#I wasn’t sure they were working all that well to begin with

[girlgenius1111]

study buddy

solstråle engen ft. @wileys-russo 's fresa! sol struggles with school, and facing the threat of having to repeat the year, ingrid and mapi try to get her some study help. it doesn't go... exceptionally well.

—

It was more frustrating than anything. For years, you hadn’t really given school much thought, or put in very much effort. And then, suddenly, you’d been shipped off to Spain and everything was different. Everything changed again six months later, and suddenly, school felt like something that held a lot more weight.

You didn’t have many opportunities to make Ingrid and Mapi proud of you. Sure, they’d say they were proud of you when you asked for help while having a panic attack, or for setting some sort of boundary. That just didn’t feel… right. It didn’t feel like it was enough. They were bending over backwards, every day, to make you feel known and seen and loved, and the least you could do was show that they were helping you, right?

So, very suddenly, school was important. Grades were important. It seemed, though, that the years of not caring and not paying attention had taken their toll. Because you studied, and you actually tried but it wasn’t enough. Your grades were still… mediocre. Nothing to brag about. 

You worked harder, to no avail. You tried different methods of studying, you devoted hours and hours to your schoolwork, and… no improvement. So much of your work felt like it went way over your head. 

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t be upset when you handed Ingrid the test you’d gotten back. She had a busy week and she really didn’t need you breaking down over a stupid test, like you had earlier in the school bathroom. Your plan was to bypass your sister and her girlfriend, head straight to your room, and maybe slam the door. If you acted angry, they were more likely to give you space to calm down, which meant there was much less of a chance you’d get all pathetic and upset.  

Only, you’d forgotten that Ingrid had known you were getting the test back today, having seen you study and study and study for it. Your sister was sure that since you studied so much, it must be a good grade, and she had a magnet all ready to attach your exam to the fridge. 

The minute you walked into the house and saw her waiting in the kitchen, freshly showered from training, an expectant and excited look on her face, you shrunk in on yourself, very suddenly wanting a hug more than you wanted to cry silently into your pillow all alone.

“How’d you do?!” Ingrid asked excitedly, her smile only faltering when your lip began to wobble. “Solstråle?”

“I’m sorry.” You choked out tugging the collar of your shirt up over your eyes before she could see you begin to cry. Ingrid’s arms were wrapping around you only a moment later, holding you tight against her as she floundered, confused as to what had upset you.

“Hey, it’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” Ingrid promised, making eye contact over your head with Mapi, who had wandered into the kitchen and caught sight of you trembling against your sister. 

Ingrid thought something must have happened at school, and Mapi quickly came to the same conclusion. The thought that you’d done poorly on your test, and this was the reason behind your distress, never even crossed her mind. Ingrid had never known you to care much about your grades, and while you were trying harder now, she didn’t think something like a bad result could get you this upset. 

“I’m really sorry. I tried my best.” You whimpered, briefly wondering when you’d turned into this person who cried at the drop of a hat and allowed her sister to hug you whenever you were upset. It was so different. Everything was so different. 

“What are you sorry for?” She asked, heart melting a bit as Mapi walked closer and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before perching on the counter. “Tell me, Sol, tell me what’s wrong.” 

Wordlessly, you withdrew from the comforting embrace of your sister and swung your bag off your shoulder. You unzipped it, pulling out the exam from the red folder Ingrid had neatly labeled for you. You handed it to her, eyes brimming with tears again at the sight of all the red marks all over the first page. 

Ingrid’s first instinct was to sigh, but you’d been with her long enough for her to know you’d just shut down. Not to mention that she knew how much work you’d been putting into this specific exam. Prepared to ask you what had gone wrong, she looked up to see that the tears had stopped. There wasn’t a hint of emotion on your face, like you were preparing yourself to be yelled at. Ingrid had no such plans.

“Oh, Sol. Kjære, come here.” She said instead, pulling you back into her. There was some hesitation on your part, but after a second you melted into the hug, knowing that if Ingrid was upset, she would have told you so by now. “You studied so hard, I’m sorry it didn’t go well.” 

“I’m sorry.” You said again, frowning when Ingrid pulled back and placed both her hands on your face, tilting your head up to look at her. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You tried your best, that’s all I want from you.”

You shook your head, but didn’t say anything, instead opting to stare at your shoes. You hadn’t taken them off at the door, breaking one of Ingrid and Mapi’s rules. This additional mistake, regardless of how small it was, made you feel even worse. You couldn’t do anything right. 

A tattooed hand grabbed yours, and you looked up at Mapi. She had moved closer, holding the exam in one hand, her other gripping yours. 

“This is a passing grade, mi sol. Why are you so upset? It’s not like you to get so worked up over school.” Your face flushed, but before you could step away, Mapi’s grip tightened, as if she’d sensed you were about to run. “Come on, it’s us. You can tell us.” 

“I.. It’s not good enough.” You stammered, looking between your sister and her girlfriend with genuine despair written all across your face. “I wanted to do well. For both of you., I wanted you to be proud of me.” 

“Oh, Sol,” Ingrid sighed, exchanging a look with Mapi that only served to make you feel even more foolish. It had taken so much for you to admit why you were working so hard, and though you knew, logically, that Ingrid wasn’t trying to make you feel dumb, she had. 

You wrenched away from her, suddenly deciding that you didn't need her pity. Backing up until you hit the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen, you began to ramble. Unable to look either Ingrid or Mapi in the eye, you missed the sadness on their faces. “No, forget it. It’s fine. It’s really fine. It’s not a big deal, It’s my own fault, I’m too stupid to learn stuff my classmates already know-”

“Hey!” Mapi cut in, sounding uncharacteristically stern. “You are not stupid. Don’t ever say that again.” 

You froze, staring at her with your mouth agape. Ingrid took a cautious step closer, aware she was toeing a thin line between you breaking down again, and pushing you into anger. 

“You aren’t stupid.” Ingrid echoed. “You’re not stupid, and you know you aren’t. It’s just one exam, Sol, it doesn’t make or break anything.” 

At this, you averted your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck. This exam could be a determining factor in your educational career. Ingrid just didn’t really know that information yet. Like a bloodhound, though, Ingrid caught the scent of your secret, her eyebrows raising as she stared at you. 

“It doesn’t make or break anything, right?” 

It was a staring contest for a few moments, one you and Ingrid both knew she would win, yet you kept it going all the same. The silence became too intense, the gazes of your sister and her girlfriend breaking your resolve rather quickly. With a heavy sigh, you reached for your bag yet again and pulled out a slightly wrinkled envelope. 

Ingrid held her hand out expectantly, apprehension clear on her face. You handed her the envelope, eyes still training on the floor. 

“Solstråle. This is addressed to me.” Ingrid huffed, removing the letter from inside and beginning to read it. Mapi moved forward, peeking over her girlfriend’s shoulder, eyes quickly scanning over the letter. You braced yourself, prepared for the worst. 

The last time you’d brought home something like this… you’d ended up living in Spain. Which was potentially the best thing that could have happened, but you had a feeling the consequences of this letter wouldn’t work out as well. 

Your sister placed the paper down on the counter, raking her fingers through her hair as she thought for a moment. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. Part of her wanted to yell, but when was that ever the right choice? Before she could decide, María’s shoulder bumped into hers. Her girlfriend nodded in your direction, clearly trying to get Ingrid to see how terrified you were. 

And Ingrid couldn’t yell at you when you were like this, all sad and scared with your head bowed and your arms folded across your chest protectively. 

“Sol?” She said, her tone much quieter and kinder than you were expecting it to be. You looked up at her, shocked further to see that she didn’t look very angry. “Why didn’t you give this to me last week when they sent it?” 

Ingrid nodded towards the date on the letter, and you exhaled shakily. “I… I was hoping I could just try really hard for the rest of the year and do really well in all my classes and it would be fine.” 

Your sister nodded slowly, reading the letter over again. 

Mapi took the opportunity to chime in, her hand absentmindedly resting on your sister’s back, even as she fixed her warm gaze on you. “Nena, that is a lot for you to carry all by yourself. Having the threat of maybe needing to repeat the year hanging over your head… you should have told us.” 

You shrugged, blinking away the moisture pooling in your eyes at Mapi’s tone. “I didn’t want to disappoint you guys.” You mumbled. 

“You haven’t disappointed anyone!” Mapi exclaimed, frowning when you just scoffed in response. “I’m serious, Sol. We saw you study and study for this exam. You did your best, you’re doing your best. That’s all we can ask from you.” 

“My best isn’t good enough! I’m going to fail and have to repeat the year.” You cried, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation. The mere thought of another year of school was horrifying. 

Ingrid finally put the letter down, a blazingly determined expression on her face. “No. You’re not going to fail anything. We’ll help you, we’ll reach out to your teachers, we’ll get you extra help. We’ll figure it out, Sol, but you’re not going to fail. Not if I have anything to say about it.” 

For anyone else, that may have sounded overbearing. For you, though, it just felt supportive. It felt like you weren’t dealing with this yourself anymore, and that was a relief you didn’t know you needed. 

“Okay.” You said quietly. “Thanks.” 

Luckily, your sister knew you well enough to understand that after such an intense conversation, you’d need some time to yourself to process. 

“Hey,” Ingrid said, catching your wrist and turning you around slightly before you could leave the room. “I’m already proud of you, and the person you are. You could fail every test for the rest of your life, and I’d still be proud of you. Okay?”

You blinked at her for a prolonged second, before you nodded jerkily. Turning to head up the stairs to your room, you changed your mind, spinning back around and falling into your sister. She hugged you tight, as she always did, and you wondered briefly how you got so lucky. 

—

It was the following day that Mapi and Ingrid proposed their plan. Before they’d even said anything, you knew a few things. 

One, that they were excited about whatever plan they’d cooked up that day at training. 

And two, that you weren’t really going to have a choice in the matter. 

As a general rule, Ingrid and Mapi didn’t make you do many things. If they thought something was important, they’d encourage you to try it a few times, and then they’d let you stop if you still didn’t like it. That was how it had been for the school’s climbing club, the school’s hiking club, and the school’s baking club. All those were activities you enjoyed, but… activities you enjoyed doing yourself.

Well, not always.You loved to climb and hike with Ingrid. Frido, too, sometimes. And you could bake for hours with Mapi helping, measuring out ingredients and getting baking flour everywhere. But doing any of the above with strangers who spoke in rapid, fluent Spanish or catalan, was not fun. It was anxiety inducing. 

You knew this was about to be another one of those ideas, the ones you had to give a fair shot. 

It was at dinner, and you were trying to hide the wince everytime you picked up your water glass with your right hand, your wrist intensely aching after the time you spent in the climbing gym after school. It always hurt when you climbed for too long, though it was getting worse with every passing day. Another problem for another day, you decided, seeing the barely contained glee on Mapi’s face as she cleared her throat. 

“What?” You said suspiciously, putting your fork down and narrowing your eyes at the Spaniard. 

Mapi opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Ingrid chimed in. 

“Mapi’s made you a playdate!” She said, smirking when her girlfriend wacked her in the arm. 

“Ingrid, that is not going to help me convince her.” Mapi huffed, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. 

Still unamused, you continued to frown at Mapi. “I’d love it if you didn’t keep proposing ideas that you’d need to convince me of. Teaching you how to rock climb, trying to get that stain out of my favorite sweatshirt yourself, being the keeper while you practiced your free kicks, helping you build that bonfire–”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mapi dismissed. 

“You got stuck on the rock wall, my sweatshirt has a hole in it, the ball hit me so hard in the stomach I threw up, and both of us lost part of our eyebrows!” 

Mapi glared at you, while Ingrid hid her face behind her hand as her body shook with silent laughter. 

“Well this plan,” Mapi sighed, “is Ingrid AND Alexia approved.” 

That wiped the smile off your face. 

“Alexia? What does she have to do with this?” 

There were a few things you knew for certain about Mapi. One, she didn’t give up easily. Another, that she wanted more than anything for you to be friends with Alexia’s little sister. And from the sly smile on her face, you were almost sure you knew where this was headed. 

“I asked her to ask Fresa to tutor you!”

“No.” You said immediately. 

Mapi continued like you hadn’t spoken. “Fresa is a bit younger than you, but already finished your year! She’s studying to be a nurse, she’s very smart. Fres speaks English and she can help you with your Spanish and any other school things you need help with.” 

“No.” You repeated, looking helplessly at your sister. Ingrid looked to finally be taking the situation seriously, a familiar look on her face; one you knew meant that no matter how much you argued, she was going to get her way. Meanwhile, Mapi was still droning on. 

“–get along great with her! I think you guys have a lot in common, and it could be fun and educational!” 

