinking, moving. When he grabbed the doorknob he couldn't feel it. In a blink the door opened and he didn't remember opening it. The zigzag pattern on the hallway rug floated, fuzzy, spotting the edge of his vision.

He walked calmly to the door; you couldn't see his face, no idea what he was thinking, and it killed you. "Are you gonna be safe tonight?"

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to reassure you he wouldn't do anything now that he knew you were involved. He wanted to tell you he didn't think he'd ever attempt to kill himself, but apparently that wasn't real. You'd witnessed him try to end his life. He was obviously unstable, an unreliable narrator, and he was afraid. The pieces were falling into place; the wear in your body, your meddling... He heard the elevator ding from the end of the hall and shut the door, leaning his sore, bruised forehead against it. What had he done to get that? He couldn't remember where half of his injuries came from. Alfred said he'd panicked the night before. Was out of his body. The last thing he remembered was staring up at the cloudy sky, wishing, pleading the universe to be believed. Then it was all black.

He spoke in a whisper, though unintentional. "I don't know." He didn't trust anything now. Was he even here? Was this even happening? Were his feet planted against your flooring, or was he actually in a field by himself? He couldn't do this now, he couldn't, he couldn't make you take care of him, you couldn't feel responsible, you weren't, this was crazy. He was crazy. His heart began to race when he heard you step behind him. He shook his head hard. "I'll stay inside tonight."

"Bruce," A plaintive cry.

He spun around. His shaky, blurred vision dialed in to your slick, puffy face. His jaw hung slack. "I'm sorry I put you through that."

It's worth it. He's getting help. No more bruises, cuts, jumps. I did what I needed to. He's not gonna die. He's not gonna die. He's not. gonna. die. You flirted with hyperventilation the more you sat under his gaze. "It's fine,"

"It's not." He wasn't going to leave you like this, alone and crying. Had you gotten flashbacks like he did way back when? Did you need a hug as badly as he did after taking their bodies away?

"You're okay, so." He stepped toward you and you jumped. He searched your face and goddammit, tracked every tear again. He is not gonna take care of me. STOP CRYING! You stammered for anything to say that could shift the focus off of you as you forced your tear ducts to close. "I can call Alfred if you want to be picked up," Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. I'm a fucking liar. I'm lying. I'm lying.

He didn't answer. You gulped, feeling increasingly like you were about to pass out. "The smog's pretty bad today, um," Your hands shook, you needed to find something to tether them to. Heat flooded your lashes again, fuck. "I think I have some tea, if you're walking it might, it might help."

Your hands quivered against the lavender mug as you pulled it from the cabinet. "With your throat, you know." Your hands were going clammy, your forehead felt sticky. He watched your trembling fingers search the drawers, finally procuring a packet. He'd traumatized you—he wouldn't let you take care of him too. He tracked your eyes to the microwave, and moved to open the door. You filled the mug with water and put it in the microwave for two minutes.

Just walking those few steps made him queasy; on top of everything else he was late to taking his pain meds. Inside, he frantically plugged a cracking dam. Would he be able to go out as batman anymore? How would the psych meds affect him? Had anything else happened that wasn't real? Did you even know he was batman? Was batman even real? Was batman a way for him to channel his sickness into something productive? What memories were real? He held his hands in front of him. The dam was breaking.

You turned around to grab a paper towel, but saw Bruce standing a foot away staring at his shaking palms. The blueness of his eyes was exaggerated by his constricted pupils. Unsure of what to do, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you stared at the mesmerizing spin of the mug. Round, and round, and round. The light hit his cheek, emphasizing the scabs and cuts. The beat of his rising chest pulsing in your ear propelled you forward; maybe it was the rapid fluttering of his lashes or the first tear that fell, but you grabbed his suffering hands and the room went quiet.

"Hey, hey." You squeezed his lukewarm hands with your cold ones, nearly making a self-deprecating joke about not being able to warm him. He was staring blankly over your shoulder, his bottom lip ragged from biting. The whir of the microwave came faintly back into earshot, until Bruce looked back at you. A crest of tears balanced in his waterline.