“And you know all the best things are fun and educational.” Ingrid chimed in cheerily, this time her face telling you to go along with Mapi’s idea because she was excited about it, or else. 

“Educational.” You said sarcastically. “Super!” 

Still, you agreed, Mapi grinned at you, and Ingrid patted your back reassuringly. Mapi had a lot of bad ideas. You were pretty sure this would turn out to be the worst. 

—

You always spent more time at the climbing gym when things were rough. Back in Norway, you’d spend multiple hours a day, everyday, there. It was one of your tells; Ingrid always knew something was bothering you if you went to climb right after school. It was your way of shoving your emotions down before you could feel them, before your sister could read the hurt on your face and give you one of those tight hugs that brought tears to your eyes. 

Only, sometimes climbing didn’t do it. Sometimes, it felt like the walls were closing in, like you were about to suffocate, if you didn’t have some time completely by yourself to think. On those days, you really preferred to hike. You hadn’t felt that urge in a while; the urge to just disappear for hours, walk until your legs felt like they were going to fall up, and sit at the top of the trail until the world felt like a place you wanted to be in again. The last time had been back in Norway, after a day you didn’t even want to think about. 

Yet you found yourself in that same familiar mindset after your first study session with Fresa. 

It hadn’t gone well. You tried to go into it confident, sure that if you acted chill enough, she’d maybe miss that you had no idea what you were doing with your schoolwork. 

Confident, even as you arrived 15 minutes late. Scout had gotten his favorite toy, a small tiger that squeaked, stuck under the sofa, and it had taken you time you didn’t have to get it out for him. You could have left it, but Ingrid and Mapi weren’t home and you knew Scout would just sit by the couch and cry the whole time you were gone if you didn’t get his tiger out for him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him to be so upset. And then you’d had a hard time finding a parking space at the library, and the directions inside were all in Spanish and Fresa had texted you to follow the signs to the study rooms but you misread the sign and went to the opposite end of the library before figuring out your mistake. And you would have texted you were going to be late, because you hated being late, but your phone was dead and the cord from your car had gone missing. 

When you entered the room, Fresa already looked annoyed. 

Annoyed, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, twirling a pen repeatedly in an almost unconscious manner. She looked very… put together. 

“Llegas tarde.” She commented, rolling her eyes when you didn’t reply. Your face flushed a bit as she must have picked up on your confusion, repeating herself in english. “You are late.” 

Any other time, you would have known what she said. Your issue wasn’t really understanding Spanish, it was more speaking and reading it. You felt weirdly flustered though today, like your brain was distracted and not quite able to follow what the other girl was saying. Anxious, too, at this social situation you’d been forced into. 

Briefly, you thought about explaining about Scout and the tiger and the parking space and the signs being in Spanish, but then you realized Fresa wouldn’t care about any of that. So instead, you just nodded and apologized, feeling your heart start to pound from the anxiety of the situation. 

You didn’t like talking to new people. Especially pretty new people who spoke a different language and were looking at you like you weren’t very smart. Even if you thought that yourself… you didn’t want anyone else to think so. Any intention of actually asking Fresa for help with the mountains of stuff you were confused with went out the window, then, and you almost subconsciously decided to just… try to get through without letting her know quite how lost you were. 

Fresa was alarmingly smart. She kept asking you questions about your work, about what you needed help with. Everything didn’t feel like an answer you wanted to give. Fresa seemed organized, though, and you assumed letting her take the lead and decide what to work on would placate her. Instead, she just looked more and more annoyed with every passing second.

 She kept asking questions about this paper and that paper and you didn’t know what papers she was talking about. You felt so stupid. More stupid than when you’d failed your test last week. 

“How do you even find the right paper in there?” Fresa asked, pulling a judgemental look as you rifled through your bag, searching for the article she was asking for.

Your bag was a mess, you knew it was a mess. You’d knocked your coffee over all your folders a few days ago, sitting at the counter when Scout barked and startled you. That was oddly upsetting in and of itself because Ingrid had gotten you the folders and labeled them for you and you felt like you’d destroyed something nice she’d done for you. You hadn’t told her, not wanting to hurt her feelings or anything, so now your school papers were living crinkled and disorganized in your bag.

And you were pretty sure the article Fresa was asking for had been a casualty of the coffee incident, because you’d scanned the paper and thought it wasn’t important before throwing it out. The Spanish had confused you, and you hadn’t realized you’d need the article for an assignment. Stupid. 

 You were feeling more and more embarrassed as the minutes passed. And, maybe, your reaction to feeling embarrassed was always anger. You pulled out a random piece of paper, slamming it down onto the table with more force than necessary in your haste to give the Spaniard something. 

Fresa instantly knew that what you’d given her wasn’t the right article, asking again if you had it as you shoved the other paper back into your bag. 

Logically, you knew you should just… admit you threw it away because you didn’t realize you needed it. For some reason, you just couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. You couldn’t get any words out of your mouth, feeling shockingly like crying. Nothing was going right and you were making yourself look like an idiot and all you could do was shrug as Fresa looked at you and took a deep breath. 

Then, she seemed to come to some kind of realization, her expression softening slightly. 

“Can you not read this? The spanish?” 

You flinched, feeling your face flush. Again, the reply of ‘no I can’t, would you please help me?’ seemed to evade you. Instead, you spewed some lie about being able to read the article, calling Fresa’s questions stupid and telling her she was wasting your time. 

Fresa seemed to have reached her breaking point, her voice rising as yours had. You didn’t really hear what she said, much too distracted by the way her eyebrows knitted together when she was frustrated, and the way her hand tightly gripped the pen she was holding. 

Then, she made an offensive impression of your shrugging. And if you hadn’t been angry before, you were absolutely fuming now. 

So what if you were quiet? It wasn’t like you really needed to talk much, considering how many questions she’d asked. You were furious at being called out for all your bullshit, feeling like a mess compared to the perfect girl next to you. A very angry mess who’d had a long day and was cursing one María León for making her do this and cursing the beautiful girl next to her for being so infuriating.  

“Alexia’s super little sister. Everyone says you are so smart. Can you not see I do not want your help? You want to be a doctor, no? So go find someone who does.” 

Fresa’s nostrils flared as she shoved her chair away from the table and got to her feet. She began angrily putting her stuff into her bag, and you remained completely still, unable to stop this whole meeting from going up in flames. 

“Eres un maldita idiota!” Fresa snapped, her face red with anger. 

There wasn’t really anything worse she could have said to you at that moment. 

“Snobbete kjerring.” You threw back, feeling a sharp spike of satisfaction when she zipped her bag angrily, completely incapable of understanding what you’d called her. 

“You know, I did this as a favor, tonta. I have worked all day, I came right here after my shift, on time. I have my own studies to do because yes, I want to be a nurse. I am smart, and I know what I want to do with my life. Maybe if you get your head out of your own ass, Engen, you might too! And you are right, this is a waste of time. My time!”

Fresa stomped out of the room, then, and you waited until she was out of sight before dropping your head into your hands with a deep sigh. 

That couldn’t have gone… any worse. And though it was probably all mostly your fault, you couldn’t help the resentment building for the intelligent, stuck up girl that had thrown insult after insult at you, hitting you in all the places it hurt. You packed your own stuff up once you were sure you wouldn’t run into Fresa again in the parking lot or something, shuffling dejectedly to your car.

The overthinking had begun. Was it really overthinking, you wondered, if you’d actually completely fucked up and the reasons for your anxiety were entirely reasonable? You weren’t sure, and you supposed it didn’t matter, your thoughts quickly spiraling as you rewinded the short meeting in your head. 

The shrugging had really gotten to her, but you weren’t sure what else to do. When in doubt, you had learned silence got you the best results. Often, no one really cared what you had to say anyway. Fresa was different, though, looking at you with her wide eyes, expecting an answer. It was intimidating. It scared you, honestly, how well the other girl seemed to see right through you. 

And maybe… maybe there were some other feelings brewing. Ones you didn’t want to consider. Feeling that didn’t even matter given the way Fresa had stormed out. It didn’t seem like there would be another study session.

This led you to your other problem. You’d fucked this up. Something your sister and Mapi had gone out of their way to set up for you, because they didn’t want you to have to repeat the year. 

You didn’t like to make mistakes. Every single one you made carried the risk that Ingrid would lose her patience with you, and give up. She hadn’t yet, and you’d messed up a fair amount in the past several months, but you couldn’t let yourself believe that no mistake could push her away. That just wasn’t a possibility. So, rather than face your failure, tell Ingrid and Mapi how awkward and weird you’d been, you ran. 

Or walked, you supposed. Your study session with Fresa had ended at 4:00, and it was almost 8 when you found yourself at the top of your favorite trail, legs scratched and aching, as the sun slipped below the horizon. Your phone was still dead and now Ingrid was absolutely going to kill you for going off the grid. 

You broke traffic laws on the way home, any peace you’d found at the top of the hiking trail entirely gone as anxiety began to build up inside of you again. 

Stepping into the house, you slipped off your muddy shoes, wincing at the blood trickling down the few cuts on your legs. Before you could even set your car keys down, though, footsteps were pounding down the hallway towards you. 

“Oh, thank god.” Ingrid gasped, sounding alarmingly emotional as she rushed forward and crushed you into a hug. “She’s here!” 

“Dios  mio.” Mapi muttered, appearing over your sister’s shoulder a moment later. Ingrid pulled away from you, her hands on your shoulders keeping you at arm's length. Her face quickly transformed from relieved to furious. 

“Where the hell have you been?” She hissed. 

“I–”

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? You didn’t call, you didn’t text. You were supposed to be home hours ago, Sol. Your location wouldn’t show up on my phone, Fresa even said you ended your meeting early,” Ingrid ranted, though you began to tune her out at the sound of her name. 

“You talked to Fresa?” You interrupted, ignoring the incredulous look on Ingrid’s face, turning your attention towards Mapi who was staring stonily at you. 

“That doesn’t fucking matter right now. Where were you? Are you drunk? High? Were you fighting?” Ingrid demanded.

Each accusation felt like a bullet to the heart as Ingrid grabbed your chin and yanked it towards her, looking intently at your eyes. You shoved her away angrily; Ingrid wasn’t supposed to see you as that person anymore. She had promised that she didn’t, that she knew you weren’t a bad kid, that you had just been having a hard time. Now, though. She was looking at you like she didn’t trust a word that was about to come out of your mouth. 

“No.” You spat at her, grabbing your phone from your pocket and slamming it on the front hall table. “I went on a hike after I met Fresa and my phone died. I lost track of time. I wasn’t getting drunk or high and I wasn’t fighting anybody, but thanks for having some faith in me.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm, and even though you expected Ingrid to soften with a bit of guilt, she only seemed emboldened with anger. 

“Don’t you dare turn this around on me. You were supposed to be back four hours ago Solstråle. Four! This was so irresponsible. Do you not care that we were worried? Do you not care that we were here waiting for you? That Mapi made dinner, and you were going to work on her bike? Or that we were supposed to make cookies? After everything we’ve done for you, Solstråle, I expect more.” She was shouting at this point, pacing back and forth in front of you. 

You looked to Mapi, hoping for her to step in and talk her girlfriend down, but she looked almost as mad as Ingrid was, and you shrunk in on yourself.

“You are…. you are grounded. This is unacceptable, and you better never let it happen again. That is not how family behaves Solstråle. Did you think about how worried we would be? I am so upset with you, so disappointed that you didn’t think about anyone but yourself, that you were so selfish–”

“Alright, Ingrid. Enough.” Mapi cut in finally, stepping forward to grab her girlfriend's hand and squeeze it. You were frozen in front of your sister, fighting the sob that was building in your throat. 

Ingrid stepped back, her face still red with anger. A hint of regret flickered across her face at the sight of your lip trembling and the tears in your eyes. Still, you looked confused, and Ingrid couldn’t shove her anger down at your lack of understanding. She turned, stomping off towards the kitchen, leaving you and Mapi behind. 

“Sol-”

“I’m going to shower. Sorry, Mapi. I’m sorry.” You mumbled, pushing past her and heading up the stairs before the Spaniard could get out another word.  

Mapi sighed tiredly, rubbing her hand over her face. Her Engens were going to make her go grey. 

—

You had only just pulled some pajamas on after your shower when Mapi knocked, her gentle voice calling to you from the hall. 

“Yeah?” You called back, voice gravelly from all the sobbing you had done in the shower. 

Mapi entered, the first aid kit in her hands and a much calmer expression on her face. She was in her pajamas, too, clearly having been waiting up for you to get out of the shower. It had been a long one. Another thing to be sorry for, keeping Mapi awake. 

“Can I help with your legs?” She wondered, gesturing to the many cuts that littered them.

Shrugging noncommittally, you sunk down onto the edge of the bed, Mapi soon taking a seat opposite you. She pulled your calf up to rest across her lap, getting out the antiseptic spray and a few bandages. You purposefully looked away, barely having been able to get the blood off in the shower without getting light headed. 

“Are you okay, mi sol?” Mapi murmured, fanning her hands over the cuts so the spray would dry faster. Mapi had a way of looking at you, eyes crinkled with concern and kindness, that made you want to burst into tears. You fought that instinct. 

“I am fine.” 

Mapi sighed, unwrapping a few of the bandages and beginning to carefully put them on you. 

“Then someone else was crying in the shower while you were in there?” 

No reply came, and Mapi sighed again, tapping your leg to tell you she was done with that one. 

“Look, I know Ingrid was harsh, but you have to understand how worried she was. How worried we both were. I know you still remember the things you wrote in that letter all those months ago. Things like that don’t just go away, Sol, and when you disappear for hours without a word, we worry.” 

This time, Mapi got a shrug in reply, and a small sniffle. She finished up with your other leg, gently pushing it off her lap and pulling you into a soft hug. “It’s okay, Solstråle. Everything is fine now.” 

You scoffed through your tears. “Nothing is fine, Mapi. I screwed up with Fresa, I screwed up with Ingrid. They both probably hate me. Please, just go. I’m tired.” 

Mapi shook her head. “You’re upset, I just want to–”

“No Mapi, just leave me be.” You tried to sound firm, but your voice was shaking almost as much as your hands were, and you were sure you just came off as pathetic. 

“Alright, nena. I love you, hmm? Don’t be too hard on yourself.” 

You remained silent, flopping back onto your bed as Mapi walked out of the room. Scout hopped up on the bed in her absence, licking your cheek twice before curling into your side. 

It wasn’t being too hard on yourself; the self hatred you felt in that moment was completely justified. You were very sure of that. 

—

You were tucked into bed when the door creaked open again, Scout not even bothering to lift his head from where it was tucked into the comforter draped over your leg. You blinked your eyes open and they widened in surprise at the sight of Ingrid walking into the room, hair messy as though she’d been tossing and turning. She neared the edge of your bed, leaning down and kissing your forehead gently. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I don’t hate you, okay? I love you very much. Everything is going to be okay, so just try to get some rest.” 

You nodded weakly, impatiently pushing a tear off your cheek with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, Ingrid. Really sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You’re safe, yes? And that’s all that really matters.” Ingrid promised, and you nodded, sniffling pathetically. “We can talk more tomorrow, but just go to sleep, okay? Everything is fine.” 

“Love you.” You mumbled, Ingrid smiling softly down at her. You didn’t often say that first, something Ingrid attributed to having said it to your Mamma and not heard it back so many times. 

“I love you.” Ingrid replied, patting your cheek twice before tucking the covers up tighter around you, and heading out of the room. 

—

You woke up to a few unexpected things the next morning. One, it was almost 11 and Scout hadn’t woken you up demanding a walk. In fact, Scout was nowhere to be found. Two, the sounds of Mapi’s Spanish soap and Ingrid’s clanging around the kitchen echoed through the house. You’d forgotten they had the day off today. Ingrid must have taken Scout out to let you sleep in. 

The first two unexpected things, then, were explainable. The third… was not. 

A text from Fresa. 

Tuesday at the library. If you want to give it another shot. I think I can help. 

You thought about the way you’d behaved, and the way Fresa had spoken to you. Before you could delete the thread with her and close your phone, though, you thought about the letter you’d hidden from your sister. The excited smile on Mapi’s face when you’d agreed to let Fresa tutor you. 

Before you quite knew what you were doing, you pulled the message back up, your fingers typing away without you telling them to.

Yeah. I’d appreciate that. What time? 

There was something that drew you to Fresa, even as she infuriated you. Maybe it was how her voice had softened when she’d asked if you couldn’t read the Spanish on the paper, or maybe it was how she’d smiled unconsciously, watching Alexia score a goal the past weekend. It was a nice smile. And she had a nice voice. 

None of it really made any sense to you, but you’d already sent the text. 

—

For some reason, you felt a bit awkward. There was something very odd about knowing Mapi had been upset with you, because normally that was just Ingrid. But you knew Mapi had been just as worried last night as Ingrid, and just as upset. She’d been in the garage all morning, too, and you wondered if she was avoiding you or allowing you to decide to come to her if you wanted to talk.

After the 5th time you glanced at the door to the garage, though, Ingrid rolled her eyes from where she was sitting at the other end of the couch, typing away on her computer. 

“Go talk to her. She’s not angry, I promise.” 

Ingrid wasn’t angry anymore, either. You’d spoken with her practically first thing when you’d woken up, apologizing again and again and emphasizing that you hadn’t really realized how your actions would have affected Ingrid until it was too late. 

You’d told her about a time back in Norway when you’d stayed out all night after a fight with your Mamma, and when you’d come home the next morning, she hadn’t even noticed that you’d been gone. Ingrid understood a bit more, then, and was quick to hug you tight and whisper that she forgave you.

And even though Mapi had come in last night and tried to make you feel better, you knew she might have been waiting to be upset until she knew for sure you were okay. That made you even more nervous. 

Ingrid snorted from behind you when you knocked on the door to the garage, as normally you just walked right in. You shot her a glare, stepping inside the garage at the sound of Mapi’s quiet come in. 

The defender didn’t glance up as you walked in, but you took a seat in the chair next to her. Your chair. 

It was quiet for a moment, the sounds of Mapi’s metal tool gently clanging against the bike. 

“What did Fresa say to you last night?” You blurted out, face flushing red because why was that the first thing out of your mouth. 

Mapi fixed you with a half amused look, shaking her head. “That is what you’re asking?” 

“No.” You sighed. “Are you mad at me?” 

“No.” Mapi echoed, going quiet for a moment as she thought. “Not mad. It’s just hard for me, Sol. Last night, you didn’t even think that we’d be worried about you and where you were. It just makes me a bit sad.”

“Oh.” 

“And it’s not your fault, nena. I just worry for you.” 

You nodded slowly. “I’m really sorry. I should have thought about how worried you guys would have been.”

Mapi gave you a half smile. “I know you are. And you won’t do it again sí?” 

Your head bobbed up and down rapidly as you agreed, more sure than you’d ever been that you’d not be doing something that stupid again. 

“Now. Why are you so concerned with what Fresa said to me, hmm? What did you do?"

—

[fancyfeathers]

Okay so I see a lot of Yandere!Batfam with a darling who is one of the children in the family but what I don’t see is Yandere!Batfam with two darlings, a single mother with a daughter.

Based on this quick post I made (link)

Like just picture the mother!darling being a rich sweetheart of Bruce Wayne’s at one point, perhaps even being his fiancé bit was the engagement was called off by her because of his work as Batman. She did not want her husband keeping secrets from her, and then imagine if they had a child one day, what sort of life would it be for them?

Well that question certainly comes to life when she finds out she is pregnant just days after leaving Bruce. She has far too much pride to go back to him and scared what life her baby would live with their father being in danger every night. She gives birth and raises her daughter herself, beginning to travel in the world for her work, leaving Gotham just as Bruce takes in Dick Grayson.

Years go by and she raises her own child and Bruce takes in his own children. Of course they hear about each other in the press but really have not paid much mind until she is back in Gotham, attending a charity event at a hotel. Her daughter is up in their hotel room, asleep or so she hopes anyway, and she is sipping on a glass of champagne while making meaningless small talk and then like as if out of a scene from a movie both she and Bruce spot each other from across the room. Conversation between the two is unavoidable especially with Dick trying to push the two together but it is sour quickly with her quietly chewing him out for choosing his vigilante identity over her and-

“Ma’am, your daughter just woke up, a nightmare.”

The conversation is cut short by one of the hotel staff speaking out to her while holding a little girl’s hand who is standing there in her nightgown, eyes full of tears while she clutches her stuffed animal. Bruce just watches as his ex-fiancé takes care of her daughter, his daughter, excusing herself from the party to put her back to bed. Then when the end of the party comes and people have started to leave he finds her again and asks her the question…

“Is she mine? Your daughter…”

“…Yes… she is… I-I am sorry Bruce, I have to go.”

She runs off upstairs and he is just left there starstruck and with his own kids not too far away and listening into their conversation. So when they all arrive back at the manor Bruce is due to give an explanation about the woman who is the mother of Bruce’s daughter, Damian’s half sister, and who might as well be the little sister of the rest of the lot.

So with a bit of planning the kids come up with a way to add a few people into their family, a mother and a little sister…

Dick goes to visit them at the hotel, calling beforehand and asking her to meet husband in the hotel lounge to talk. He tries to convince her to come back, her daughter needs to know who her father and brothers are, and Bruce misses her and she cannot deny that she love Bruce at one point and-

That plan goes up in flames as she runs upstairs, rejecting Dick’s idea.

Then that falls to plan B with Jason.

This wasn’t actually intended to be a plan, just Jason keeping an eye on the little girl from afar to make sure nothing happened to her while she was out with her nanny, after all Gotham is a dangerous place. She and her nanny were just supposed to be out running errands before they leave Gotham but she just happened to be separated from the nanny and alone in the dangerous streets. It is only a matter of time before someone tries to snatch her up, the daughter of a rich woman, she would be perfect to hold for ransom. Luckily Jason, or rather, Red Hood is there in time to save her, telling her to go in the corner and cover her eyes while he deals with them. He hushes her as he wraps her up in his jacket, telling her to keep her eyes shut as he carries her out of there, he doesn’t want her to see the pools of blood he is walking through as he is carrying his little sister out of there.

Then when he returns to Wayne Manor with her, Damian looks after her while Jason explains what happened to Bruce. It isn’t safe for them, she could have been killed or worse if it wasn’t for him. Eventually Bruce caves and agrees to their plan of getting them both back.

Bruce goes to go see his ex-fiancé who is in a state of panic because her daughter is missing. Bruce sits her down and tells her daughter is safe and taken care of at Wayne Manor but there is a problem, her daughter’s kidnapping will be seen as child neglect if Bruce chose to file for custody of his daughter. If that was not enough to get her cave in he shows her a file of blackmail Tim had gathered on her which also shows old not look good to the court, so he asks her one thing with only one answer to it…

“Will you marry me?”

“…fine…”

Then not to far down the line there is a white wedding that should have happened years ago, and as Bruce and his wife exchange rings, say I do, and kiss, their children watch…

Her daughter is not a fool, she knows something wrong, she just has no way of telling anyone as Dick holds her on his hip as if she weighs nothing, and Jason fixes her flower girl dress for the pictures that Tim is already taking and has been throughout the ceremony.

[fruithoughts]

‎‎‎ㅤㅤHow to catch a hufflepuff?

‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjeonghan x fem!reader  

01.ㅤۗㅤ𝙼ember .  ⎯⎯⎯  jeonghan.

02.ㅤۗㅤ𝙲𝚆 .  ⎯⎯⎯ one sided beef, he tries to a dick but he's too in love lol what a loser, MANY PET NAMES(pretty girl, doll, puppy...), reader is a muggle, smut at very end, smut with plot, rough sex.

September, 1 

— Are you still not over yourself? — A new year at Hogwarts begins, and just like that, Yoon Jeonghan it’s back to his favorite hobby of tormenting his favorite girl.

— Hogwarts should get over itself! It’s insane that we still have to write with quills — the Hufflepuff answers, obviously frustrated and with a good reason to be so, it’s 2024 and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry it’s still stuck on writing with quills? In individual papers? This fact alone it’s crazier than most spells they’ve ever teached.

— You say it as if the muggle option is much better — he lies straight through his teeth, knowing damn well that pens are, with no doubt, much easier to use than quills. Jeonghan is Jeonghan, don’t take him too seriously or you might actually punch him in the face. Much like he expected, his false observation is pointed out by the girl sitting right alongside him in this train stall almost immediately after it leaves his mouth, the Slytherin has always had too much fun bothering the school’s sweetest girl who just so happened to be cursed with world’s biggest puppy eyes.

It wasn’t friendly like this back then, though. No, not even close.

These two despised each other with a burning passion, well, Jeonghan did; for the far majority of this nemesis thing, the hate was very much one-sided. Coming from an insanely racist family definitely rubbed off on him and when his academic life expectations were ruined by the fact that the entire school seemed completely in love and constantly in awe of that stupid muggle girl, he decided right there to make her life a living hell. 