His entire body vibrated. He wanted to tell you how terrified he was, but he was sure you could see it. He could see it in you, too. He still didn't want you to have to care for him, but that was rapidly deprioritized as more fears crowded in. You could almost see the dreams dying in his eyes; uneventful, hopeless, and frustrating like a dud firework. You swallowed back bile as you grasped for anything you could say to him, repeating a mantra to stave off the nausea. I didn't cause this pain. This was the only way. This has to help him. This is worth it, it has to be. You didn't believe it, but having him alive and in your sight helped muffle the self-hatred.

The microwave sounded. When you pulled back to open it you felt resistance—he squeezed your hands lightly, his breathing heavy and deep. You hesitated before giving another reassuring squeeze; you'd acclimated to each other's temperature, your fingers no longer feeling like ice against his. His hands were calloused and rough, and your palm rubbed on the scabs when you pulled back. Before your mind could wander further, before you collapsed in a puddle of tears, you slipped your hands out of his and busied yourself with steeping the tea.

Bruce lowered his hands to his sides, gently flexing them to remember the shape of yours. He ached to hug you; he ached to go back and stay just a little longer after the interview. He could've helped you pack more. Could've called Alfred for a ride home. What had it looked like? Had there been sounds? Body fluids? Did you race after him, or stay away out of fear? Had he needed CPR? Had there been a pulse? Did you see the impact? Did you run to catch him? Were you close, were you far? How vivid was your memory of it?

"How do you like it?" You didn't have much, just some sugar and honey, some old oat milk in the fridge.

He concealed a gasp as you broke his feverish spiral. He shook his head. "It's yours."

You didn't bother fighting him on it; the warmth of the mug and taste of the ginger would be a welcome distraction until he left safely with Alfred. You placed a plate over the mug and pat your sweats for your phone. "Did you want to call him?"

"I got it." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a regular-degular iPhone, shocking you more than it should have. You went to grab the honey while he spoke to his butler. You sat in a valley between; you wanted Bruce to leave as quickly as possible so you could throw yourself into the shower and cry, then hibernate in bed until Thursday, but it scared you to have him leaving these walls.

"He'll be in the parking garage soon."

Crap. "You need a key to open it, one of those fob things." You put a scoop of honey and mixed it in, the tremble in your hand coming back. "I'll walk you down."

The mug was cooling in the building's AC, the whoosh of the elevator doors hastening the process. The ride was quick and painless, the walk to the garage the same. Bruce had pulled up his hood, cinched it around his face, and put on sunglasses before leaving. He was actually pretty unrecognizable, but part of you wondered if that was just because you knew people would never suspect him out with someone like you; unknown, working class, in dirty sweats and flip flops.

Alfred came swiftly, giving you a wave as he pulled up. Bruce turned to you before getting in the car. "I'll keep you updated." He nodded, then sidled into the passenger seat. A second later, tint enveloped all the windows, leaving the car completely anonymous as it drove off.

The walk to the shower was excruciating. Every step felt like you were walking on legos. The shower offered a sliver of relief, but it didn't warm your conscience. It wasn't until Alfred called a few minutes after you had toweled off that you could let yourself breathe.

The old man was tearful, sniffing after every word. "Miss Y/N. Bruce asked me," He blew his nose. "To get his script tomorrow morning." He tried to catch his sobs, but they were getting away from him. "I don't know what you did, but thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

I truly believed it was the end."

[rivangel]

//male!reader, praise, oral (m!receiving), canonverse, overstim

It’s too much energy to open your heavy, tired eyes when you speak. “You’re affectionate this morning.”

“Hm.” Levi clings a little tighter, if laying flat on top of you wasn’t enough. Instead of a rebuke, he buries his face in your neck.

He’s much smaller than you, and so his weight resting on top is comforting somehow. You slide your hand up his back and rub in slow circles. The warm, rippled sensation of his bare muscles are satisfying to the touch. Soothes your scuffs and scratches since you got back from an expedition the evening before. That would be why Levi is clingy, and why he didn’t act annoyed when you pointed it out.

Nothing necessarily happened—no close calls. But it was an expedition. A rough one, at that.

You kiss the top of his head, nosing his silky hair and the breezy scent of fresh soap. Something so familiar brings you home somehow, even though you’re safely behind the Walls again, and together in your bed.

He raises his head. There are tired wrinkles under his eyes, but there always are. He looks ethereal in the golden morning light. Although his hair is a bit of a wreck.

Smiling, you rake your fingers through the wild tufts.

His eyes flutter. With a fond sigh, he lays his soft lips on yours, gentle, but passionate.