Which he succeeded in doing, kind of. Her life was surely miserable when around him but she didn’t seem to care about their relationship as soon as she was with her friends, housemates, just anyone at all, Jeonghan felt invisible at times, and it infuriated him to no end. Last year was the worst era for sure. The bitterness had been going on for so long, they were both exhausted and having to work together on an astronomy assignment was the last straw, so out of nothing but pure rage; they settled on an alliance for long enough to finish that thing. But it didn’t end there, of course it didn’t, they continued talking even after the assignment, they weren't friends then, absolutely not, but they started interacting like normal students for once, asking for notes, doing small talk every little in a while.

Their push and pull habits never truly died, but it wasn’t out of hate now, they were clearly having fun with this whole enemies till death tell us apart game. So much fun in fact, Jeonghan spent his entire break missing their banter like he was going crazy. It didn’t even cross his mind that he would think about that girl after the year ended, but oh, boy, did he do it.

 Maybe that was the reason they were going together in the same train stall for the first time in all of these years they’ve known each other, maybe Jeonghan lied and his friend’s stall isn’t full like he said it was, maybe he just missed his shiny eyed sweet girl, maybe.

September, 12 

— Do you have any interests other than being the center of attention? — she asks, it’s a fair question. The walk in between classes always brings out the worst out of everyone, huh? — I like pissing you off sometimes — Jeonghan answered.

Watching that cute little face transform into an annoyed and tired one never fails to make the Slytherin feel a rush of pride, he just adores it, he just adores her — Can you answer seriously at least once? Instead of being a lil bitch? Perhaps? It’s that too difficult for you? — she said imitating the tone he usually used to brother her, school’s sweetest girl being a bully, who would’ve thought. 

— Woah, woah, woah, I've been nothing but condescending and mean to you and this is how you treat me? — Jeonghan grabs his chest dramatically, his expression telling any bypassers that this man has never, in his entire life , felt as offended as he’s feeling right now — Come on now, puppy, it’s this a way you should treat a dear friend?

There it is, the classic Jeonghan urge to frustrate his pretty girl for no reason at all.

— Keep talking and I'll poison your food — the Slytherin chuckled at the threat — You wouldn’t be able to even if you tried, you’re not allowed in herbology class without the presence of a teacher — he pointed out without missing a beat — How do you still remember that? — she asks incredulously. I was made for you, of course I remember, the bastard thought to himself.

Like always, Jeonghan regretted coming to class the very second the professor opened his mouth, choosing to busy himself with going through his girl’s notes instead. They were mostly doodles or borderline intelligible for him, her handwriting was neat but her logic? Questionable, to say the least. But he loved reading whatever she wrote anyways, getting a little too happy whenever he found anything evolving his name or a silly doodle of his face. Once every twenty or so minutes he’d get distracted by her side profile instead, this was the only class where they sat together, so he shamelessly stared at her every time. For just a second, she looked back and smiled, as warm as the sun. He felt strange, he felt like a child again, liking her felt rather lovely, but did she like him too? 

October, 18 

It’s a tradition at this point, students of all houses gathering together in secret to play quidditch in their pajamas every friday night. Organization is barely existent, rules? Optional. This whole thing is a mess, it really is one of the worlds most confusing mysteries on how the teachers haven't found out about this yet(They have, but they pretend they haven’t because it’s the only time all students get fairly along with each other)

Mingyu begging Seungkwan to be the judge just off the chance that possibly, on a day where Kwan felt extremely nice, he could cut him some slack(it has never happened). Watching them from a far was arguably nicer, Jeonghan thought; sitting isolated from all of the other students with his trusty Hufflepuff by his side, both sat there in comfortable silence, this one was new for them.

— What bad music have you been listening to these days, ugly thing? — he inquires, as nice and cordial as always — Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy? — she answered staring daggers into his face, oh, if only Yoon Jeonghan was as unbothered and cool as he pretends to be, maybe then he could stop the way his heart pathetically races at the sound of her voice. 

— I always wanna know what’s going on up that little head, it’s usually just air, but sometimes we get lucky, don’t we? — the Hufflepuff rolls her eyes at his statement while the asshole who said it only grins — I could put on some songs I've been listening to, if your highness so desires — she suggests, and Jeonghan isn’t one to say no to his pretty thing. 

It started off with a soft guitar melody, much like most of the songs she listened to.

Depollute me, pretty baby

Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream

The girl always had a type for softer sounding things, for gentle things, it made  Jeonghan feel unsure of himself at times. How could the sweetest girl in the school like the company of such a bitter guy?

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel

Water down what I call being grateful

Was it normal? Was this how things should be? What even were they at this point? Acquaintances? Partners in crime? Friends? 

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to take me home

The school year had barely started and Jeonghan could swear he was balding from stress since week 2, why is he acting like this? Why is he sitting far from his friends and housemates just to spend “alone time” with the girl he swore he hated less than a year ago?

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

There were many things in this world that the Slytherin would never agree to admit. He refused to believe in just how fast his mind changed from last year. Everything happened too fast and I couldn’t see it coming, that’s why I didn’t stop it; is what the man in question kept telling himself, clearly because is the truth and nothing but the truth, clearly NOT because he could never bring himself to terms with the fact that he has always looked at the “stupid muggle girl” in the very same way he’s looking right now.

You look perfect, you look different

I don't wonder about your indifference

— Spending time with you is giving me brain damage — he speaks up, for no reason other than to listen to the sound of her laughter, which works — Don’t blame me for your psychosis — the hufflepuff answers while giggling.

If I said you could never touch me

You'd come over and say I looked lovely

She yawned and stretched her arms out, arching her back, as graceful as a swan. It’s that feeling again.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to make me cry

He lies down on the concrete, both hands behind his head.

It was simple, you are sweetness

Let's just sit a while

She lies with him.

Depollute me, gentle angel

And I'll feel the sickness less and less

The night was beautiful, birds flying through the dark sky, he could hear his friends playing quidditch in the distance, his pretty little thing resting her head on his shoulder as they lay on the cold floor and watch the stars. It felt gentle, it felt nice, it felt perfect. He knows they won’t talk about this tomorrow.

Come and kiss me, pretty baby

Like we'll never have sex

Friends shouldn’t make each other feel like this.

October, 29

— I’m just saying, it’s a Sunday evening — Jeonghan felt like getting to the point of his argument after rambling for about 20 minutes on end — And? — she inquired, eyes still on her book, which made the Slytherin close his own, he hasn’t read a single word ever since he opened his mouth, just using his habit of reading as another cheap excuse to spend the night in the library with his lovely friend — We could do something else, you know… — he suggested, knowing damn well this isn’t going anywhere, his girl did not play about her poetry books. 

— Like what? — she engaged, also aware of the fact this is a one way street — Literally anything else, maybe have dinner somewhere — he slouched against the hardwood chair — Dinner? The thing that killed Jesus? — her answer received nothing but a very judgmental look from a very judgmental Jeonghan who didn’t stay quiet about his discontent for long, like always — You’re such a disaster — he says averting his gaze to anywhere else so she couldn’t clock the painfully obvious heart eyes he was giving her.

— Why do you spend so much time here anyways? — after about 32 seconds of nice and peaceful silence, he asked again — Reading is fun, even if it’s reading about being a loser — the Hufflepuff responded already setting the terrain herself so Jeonghan couldn’t have the pleasure of calling her out on only reading melancholic books.

— We could never live together — the Slytherin states as if it isn’t the only future he could fathom to imagine — What if our books got mixed in the bookshelf? I might have a heart attack. Imagine receiving visits and have them wrongfully assume that I read poetry? I would rather die — anybody from a mile away can tell this man has thought about this very scenario way too much for his own good — And yet you’re the perfect amount of dramatic and pretentious to be a poet yourself — every once in a while he would notice that she talked like a book, he hated it, it was better when she talked like an chronically online alien who’s only life mission is to make sure he has at least one bad day a week.

Jeonghan, ever the most mature student of Hogwarts, sticked his tongue out in his friend’s direction, which was answered with the exact same action back at him — What are you even reading, ugly? 

— The world’s wife, by Carol Ann Duffy — at the end of that day, after his pretty girl had already left to her dorm, for the first time in history; Yoon Jeonghan rented a book from the library.

November, 1

Looking at her made him feel all sorts of things, even from across the room. From an overwhelming sense of warmth just by watching his little flower engage in silly conversations with her friends after she’s done writing down notes to erratic heartbeats and goosebumps when she catches him staring and tilts her head, looking at him just like a confused puppy while mouthing “why are you staring?”. She made him feel all sorts of feelings he wishes he didn’t fall victim to, all sorts of fantasies he wished he didn’t understand, but Jeonghan was no saint, especially when it came to his little angel. 

There were only two things in his mind today, which was an improvement in comparison to yesterday when there was only one, i’ll let you guess what it was, but right now there were two; 1. The argument with Josh, and 2. Her.

Jeonghan isn’t one to hold grudges against those he loves the most, as a trickster himself; he isn’t used to taking things personally, but Joshua… Joshua had gone too far. Just when the Slytherin was ready to finally pour his heart out to somebody who he deeply trusted and loved and open up about his feelings, he was met with the most terrible response! It just wouldn’t leave his head…

— She’s perfect for me, everything about her is perfect, I think about her all of the time and it’s messing me up — Jeonghan pathetically went on and on for what could’ve been anywhere from 30 min to 2 hours, poor boy was just so confused about the simplest of feelings — And the obvious conclusion to take away from this situation is…? — his Gryffindor friend tried helping — She’s ruining my life — and it didn’t work — You’re in love, you stupid idiot — so Josh decided to be a little more direct. He was right, like always, but that didn’t stop Jeonghan from sulking the whole entire night. 

It was infuriating, what even happened to him? All it took was a pair of shining eyes and sweet smile and he’s completely done for? It’s not like the guy in question ever was the kind of student who engaged in class or was interested in anything the teachers had to say at all, but this is another level, it annoyed him to no end. That stupid girl just held his mind and all of his thoughts in her hands as if it was nothing, that stupid girl with her stupid unique personality and her stupid hauntinly beautiful face and her stupid cute outfits and the stupid boy who could not take her out of his stupid brain. 

He left a letter at her desk after class, she would only find it the next morning while he was two classes away from being interrogated about said letter. 

November, 15

Hogsmeade was full to the brim, but somehow, this moment felt very intimate. 

Maybe it was the alcohol in their systems, maybe it was the casual way they didn’t even consider sitting with their housemates before claiming the little table by the window just for themselves, maybe it was the way they were both sitting while leaning completely forward, chins resting on their arms, faces just a few inches away while yapping away the end of exams season, it felt childish, it felt nice, it felt sweet. 

— You don’t think I'm manly? — Jeonghan questioned as if this was about to become his villain origin story — You’re manly… Just in a peacock kinda of way — she answered giggling like there was no tomorrow, he loved everything going on here. Her flushed little face decorated with a big grin, her nose crunching up everytime she smiled, her voice slightly louder and whinier because of the alcohol, the slurred way her words came out sometimes, it was all perfect.

— Can I tell you something, puppy? — he whispers, knowing he isn’t anywhere near drunk enough to not remember this tomorrow, he doesn’t really care — There’s nothing in this place that I adore more than you.

He watched in awe as her eyes grew so much bigger, lips forming a little pout of shock, that specific cartoonish surprised look she always had when anything happens while she’sdrunk, looking both sides before leaning in and going “Really?” which is immediately followed by a little giggle.

In moments like this the Slytherin swears there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to have his girl all to himself, nobody else deserves this view. Isn’t all of this desire so ugly? Isn’t all this wanting so gross? Isn’t it all his? Just the thought of leaving Hogwarts and never seeing his pretty little thing again was enough to give him a full body shiver followed by an ever so present nauseous feeling.

 — If I have to remember you for longer than I've known you, I might lose my mind a little — Jeonghan mindlessly admitted, a sly smile slowly makes its way in his friend’s face — Don’t you think you already lost it? — she asks.

— Maybe a little.

December, 24

— Won’t your friends be worried? Do they know or did not even tell them? — Jeonghan questions while trying to look at everything everywhere all at once. It was his first time spending Christmas night in the muggle realm, he wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but it wasn’t as bad as he thought it was — Why wouldn’t I tell them we’re going out? — the Hufflepuff answers his question with a question — As far as I remember they were very defensive about you becoming friends with big, bad Jeonghan, have they moved on from that? — his question only got him a smack on the arm.

— They haven’t cared about that for a while now, and you interrupted me! Again! — she stated before angrily letting go of his hand, which she had been holding so they wouldn’t go far from each other and get lost, yeah… that was definitely the only reason — My sincere apologies, your highness — not taking her attitude for granted, the Slytherin quickly holds her cold hand into his own much bigger one, it was ironic in a way, the Hufflepuff who’s body is always cold and the Slytherin who’s body is always warm — Now I don’t wanna talk anymore — apparently, she didn’t accept his apology, but didn’t let go of his hand either. 

Jeonghan wasn’t sure if it was his sick mind making him hear things, but he could swear that as time went on, the sweetest girl in Hogwarts had become more and more of a brat, just for him tho. Maybe he was a bad influence. 

— Go on, keep talking about the anime girl with the blue hair, I'm listening — did he understand most of what she was talking about? No. But she was happy to share her thoughts about Hatsune Miku’s new song, so really, who was he to say no? For all Jeonghan cares she could break his brain in two, it was only ever hers to mess with anyways.

Walking through the local christmas market was much more pleasant then the pureblood snob would ever imagine or admit, but she could tell that he was having a great time, and that was enough for both of them. Jeonghan has always had a terrible case of resting bitch face, so she really couldn't give less of her mind to anybody who stared at them weirdly, the Slytherin himself barely even noticed, too focused on this cozy new place.

They ate good food, took pictures with her digital camera, petted some strays here and there, it was a perfect evening. And just when they thought things couldn’t get any better…

— Come on, it’s not that deep — the bastard insisted while dragging his pretty thing along his arm to some bar’s doorstep, there was a mistletoe there — Is it not that deep or do you just want to kiss me? — the Hufflepuff teased, her flushed face betraying the casual tone she spoke in.

Finally at the bar, they stood there. Jeonghan, with that infuriating little grin in his stupidly beautiful face, looking down at his friend who had her arms crossed in front of her chest the second they arrived, looking back at him with the an annoyed expression and an angry little pout that forced him to resist, with all of his might, to the overwhelming urge to melt directly to the floor.

— That’s for me to know, — he said pulling his doll into his arms, a hand going up to her face to make sure no stubborn hairs got in the way of the moment — And for you to wonder.

Much to Jeonghan’s surprise, maybe he really wasn’t the manly one in this relationship after all. Because when the Hufflepuff straight up yanked him by the collar of his jacket to meet his lips, he could swear that he was made to be manhandled by a pretty girl. Ever the profissional, he relaxed into their kiss almost immediately, holding the back of her head firmly in his hands so he could take some control.

It was just as good as he imagined it would be, pillowy lips massaging his own, his puppy just so pliantly allowing his tongue to explore, it was sugar sweet and addicting. 

Maybe it was a mistake, maybe it was a blessing, the girl wasn’t exactly sure while she was getting dragged around for the entire two and a half they spent going around in the christmas market. The sly prick just couldn’t control himself, whenever he saw a mistletoe, it was time. Jeonghan was so obvious, he started actually tricking her into thinking he was just interested in places. He would look around, engage in conversation with the sellers, get some nice food then the second they were about to leave, he would just pull her towards a certain spot, his girl already giggling and whining about getting tricked again. These two lost count of how many mistletoes they used to their advantage in just some hours, but at last, it was time to go. 

Surprisingly, Jeonghan wasn’t really nervous about spending the night in his friend’s apartment, they have gotten extremely close after all. The thing bothering him was something else. 

He wore some white t-shirt and fluffy pajama pants she found somewhere in the depths of her closet, probably due to a friend forgetting them. She was wearing a leopard print shirt and some black fluffy shorts, he loved the way she dressed much more than he could handle, it was too cute for him to handle. Their pajamas were the comfiest things they’ve ever worn in each other’s presence, you can only be so casual in School.  

After whining about who got to choose what they watch before sleeping, they settled in any Netflix cliche christmas movie because of how often she made fun of the scripts in those movies, and she was right, they could’ve played a cliche movie bingo and checked all of the places before the movie hit the 40 minute mark. 

Of course the film in question was nothing more than some background sound to their yapping session, what else could it be? Their conversations just flowed so easily, each topic and scenario just slipping through their fingers, eventually they got to the best part, talking about the people they both hate. At first it was the usual; “How long do you think that friend group is going to last?” and “Do you think that couple is going to get back together?” then it eventually turned into; “Do you think your friend group will last a long time?” and “How long do you think it will take before we miss our professors?” and…

— What are you gonna do after Hogwarts? — the Hufflepuff asks innocently, causing a mental turmoil to burst in Jeonghan’s head. He snaps before even thinking, and it’s probably for the best.

— What are we gonna be after Hogwarts? — the air caught in her throat was almost visible, the way her breathing got heavy, the way her eyes seemed to wander even though she didn’t break eye contact, this was a difficult conversation to have. After this they’ll either come out of this apartment as partners or as strangers, it was a tough pill to swallow. 

— We don’t ever talk about it, we don’t ever dare bring it up but we both know what’s going on, don’t we? The year is ending, flower — he had that look in his eyes, that look he had at hogsmeade, she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it, but there it was again. Jeonghan had never looked so soft, in some oversized t-shirt and fluffy zebra print pajama pants she would never witness him wearing in any other situation, his hair as soft as ever, strands romantically sitting in front of his face as he reaches a hand to hold her cheek, the most gentle touch.

— I know we started this just messing around, we’ve been messing around since last year and it felt nice, it was fun, it was new and becoming closer was so rewarding that we just couldn’t stop it — he recalls the beginning of their alliance — But it’s not so light anymore, is it, dear? The tension became too much, I know you think about me too, I know you feel me it too — he spoke his heart out, voice as soft as the look in his eyes, all of the words that have been drowning him for the past few months were finally bubbling to the surface — I wanna stop it, we played around and it was fun but I need something solid now, I need to know where we go after this is over — he kept going, his eyebrows furrowing as his breathing got more erratic. 

— We don’t have all of the time in the world so I need you to be honest with me right now — Jeonghan leaned in, he could almost see all of her thoughts and emotions right on those shiny eyes he fell in love with all those years ago, in all of this time; his sweet girl had never changed, but unknowingly, she changed him. 

— Do you want me too? — the Slytherin asks.

A rushed “i need you too” was the last thing he could process before the Hufflepuff was yanking his face into a heated kiss, hugging his neck so she could sit on his lap, Jeonghan was in heaven. 

His pretty girl softly pulling his hair to make him gasp into her mouth, his hands trying to be everywhere before he settled on holding her hips to keep her from moving too much. His sweet girl was a little too desperate for his taste. Why were her panties completely soaked and sticking to her core when he finally dipped his hand into her shorts? Was she getting hot and bothered the entire night and just taking it instead of asking for his help? — Own, did I leave my baby waiting for too long? My poor lil thing… — the motherfucker spoke up as condescending as always, only causing her to whine as he teasingly cupped her warmth through the moist underwear — Don’t worry, puppy. You know I’ll make it up to you — and “make up” he did.

As soon as the bastard found her bedroom, it was game on. At this point they’re unsure of how much time have gone by, one arm holding her waist firmly in place on her plush bed while the other held one of her legs up so he could have more access to the little pussy he spent so long dreaming about, he needed to eat his girlfriend out properly, let her know he’s the one for her, that no one would do it better than him, even if his efforts make his jaw hurt like crazy the next morning.

Jeonghan was having the time of his life, hearing her soft voice turning into a higher pitch whenever she whined about him teasing for too long, that she was ready to take him. And of course, being as annoying as ever, he couldn’t let the humiliation be just that, no, he made her repeat it every time — What was that, doll? — he looks up as if her sweet moans interrupted his holy feast, his chin soaked with her juices, his lips glistening with her honey, this view could kill — I need you, Jeongie… — she finally had the strength to answer, making the devil grin. 

He had no intentions of stopping, no, he needed that little cunt on his face until he suffocated. The bastard kept going after the first, the second and for a miracle, the third orgasm was his last straw, and even though he could devour his stupid girl right there… — My pretty baby did so well for me, didn’t she? — he gave her a much deserved break before getting down to finish their business. 

It felt as though there was nothing else in the world, nothing other than them. Passionate slow kisses, arms cradling one another as their hands caressed each other’s bodies, this moment could last all of eternity and neither culprit would complain, not even once. Feeling his hard on pressing against her thighs was driving the Hufflepuff a little bit insane, tucking on his waistband made her mouth feel awfully empty.

The Slytherin didn’t even remember that being hard was so damn painful, a soft touch of her hands on his crotch was enough to make him hiss, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his lips together, the sight was pretty enough to make one cry, he’s was just such a beautiful boy, how could she not want to have him in her mouth? — Please, please, pleas-

— You don’t have to — he tried shushing her, not wanting his baby to do any work — Want to… Wanna make you feel good, Jeongie… — that whiny tone made his knees buckle quickly, mind racing far too fast for him to stop himself before just sitting back on his knees and letting his pretty girl have her way with him.

For someone who was in full control just fifteen minutes ago, Jeonghan surely sounded like a bitch in heat. Biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood but letting go before it happens so he can moan like a whore just before the pleasure becomes too much and causes him to throw his head back, looking at his girl was too much to ask from him, everything was too much. Looking just so pretty trying her hardest to fit his thick base into her mouth, not paying any mind to all of the gagging, working so hard to please her Hannie, he could bust just from this fact alone, the man was losing it. 

His appreciation for her hard work did not go unappreciated for long, not when he got his doll on all fours for him, shoulders pressing down on the mattress while he pounded that pussy into another dimension not even ten minutes after getting the head of his life. The squeaking of the bed, the sound of skin slapping, the begging for more whenever he grabbed her hair roughly and used it as a leash to pull her body into his, his chest pressing against her back while he praised his pretty thing for being “such a good puppy for him, taking all of his cum”, only for the moans to go louder when he slammed her face back into the bed, the soft squelchy sound coming from where their bodies kissed, the music in this room was Jeonghan’s favorite. 

These two were wild animals for a long time, their muscles would most definitely feel their efforts tomorrow, but right now, after having the best orgasms of their lives, the lovebirds were in absolute peace, staying in the bed for much longer than expected after sex; just holding each other, just loving each other. After a nice shower, a change of sheets and some instant ramen, tho? Ready to go to sleep, if anything; desperate to go to sleep. Jeonghan felt a slight shift on the bed alongside him, he could feel his preciosity leaving his grasp just before he succumbed to the tiredness of his bones, he reluctantly opened his eyes; she’s on her phone? 

— Did I fuck you so good that you’re writing poetry? — he asks, it’s a fair question — Shut up, Slytherin — the Hufflepuff answers just before hitting send message into her groupchat, telling her friends everything they could possibly need to know about the past two hours or so with just 11 words.

[halfwayhearted]

hey i was wondering if i could request a pau cubarsí x reader. maybe one where he gets jealous of a guy hitting on the reader or talking to her at the balon d’or? thank you, i love you and your work ♥️

Love Between… — Pau Cubarsí.

Pairing: Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

Summary: In which you make it clear Pau is all you want.

Word Count: 530+

Disclaimer/s — Guy, just comfort/fluff really!

A/N: The summary lowk doesn’t even fit but whatever I guess. First of all, thank you so much??? I love you :3 This was beautiful. I hate this but I don’t at the same time, soooo. Soz.

Smoothing down the hem of your dress with your free hand, you stood close to Pau, whose pinky was still, to your surprise, interlocked with yours.

It wasn’t anything stressful. He knew what he was doing and you were just there. Pau and his tendency to be attentive was something you’d grown to love. Then, suddenly, “There’s Lamine!”

At the sound of your quiet voice, the boy looks down at you before looking up, meeting the gaze of his friend you had just pointed out. “I’ll say hi to him later. Are you thirsty? I’m sure they’ll have water bottles around here somewhere,” he says.

“I’m okay. Go talk to him—I’ll be fine. I’ll manage.”

“I don’t know…” he drawls. “Do you want to come with me? He’ll want to talk to you. You can, I don’t know, maybe congratulate him or something.”

Rolling your eyes at his insistence, you poke his arm. “Pau, please, have your moment with him.”

“I—okay! Okay. I’ll… be back before you know it.”

While he walks away, the Yamal boy starts talking to him the second he spots him. You see the way your boyfriend’s smile widens when he hands him his trophy. You loved him so much. It was insane.

Before you have the chance to keep your gaze fixated on them, you hear a voice catch your attention. “I’m sorry, excuse me, are you lost?”

“Oh. Oh!” Awkward, okay. Haha. “No, I’m not—”

“‘Cause I can show you around if you’d like. I know this place like the back of my hand, y’know.”

“That’s nice… I’m not lost. Thank you, though!”

His expression drops and he nods, but your answer doesn’t stop him from continuing. How disappointing. “Did you come here alone?”

Can Pau come back? “No, I’m here with my—”

“She’s here with me.” Oh, thank God.

Stiffening, the man purses his lips. “Ah, I see. You two have a good rest of your day and… goodbye.”

Watching him depart, Pau looks over at you and frowns. “Odd of him. What did he want?”