There’s always a chance that when you all leave the Walls, you won’t come back. It’s a little easier for you to get used to, knowing what Levi’s capable of. He’s simply not like anyone else, but the same can’t be said about you. You think… despite the fact he trusts you, or, even if you were somehow at his level, he’s scared of losing you. He’s scared of losing.

You tilt your head, capturing his lips once more. A silent sigh washes over your face.

With a wet smack, he pulls away. “Your breath stinks.”

Then he kisses your chin, trailing deep, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“I wonder who kissed me first,” you muse, teasing. You woke up to him on you like this—Levi definitely didn’t sleep much. It’s hard to, after.

“Hm.” He nibbles at a spot just above your collarbone, and thumbs at your nipple, toying almost. “Must’ve been a ghost.”

Your breath hitches. “Must’ve been.”

You affectionately play with his hair and turn your head to make more room.

But he’s already on his way down. He kisses your left chest, right over your heart as his palms kneed, then press your soft pecs together. A hot ache stirs down below. You nibble your lip and squirm.

“Like playing with these. Easy to make you hard.” He watches your shifting expression through his lashes, demure, as his thumbs flick your nipples.

“Easy to make me beg, you mean,” you breathe, hard now. You’re confident he can feel it pinned against his navel.

“You should spread your legs.”

You obey, wiggling your briefs down while your at it, as his mouth gets busy kissing down and down. Your cock slaps your navel once freed, messy and leaking, you can feel.

Levi seems plenty satisfied to leave them at your thighs. His head disappears under the duvet, replaced by the feeling of his heavy tongue gliding up your cock.

“Oh,” is punched from your chest, further dissolving into a soft, satisfied moan as he buries it in his mouth, smoothly to the bottom, all at once. Lithe palms find your thighs, pinning them down and apart.

It’s almost like he’s doing it just because he wants your dick in his mouth. There’s no rush to his firm sucking, despite how quick he got to it.

Well, he can have you. You curl your toes and rub his shoulders as all that soft, tight heat sucks you in over and over again. Under the blankets, you can spot the slight shifts when he bobs his head. You want to see him.

He slides it down his throat again, swallowing as he squeezes your thigh, and his hand disappears. It reappears, squeezing and working your balls.

“Levi,” you gasp, squeezing his nape. You don’t want to gag him, but his mouth is too good.

He moans when you lay your hand on that spot, still swallowing, lazily now. The vibrations send delightful shivers up your spine. He squeezes your round balls.

“I wanna see you…” Your palm slides into his hair, tugging faintly.

He moans a disagreeing sound in answer, and sucks tighter as if to argue. You know he’s hollowing his cheeks, swallowing deep. It’s throbbing on his tongue, you can feel, pulling another rich noise from him.

There’s no way he can breathe down there, and he can’t see you, so why? Maybe he’s getting even more pleasure out of this than you. Giving you head—making you feel good, making you come—for his own comfort isn’t the first odd thing about Levi. It’s charming.

So you tilt your head back and simply enjoy it, letting loose all the sounds he’s stealing from your heaving chest, mindlessly stroking his hair.

“God, you feel so good… Keep going. Suck it just like that.”

By his needy increase in speed, you think he likes the praise just as much as sucking your cock in of itself. His relaxed pace never falters, but in his occasional whines and his tongue lapping into your slit like a thirsty kitten betrays how needy he is for you to come down his throat.

“Levi… Levi…” Your thighs tense.

Within moments of rapidly bobbing his head, when his sucking becomes greedy, a gasp steals the air from your lungs. “Baby, I’m gonna come—”

To none of your surprise, he sinks all the way down and swallows, ripping you over the edge. You hear yourself yelp his name and break out into uncontrollable shivers. Your throbbing cock twitches heavy buried in his mouth, tight and hot as you shoot your cum down his throat. He squeezes and tugs on your balls as if to milk every last drop out of you. Your whole face feels hot.

“P-Please please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for when you’re completely soft, and he hasn’t faltered at all. Tangled in your fingers, you pull his hair a little tighter than you meant, which just makes him louder.

A muffled whimper can be heard before you feel him drag your hand down, lacing your fingers on the sheets beside your hip, which squeeze. He wants to keep going. Thrills shoot through your belly.

“Hah…” You find yourself smiling. “You want more…? You can have more. Harder, baby.”