“To know if I was lost,” you answered honestly.

“He was looking at you weirdly. Are you okay?”

“I didn’t see how he looked at me, but I’m fine. He offered to show me around or whatever, I refused. I was about to mention that I was here with my boyfriend—you, and that’s when you stepped in.” You fidgeted with your fingers. “Thank you for that, by the way. He just came out of nowhere.”

“Didn’t he? I left you alone for, like, a second.”

That gets a laugh out of you, and you warmly loop your arm with his. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you came in when you did? Seriously.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “You haven’t.”

“Well, in that case, I’m glad you came in when you did. So… how about that water! I’m a bit thirsty.”

“Water, okay,” Pau hummed, placing his other hand on your arm. His cheeks flush when you lean into him and begin to walk around in hopes of finding your beverage, that’s if you guys could.

You couldn’t, however, you both pulled through.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @planetpedri + @spidybaby + @sakashq ! ౨ৎ

[ultralightpoe]

Sticky - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Yeah the fandom is EATING with this song and that trailer so I figured I might as well feed into my own obsessions. -Ultralight

Song Inspo - Sticky from Tyler The Creator

Word Count: 1851

Warnings: Fighting, reference to smexy times

Requests: OPEN [working on the first round now]

MAIN MASTER LIST

[Thank you for the gif @unearthlydust ]

Enjoy!

It’s the bitter laugh that no one wants to hear, that’s the moment when the realization begins setting in. The chill down his spine, locking in the fear as the cold sweat begins to form, knuckles tightening around his glass of whiskey. 

The room wasn’t cold, with the fire crackling just a few feet away, so there wasn’t really a reason for him to be shivering. But that cold embrace of fear was wrapping Declan Morarie like a blanket. He was a man coming to the realization he was about to die. 

It was Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, sat at the end of the long table she hadn’t been invited to, in a home she hadn’t been welcome in but still sat in nevertheless. In the beginning of Declans career he always wondered how people remembered her full name, but watching the women now he understood. She was completely untouchable. 

“Oh come on now,” She teases, clapping her hands together in excitement as that same bitter laugh passes her lips. “I’m excited for the show.” 

“You think this is funny?” He bites out.

“Well from my seat I think it’s pretty great. I, however, would never want to be the one getting hunted down by Bucky Barnes and his fucking wife.” She chuckles, pulling a piece of lint off her dress. 

“And how….” He has to take a breath in to compose himself, slamming the glass on the table before him. “How did they get to me?”

“You tortured her for years, your very own project….. Well her and 20 others. Honestly it was only a matter of time before they tracked you down.” She explains, standing up and walking herself to the bartop. 

“And you didn’t happen to put my name in their ear?”

“Barnes will be my problem….. On another day.” She nods, pouring herself a shot and turning to him to cheers before downing it. “But today, he’s yours.” 

She slams the glass down until it splatters across the entire floor, her heels crunching into it as she waltzes to grab her coat. “I do apologize old friend, and I am….. Hopeful? Yes, that seems like a decent word, I’m hopeful you will succeed surviving.”

“I will.” He sneers, but even the words fall flat.

“Oh I’m sure you will.” She laughs, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Though I do hear things get a bit sticky when those two decide they want someone dead.”

- 

“Who would have thought that this… hunting down the bad guys of the world could be soooo… hmmm.” You tilt your chin up in a quiet contemplation as your husband frets over your suit. He busies himself with checking all the safety measures you both had designed for the suits when you decided they would be worn again. 

“Tiring.”

“Cathartic,” You hum back, sliding your hands down to snatch onto his own and bring them up so he can stop fretting. “You’re grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You are.” You argue, kissing the knuckles of his metal hand before doing the same to his flesh hand. “You didn’t get much sleep and now you’re tired and grumpy. I don’t like when you do this grumpy.”

“No more with the word grumpy. You have overused it.” He huffs, leaning to kiss your forehead. 

“Fine, ill-tempered.”

“Hardly,”

“Testy.” 

“Not even close.”

“Crotchety.”

“Really? We’re going that far?”

“Hmmmm. Waspish. How about that?”

“I….. will allow it if it means we can just get this over with.” He kisses around your face, using his metal hand to tilt your face for easier access while you fight off a smile and push him back. 

“You know what to do.”

“Straight to business then.” And though he turns his back to you he keeps you close while using the tech pad to monitor the halls of the building you both were about to enter. 

“He doubled up on guards. Someone warned him.” He analyzes, shifting a bit to show you the footage. “Valentina.”

“Hmmm.” You choose not to actually respond, allowing your husband to work through his own anger and suspicion while you watch the guards to begin learning the patterns. 

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you.” You defend, passing the tech back. “But I don’t want you getting ahead of yourself. That is a hunt for another day.” 

“You ready?”

“Of course.” And it’s easy, the way you two fall to the plan so naturally, having worked together for years now. He lets you pass by him, his flesh hand catching a strand of your hair as you strut past, casting him one more glance before disappearing to find your entrance. 

Once you are at your mark you place the comm in, tapping it twice to make sure it works as you begin slicing the door with the silent laser. 

“Placed?” Bucky asks after a moment, meaning he had made it to his own mark. 

“You know it.” You mutter, pushing the door open in the small place you had cut before easily sliding in, your feet near silent on the ground as you watch the hall and begin trekking through. 

Moving like a shadow should never have been this easy, and yet it was, all thanks to the man you were here to kill. 

“будь в безопасности.” He mutters in your ear, his voice a soft caress in the first moment you hear steps approaching. ‘Be Safe’, his favorite thing to say since he knew you didn’t need luck. 

“être en sécurité,” You repeat his saying back to him, this time in french just to bother him since he could never speak it fluently. 

And then you finally meet the person walking closer, but before he can even prepare himself you are already sliding across the floor to kick out his legs before you swipe the overly large gun from his hip and knock him out with it, sliding on your knees to face forward with the stolen gun and raise yourself back to your feet. 

Each movement is a simple glide, one in front of the other as you trace the hall for movement. The plan was simple, meet in the middle and make your way up. You just had to shut down all the exits first. 

You started with the elevators, opening the first and shooting the controls until the light within it flickers and marking it useless and moving to the second one. When the doors slide open a guard moves to rush out, and you use his outstretched arm to heft him over your shoulder until you are throwing him to the floor and twisting until you hear a snap. 

“Sorry.” You whisper, kicking him away as you hear Bucky grunt within the comms as he finds his own issues. You mimic the movements you had used on the other elevator before rushing to the front entrance and using their own night time security gates against them. Locking anyone from leaving and keeping anyone from entering. 

And now that you were finished with that you began you started your way to meet your husband. 

It only took 15 minutes and by the time you do find him he’s leaning on the wall like nothing else mattered, tilting his metal hand under the light above him to admire the etching done for your wedding. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” You murmur, your tone seductive as you lean next to him. “What’s a place like this doing in a guy like you? …….Wait, don’t I have that backward?” 

“Keep looking at me like that and I’m sure we’ll find a lot of things backwards.”

“Oh,” You blink, staring at him. “I honestly can’t tell if that was sexual or a threat.”

“Then why can I practically hear your heart beating through your chest?”

“I never said I wouldn’t like it as either.” You huff, turning on your toes and signaling him to follow you. “You’re very beguiling.”

“Another big word. Should I be worried?”

“You got me the dictionary. Which I was slightly offended by.” You huff, twisting your body up the stairs as you see a figure in the corner of your vision, working with grace to pull him down and over the railing. “Stop flirting with me Barnes.”

“You stop flirting with me, Barnes.” He snaps back, making sure that guard stays down before using his gun and following you as back up. “Almost there.”

“Noted.” You murmur, shooting the tech pad to enter the door from the stairwell. The second the door swings open there are guards swarming you both, but it is lightwork when you both work together. 

The man that went to punch you met Bucky's metal fist before he could even make contact, the knife that almost hits Bucky’s mid section is easily lost the second you kick the wrist holding it. Like a bloody tango, every motion has a repercussion. 

“Любовь [love],” You huff, spinning to take out two men while facing Bucky. He reads your idea the second you make eye contact, allowing you to use his thigh as a stepping stool and throw one leg over his shoulder. 

He shoots the men in front of you both as he makes his way down the hall, you taking out the men coming up to flank you. 

By the time you reach the double doors holding the enemy within,  you swing off his shoulder with ease before an unknown figure rushes you both. 

You are thrown back, back meeting the floor as you slide while Bucky is thrown into the wall. 

“What the…..” He starts. 

“Fuck.” You finish, upon seeing who just hit you both. 

He was tall, with red eyes and a sneer on his face, yet another over drugged super soldier. 

Bucky is the first to regain himself, standing quickly and pushing himself into the soldier to knock the weight off and send him down. Only he pushes back, both men stuck in the hold, so you launch up. 

Your hands hit your husbands shoulders and you vault over him to lock your thighs around the neck of the soldier and twisting your body to send him flying back with you. 

Unlike you, however, he doesn’t manage to catch himself and falls on his back. Bucky is there, foot on his neck as you pull the gun and finish him off before moving to kick in the door and find Declan Morarie.

He doesn’t say anything, merely turning to the door with a bottle in hand as he staggers for balance. 

“Fuck.” 

“Fuck.” Bucky mocks, giving you a look before you both rush at him. 

-

“I think you need to go to bed.” You huff, watching your husband pull out the paperwork the second you both got home, after dropping your duffel bags by the doors. “No work.”

“I need to review her bills, she’s hiding something in plain sight-” His conspiracy theories about Valentina were interrupted by you slipping your shirt off and throwing it at him. 

“A hunt for another day then.” He amends, following you into the bedroom as quickly as he can.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts...

Love at first sight, it was. But hell, love wasn’t enough, was it?  What did he know about raising a little girl?  What did he know of walking that tricky line between being overprotective and being too blasé, of giving you space but making you feel safe?

 just that he is questions this, shows how much he cares about her 🫶🏻

Cecilia had stopped over a lot in the beginning, had soothed his fears.  Had reassured him that love was enough, that he was doing a good job.  He was kind and well-meaning, and you had been a smart kid who became a smart woman, and on the balance, he would have agreed with Cecilia and said he did alright.

Awesome job right there👏🏻

For the first time in his life, Rhett truly considers his future.  What his life may look like in five, ten, twenty years.  Will he always wake to grey mornings that sit on his chest like a stone?  Will he become bitter and mean, the way his father has despite having a wife and sons and a granddaughter? 

Uff he truly doesn't have the best role model..

Then, on top of the annoyance, another layer of shame.  Of course you run.  The death of your parents left you with that wound, the inability to handle hurt in a healthy way.  You flee and tuck yourself in a corner, tend your wounds alone.  It’s a flaw, but it’s understandable why you do it.

Very understandable reaction especiallywith that backstory..

Rhett had been your best friend, and for the briefest summer, he was your lover too.  He should have been the one person to help you work through that fear.  Instead, he only cemented it further.

💔💔💔

It’s easy to blame Rhett when Wyatt eats dinner alone each night.  When he runs a vacuum over the floor of your bedroom, keeps it dust free like you may turn up any day and take your place back on the family ranch.  When he studies the row of family photos on the mantle, sees his sister’s face and feels like he’s failed her in the care of her daughter.

He misses her so much 🥺

But Wyatt doesn’t confront Rhett at the Double Deuces.  He doesn’t seek him out at all. Rhett comes to him.

👀

“You never fucking think, do you?  Jesus fucking Christ, my sister…her husband…they were killed by a fucking drunk driver, and you have the fucking balls to…you asshole…you fucking piece of shit.  You—” The kid seems to track Wyatt’s meaning.  His bleary eyes clear a fraction and fix on where Wyatt’s fists wait, eager to offer some payback for his sins.  Rhett nods, as if to himself, and he takes a deep breath.  Closes his eyes, opens them.  He struggles to stand, staggers a little, but eventually finds his feet.

Wyatts anger is very understandable and valid, but it seem to penetrate even Rhett’s drunken state

“Make it her.”  It comes out one slurred word, makeither, and Wyatt’s anger cools by the barest degree.  He unclenches his fists, holds them looser. “What the fuck you trying to say?” Rhett coughs, sways.  Coughs again, then enunciates, clarifies. “Make it hurt.  Make sh…sure.  Make sure it hurts.” Wyatt’s fists uncurl more.  “Now what are you—” “Am.  Piece of shit.  I am.”  The kid sways more but takes a wide step, braces his legs wide to keep himself upright.  “Y’right.  Imma piece a’shit.” He wants to be hurt because it’s the only thing he knows, he thinks.  Like I used to.

💔😭💔😭💔

Maybe Wyatt only fell into fatherhood because of a tragedy, but he gets more of it right than he will ever give himself credit for.  He faces the kid, and when the kid comes swinging at him again, spoiling for a beat-down Wyatt will never deliver after all, Wyatt only opens his arms and lets Rhett step into them.  The kid struggles for a beat but he’s drunk, and he seems tired down to his soul. It only takes a moment for the kid to stop struggling in Wyatt’s bear-hug, then sag against him in exhaustion, then weep in dry, barking sobs that feel like they’ve been building up for his entire life.  And Wyatt knows exactly what sort of pain the kid is bleeding out because it was his pain, and his sister’s too, until they both fled their unhappy childhood home and made a happier one here on this ranch.

Wyatt gives Rhett the hug he himself needed years ago 😭🥺

Wyatt is never sure the right way to tell you that Rhett Abbott is currently crashing with him.  A month passes and then another, and he starts to feel guilty that the kid who broke your heart has been living down the hall from your childhood bedroom, sitting at your kitchen table.  That he parks his truck beside yours, and that he’s caught the kid—more than once—lingering by your bedroom door, lingering by your truck, like your ghost might manifest if he stands still enough.

That's a tough spot..

I can’t be mad about it, you write back.  How many times did you look the other way when I brought a stray home? 

I guess you deserve a stray of your own.  Might want to take him in for his shots though. :-) 

You got a heart of gold, kiddo, Wyatt texts you, and your response is immediate.

That's so cute, they have such a beautiful relationship 🥰

Wyatt grins when he reads your email, then glances over at where Rhett is sitting on the couch, watching TV.  The kid does act like a stray; he cringes the barest bit if Wyatt moves too suddenly or too close to him, but like a stray, he relishes the comfort of a warm home, food in his belly, and even the tamest praise.

He really is a stray 🤭

Got it from my uncle.

🥹🥹🥹

Wyatt won’t know it until years from now, when he’s an old man and Rhett has grey in his own hair, but this stretch of time—the two men working and living together—is when Rhett starts to learn how to be a man.  That Wyatt is the gruff but kind, slightly awkward father-figure Rhett always needed.

I'm so glad Rhett gets the chance to experience this kind of relationship and space to grow 🥹

Heart of gold, indeed.  It makes Wyatt tear up, first from so much pride it feels like his chest might burst, then from that knife edge of grief that his sister isn’t here to see what a force for good her daughter turned into.

🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

“Nah.  I don’t know if hate is something she can even feel.  Dislike, maybe.  Disappointment.  Not hate.”  “She should hate me.  I deserve it.”

He is so hard on himself 🥺

“I didn’t mean to hurt her, you know.  Sounds fucking stupid, but at the time, I didn’t even realize what I was doing to her.”  Rhett glances over at the man, fixes his eyes back on the floor.  “Looking back, it felt like I was sleepwalking through that summer, and now I’m awake and see all the damage I did.” “Damned if I know.  But take it from me, kid.  I had a girl when I was your age, and I fucked it up completely.  Even once I realized how badly I fucked up, I was too proud to try and set it right.  Now it’s been years and it’s far too late.  So you gotta try, so even if she never forgives you, it’ll set right in your chest that you did everything you could.”

I love their honest and open conversations 🥰

Your uncle glances over at Rhett, nods in his direction.  “We’re doing okay for a couple of guys.”

They truly are 🫶🏻🥹

You laugh, and the sound makes Rhett smile – when was the last time he heard it?  It draws another laugh, which makes Rhett laugh, which makes you stop and ask your uncle if Rhett is there too. “He is,” Wyatt admits.  “We’re watching the football game.” There’s a beat of silence from you that seems to stretch out forever but is probably only a second or two. “Merry Christmas, Rhett,” you say, and Wyatt hesitates, then tilts the screen so Rhett can see you and you can see him.  He almost doesn’t want to look but he can’t help himself.

🥹🥹🥹

“In that case, Uncle Wyatt, work him into the ground,” you joke back, and Wyatt turns his phone back to him this time, and Rhett is left with perhaps a bit more than a sliver of hope.  He leans back on the couch and thinks that yes, maybe he can salvage this after all. Maybe trying his best will be enough.

I'm sure it will 🥹🫶🏻

I absolutely loved this story and the relationship Rhett and Wyatt built, truly beautiful 🥰

Kind of a Sh*thead

(Rhett Abbott x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst; family-type healing; allusions to and threat of violence; bit of fluff at the end.

Word Count: 5256

AN:  This was originally requested by @elegantmusicdragon from a long-ago Christmas prompt list: "trying to hide their sadness during the christmas celebration" from the sad christmas prompts? Definitely angst...maybe with a little hope at the end?"

AN: This is the next piece in the "Mending Fences" miniseries, found here.

It will shame Rhett in the future, how long it takes for him to realize what has happened. 

That night at the bar, he sat waiting for you:  nursing a beer, his eyes on the door, ready to get a little loose with you and maybe head out to the open range and fool around. 

Then Maria appeared in front of him.  Like magic.  Like an angel spirited back to Wabang and right in front of him.  It threw him off completely, his world tilting sideways  He found himself dazzled by the fact that the girl he pined over for years was suddenly in front of him, smiling, laughing, touching his arm and squeezing his bicep while he subtly flexed it under her fingers.

It wasn’t until last call that Rhett surfaced for a moment, the spell lifting for long enough to remember he was supposed to meet you, yet you were nowhere to be found.

She must have been held over late at work, he reasoned, and even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. 

It will shame Rhett in the future, but it will take months before he really feels that shame.  He’ll find out you left early for school, but by then, he will be entirely wrapped in the magic of Maria, dumb with lust and love that he thinks is finally reciprocated.  He'll send you a handful of texts, bland little things that you read but don’t respond to. 

Months later, when Wabang is sliding fast to a cold winter and Maria is gone again, disappeared as quickly as she appeared, Rhett will feel shame.

And you’ll be long gone.

*****

Wyatt wishes he knew what he was doing.  Hell, he’d be happy for an inkling.

When his sister and brother-in-law died, he didn’t even hesitate to step up and take his niece in.  No brainer.  Blood is blood, but Wyatt loved his sister something fierce, and taking you in was like holding on to a part of her even if she was gone. 

Didn’t hurt that Wyatt loved you for you.  That he had loved you from the first time his sister set you in his arms, a bundle only a few days old.  You’d set your wide eyes on him and blinked sleepily, then puked up a torrent of milk on him that reeked something fierce.

Love at first sight, it was.

But hell, love wasn’t enough, was it?  What did he know about raising a little girl?  What did he know of walking that tricky line between being overprotective and being too blasé, of giving you space but making you feel safe? 

Cecilia had stopped over a lot in the beginning, had soothed his fears.  Had reassured him that love was enough, that he was doing a good job.  He was kind and well-meaning, and you had been a smart kid who became a smart woman, and on the balance, he would have agreed with Cecilia and said he did alright.

Nothing about this feels alright, though.

Wyatt always guessed it was Rhett Abbott who left you stranded at that hotel when you were a senior in high school.  Little fucker skulked around that entire summer, scampered away like a cat with a lit tail when he saw Wyatt coming.  Something had happened between the two of you.

When you came back to Wabang finally, you took up with the little fucker again, and Wyatt thought maybe he had been unkind.  Ungenerous.  He tried to be nicer to Rhett, but the kid barely ever mets his eyeline.

What the hell, Wyatt thought.  The Abbotts can be a squirrelly bunch.  As long as he doesn’t hurt her.

All those years ago at the hotel, Wyatt was never sure who it was that left you stranded and tear-streaked.  This time, though?

You confirmed it that evening when you got home, eyes unseeing as you charged past him, thundered up the stairs, started packing.  When he confronted you, you burst into tears and spilled the entire sorry affair.

You and Rhett, hanging out all summer.  You in love, and Rhett…not.  Not with you, anyway. 

Wyatt wasn’t stupid.  When you said hanging out, he could guess what you meant.

Seeing his niece hurt like that made him see red, but he has a modicum of maturity, which means he bides his time in most things. 

*****

Maria’s been gone for months.

You’ve been gone for longer.

Winter in Wyoming is no joke.  Wabang gets less snow than other parts, but the wind cuts marrow-deep, and the days are short, grey affairs.  The holidays could be a break from the doldrums, but Royal has been on a tear lately, lighting into Rhett for every little thing, so Thanksgiving, then Christmas are tense and joyless.

For the first time in his life, Rhett truly considers his future.  What his life may look like in five, ten, twenty years.  Will he always wake to grey mornings that sit on his chest like a stone?  Will he become bitter and mean, the way his father has despite having a wife and sons and a granddaughter? 

He sends you texts.  Little one-liners, asking how you are, saying he misses you.  He tries to feel you out, but you leave him on read and never respond.

Once, he gets blisteringly drunk and tries to call.  You don’t pick up, and he doesn’t leave a message.

By now, the shame has settled into him and made itself at home. 

He can guess that you came by the bar that night.  He can guess that you saw him and Maria, and that’s what caused you to flee.  Layered on top of the shame is an annoyance with you and your knack for running.  He may be an asshole but you’re a child to run and hide when shit gets tough.

Then, on top of the annoyance, another layer of shame.  Of course you run.  The death of your parents left you with that wound, the inability to handle hurt in a healthy way.  You flee and tuck yourself in a corner, tend your wounds alone.  It’s a flaw, but it’s understandable why you do it.

Rhett had been your best friend, and for the briefest summer, he was your lover too.  He should have been the one person to help you work through that fear.  Instead, he only cemented it further.

*****

March.  The leaden skies start to take on some blue, high up in the atmosphere.  The sun burns a little warmer.  The barnyard thaws into a swamp, and Wyatt has to handle the anxious animals, pawing and snorting and half-mad from a winter of cabin fever.

March is a tough month, though, because you call and tell him you aren’t coming back to Wabang for the summer.  You got a coveted internship with a specialty vet hospital in the city, and while Wyatt knows it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you, it’s far easier to blame that fucking asshole Abbott boy.

It’s easy to blame Rhett when Wyatt eats dinner alone each night.  When he runs a vacuum over the floor of your bedroom, keeps it dust free like you may turn up any day and take your place back on the family ranch.  When he studies the row of family photos on the mantle, sees his sister’s face and feels like he’s failed her in the care of her daughter.

He’s not irrational about it.  He knows he has to let you fly and trust you’ll return.  Vet training is a long process—it’s not like you went off to Cheyenne for a handful of bookkeeping courses.  He knows, deep-down, you would have always left for your schooling.

Still, that fucking Abbott boy has built up a tab, in Wyatt’s eyes.  March is when that tab comes due.

-----

He knows the boy drinks at the Double Deuces.  It’s common gossip how he overdoes it and either gets ornery with the Tillerson’s or pukes himself silly in the parking lot.  There’s whispers of the fights between Royal and the boy, how the elder Abbott is tired of bailing out his youngest son, though no one would ever accuse Royal of having any patience, especially where Rhett is concerned.

If it were anyone else—any other dickhead young buck—Wyatt would chuckle in sympathy.  He used to do the same when he was younger.  He knows what the Wabang drunk tank looks like.  Hell, maybe his name is still there—he scratched it into the pea-green paint of the wall decades back to commemorate his first overnight stay.

But Wyatt doesn’t confront Rhett at the Double Deuces.  He doesn’t seek him out at all.

Rhett comes to him.

It’s a Saturday night, and Wyatt is lazing in front of the TV, watching the recaps of the week’s basketball games.  He’s half-asleep when he hears the heavy, scuffing tread of boots on his porch, then a thumping fist at the door.

When he peeks out of the window to see who it is, it’s the fucking asshole.  Rhett sways unsteady on his feet.  Wyatt opens the door, and he can smell the reek of cheap beer and brown liquor.  When he peers out farther, he can see where the fucking asshole parked his truck, half in the driveway and half in the yard, the tires sunk deep in the soft spring turf.

“You drive here like that?” Wyatt asks, though it’s obvious.

The kid nods.

Wyatt sighs, scrubs his hand over his jaw.  “Tell me you came from next door.  Tell me you were drinking at home and not out on the roads fucking loaded.”

Rhett stares at him, his eyes bleary and blood-shot, his blinks slow and deliberate.  “Came from t’bar,” he slurs.

“Fucking prick.”  Wyatt breathes it out. 

His vision wavers for a moment, the rage that courses through him is so hot and sudden.  He moves towards the kid just as Rhett sways towards him, and in a blink, Wyatt finds his hands on him, his sweat-dampened t-shirt twisted in his fists.  This close, the beer fumes make his eyes water, and when Wyatt studies the kid’s face, he sees blank stupefaction. 

“You fucking little prick.”  He pivots, turns, hauls Rhett away from the front door, down off the porch.  He half-drags, half-carries him, and once they are on the soft grass of the front yard, Wyatt shoves him away.

“Stupid, selfish.  So fucking selfish.”  The rage feels good, like a narcotic in his veins.  “You could have killed someone, driving like this.”

“I didn’t…”  Rhett sways on his feet, struggles to get his balance.  “Didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t t-think—”

Wyatt is on him again, his hands firm on Rhett’s chest as he shoves him in earnest, sends the kid stumbling back on his ass.  “You never fucking think, do you?  Jesus fucking Christ, my sister…her husband…they were killed by a fucking drunk driver, and you have the fucking balls to…you asshole…you fucking piece of shit.  You—”

But he can’t even finish.  His sister and brother-in-law, your parents.  Years ago now, but the pain is still fresh, a keen edge of a knife blade that takes his breath away.  It was after a rodeo, a random Saturday.  One stupid fucking decision and Wyatt lost his family, you lost your parents, and the rest of the world had the bad taste to keep on going. 

There’s a roadside memorial on the road out of Wabang that marks the site of the crash.  It makes that knife blade of grief twist in Wyatt’s gut every time he sees it.

Anger—rage—is such a close neighbor to grief.  Grief is something one has to feel, but anger?  That’s something to embrace, to lean into.  To do.

Wyatt advances on Rhett, his big fists opening and closing as the kid struggles to get back on his feet.  Wyatt wants to beat the shit out of him, wants to see him bruised and bloodied on the ground:  for hurting you years ago, for hurting you more recently, and now this.  For taking his life and the life of anyone else on the road into his own stupid, selfish hands.

Rhett manages to find his knees, and he kneels in the grass but can seem to get no further.  Wyatt towers over him.

“Get up,” he orders.  His voice is low, deadly, and his tone must penetrate the booze-fog because the kid tilts his head up and looks at him. 

“Get up,” he repeats.  “Get up and face it like a man.”

Rhett only manages a dumbfounded, “huh?”

“You wanna drive a big truck like a big man?  Drink at the Double D’s like a big fucking man?  You wanna fuck around with my niece and break her fucking heart like a big man?  So stand up and take what’s coming to you like a man.”

The kid seems to track Wyatt’s meaning.  His bleary eyes clear a fraction and fix on where Wyatt’s fists wait, eager to offer some payback for his sins.  Rhett nods, as if to himself, and he takes a deep breath.  Closes his eyes, opens them.  He struggles to stand, staggers a little, but eventually finds his feet.

“Make it her.”  It comes out one slurred word, makeither, and Wyatt’s anger cools by the barest degree.  He unclenches his fists, holds them looser.

“What the fuck you trying to say?”

Rhett coughs, sways.  Coughs again, then enunciates, clarifies.

“Make it hurt.  Make sh…sure.  Make sure it hurts.”

Wyatt’s fists uncurl more.  “Now what are you—”

“Am.  Piece of shit.  I am.”  The kid sways more but takes a wide step, braces his legs wide to keep himself upright.  “Y’right.  Imma piece a’shit.”

As quickly as Wyatt’s rage came on him, it flees him just as fast.  He sees it just as clear as day, how Rhett Abbott ain’t a man.  He’s just a boy playing at it, fucking up as he goes.  Wyatt knows as well as anyone the sort of father the kid has, Royal Abbott is no model of what a man should be. 

The kid standing in front of him is just a hurt animal:  hurt by his own father, hurt by his own behavior because he has no idea how to not take out his hurt on others.

He waves his hand at the kid, a dismissive gesture, and he starts to turn away.  He is halfway back to the house when he hears the kid coming for him, feels the weak glancing blow of the punch that has no aim or power because the kid is too drunk.

He wants to be punished, he thinks as he turns back around to face Rhett.  He knows Royal is hard on his youngest son, can guess that the kid’s been knocked around plenty.  His own father…well, he keeps that buried in the past, but sometimes it pops up like a bad penny.  Like now. 

He wants to be hurt because it’s the only thing he knows, he thinks.  Like I used to.

Maybe Wyatt only fell into fatherhood because of a tragedy, but he gets more of it right than he will ever give himself credit for.  He faces the kid, and when the kid comes swinging at him again, spoiling for a beat-down Wyatt will never deliver after all, Wyatt only opens his arms and lets Rhett step into them.  The kid struggles for a beat but he’s drunk, and he seems tired down to his soul.

It only takes a moment for the kid to stop struggling in Wyatt’s bear-hug, then sag against him in exhaustion, then weep in dry, barking sobs that feel like they’ve been building up for his entire life.  And Wyatt knows exactly what sort of pain the kid is bleeding out because it was his pain, and his sister’s too, until they both fled their unhappy childhood home and made a happier one here on this ranch.

“Christ almighty,” Wyatt says after the kid calms.  He doesn’t let him go—he only gets an arm around his shoulders, and he leads him inside. 

No sense sending him home to his father.  He’s here now, so he might as well sleep it off on the couch.

-----

It’s less than a month before Rhett returns.  Maybe a handful of weeks later, the kid turns up on Wyatt’s step, sheepish.  Looking small.

Wyatt will never be clear exactly why Rhett and Royal fall out so terrifically.  Who can say?  The Abbotts can be squirrelly fucking assholes, back to Royal’s father and probably even further back, but Rhett finds himself kicked out with nowhere to go.

He takes the couch for a night, but the next day, Wyatt thrusts some fresh sheets in the kid’s arms and directs him to the guest room down the hall.  Past your bedroom.

“Might sleep better in an actual bed,” he tells the kid, his voice gruff.

“I’ll be out as soon as I can.”  Rhett’s ears burn red in shame.  “Just gotta line up a place.”

“No rush.”

“Seriously, I’ll—”

“I got plenty of room.  You ain’t putting me out.”

-----

Wyatt is never sure the right way to tell you that Rhett Abbott is currently crashing with him.  A month passes and then another, and he starts to feel guilty that the kid who broke your heart has been living down the hall from your childhood bedroom, sitting at your kitchen table.  That he parks his truck beside yours, and that he’s caught the kid—more than once—lingering by your bedroom door, lingering by your truck, like your ghost might manifest if he stands still enough.

Every time you call.  Each Facetime.  Wyatt wants to say something and doesn’t.

Wyatt ends up taking the coward’s way out:  he sends you an email.  Keeps it short and sweet, apologizes for not saying anything sooner.  He alludes to the situation between father and son, but clarifies that Rhett is in no way forgiven for how he treated you.  It’s just that the kid needed a soft place to land, and he had the ability to help, so he felt it was his God-given duty to do so.

But I can ask him to leave, if you want, he writes.  If it makes you uncomfortable.  You’ll always be my first and top priority, kiddo.

It takes you two days to reply, but that means nothing.  You have a brutal schedule and often go radio silent for stretches of time.  When you do reply, it makes Wyatt smile.

I can’t be mad about it, you write back.  How many times did you look the other way when I brought a stray home?  I guess you deserve a stray of your own.  Might want to take him in for his shots though. :-) 

Wyatt grins when he reads your email, then glances over at where Rhett is sitting on the couch, watching TV.  The kid does act like a stray; he cringes the barest bit if Wyatt moves too suddenly or too close to him, but like a stray, he relishes the comfort of a warm home, food in his belly, and even the tamest praise.

You got a heart of gold, kiddo, Wyatt texts you, and your response is immediate.

Got it from my uncle.

-----

Through the summer and autumn, the two men fall into a rhythm.  It isn’t so bad living with the kid, once he starts to get his sea-legs under him.  Once he starts to feel like the bottom won’t drop out.  Rhett puts in an honest day’s work on the ranch, and Wyatt pays him.  The first time he presses money on the kid, he tries to push it away, embarrassed at what he thinks is more charity on top of the charity of room and board…

“You work for me, you work for me,” Wyatt said, blunt.  “Means you get paid by me.  Take it or leave.”

Wyatt won’t know it until years from now, when he’s an old man and Rhett has grey in his own hair, but this stretch of time—the two men working and living together—is when Rhett starts to learn how to be a man.  That Wyatt is the gruff but kind, slightly awkward father-figure Rhett always needed.

There are lessons embedded in their days working the ranch.  The lessons ease Rhett out of the fog of his life, the strange liminal space of being in his early twenties but still just a kid.

When Rhett royally fucks up a stretch of fencing, ruins a day of work.  Wyatt only grunts, shakes his head, then claps Rhett on the back.

“You can either take the time to plan out a job, or plan on doing the job twice,” is all he says, and he guesses that Royal would have belted his son into the dirt for such an error.

When Wyatt tasks Rhett with a simple rewiring job in the barn, replacing some light fixtures, and the kid has no idea where to even start.  He spends half the day sweating about it, a sick feeling churning in his stomach, until he decides to throw up the white flag and admit he has no experience working with electrical fixtures.

“Well, hell, kid.  Why didn’t you say something?”  Wyatt jerks his chin towards the barn.  “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

When at the rodeo, Rhett is tossed from the bull within seconds, a humiliating display.  Afterwards, his body bruised but his ego far worse off, Wyatt only chuckles at him, says life will throw you off like that sometimes and it’s the getting back up that shows character.

“You got back up,” he tells Rhett.  “That means something.”

“Means I didn’t want to get trampled,” he grumbles.

“Still means something.”

-----

Always, though, there’s the specter of you.

Wyatt catches the kid standing in the doorway of your bedroom sometimes still.  Peering in at the time capsule of your stuff:  the clothes you’ve left behind, the framed photos, the beat-to-shit stuffed bear on your bed. 

Wyatt mentions you in passing, but he never brings up that long-ago night at the hotel or your sudden flight from Wabang the summer before.  He guesses Rhett already feels terrible all the time, so why bother bringing it up and make it worse?

The kid eventually broaches the subject all on his own, just as winter descends on Wabang again.  It’s been over a year since either of them have seen you in person, though Wyatt Facetimes you at least once a week.

Rhett makes himself scarce during those calls, but Wyatt’s always had the impression he’s not far off, maybe straining to make out your voice through the wall.

In early December, you break the news that you aren’t coming home for the holiday break.  Wyatt would suspect that Rhett might be the reason, but your eyes practically glitter with excitement as you talk about a massive stray animal sweep you’ve helped plan, a Christmas-into-New Years take-to-the-streets movement to find and rescue as many street dogs and cats as you can.  You’ve been working with local Girl Scouts to build feral cat cold-weather shelters, and you’ve been raising money and donations, and you’ve built a strong foster network, and local clinics are ready to spay and neuter and administer vaccines—

Heart of gold, indeed.  It makes Wyatt tear up, first from so much pride it feels like his chest might burst, then from that knife edge of grief that his sister isn’t here to see what a force for good her daughter turned into.

When Wyatt breaks the news to Rhett later, though, the kid sorta deflates, and that’s when he brings it up himself.

“It’s my fault,” he mumbles.  “She’ll never come back if I’m here.”

“Not true.”  Wyatt goes to the refrigerator and snags two bottles of beer, then hands one off to Rhett.  He settles in his easy chair and studies the kid.  “You know she loves animals.  She’ll come back eventually.”

“She hates me.”

“Nah.  I don’t know if hate is something she can even feel.  Dislike, maybe.  Disappointment.  Not hate.” 

“She should hate me.  I deserve it.”

And then it spills out, one clipped sentence at a time.  The entire history of you two, from best friends in childhood to passing acquaintances to an awkward moment in a hotel that Wyatt now knows was not actual sex but just some fooling around that ended in a cruel words.  When Rhett gets to the part of the story about your summer together, Wyatt holds up a palm, says, “yeah, don’t want the details at all,” and Rhett slouches against the couch and sighs.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her, you know.  Sounds fucking stupid, but at the time, I didn’t even realize what I was doing to her.”  Rhett glances over at the man, fixes his eyes back on the floor.  “Looking back, it felt like I was sleepwalking through that summer, and now I’m awake and see all the damage I did.”

Wyatt chuckles sadly.  He knows the feeling.  He has his own hurt women in his past, experienced the same sort of heartless sleepwalking. 

The kid shakes his head and continues.  “Wasn’t worth it.  Maria, I mean.  I don’t even know what I saw in her. 

“You were thinking with the wrong brain,” he tells Rhett.  Wyatt may have no lost love for Maria Olivaries, but he’d admit she was a pretty gal.  He could see why the boys went a little stupid around her. 

“Wasn’t thinkin’ at all.”  He says your name, a sigh in his mouth, then adds, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Look.”  Wyatt sets his empty beer bottle aside, leans forward.  “You gotta try to make it right with her.  How you square it up is up to you.  Maybe she’ll forgive you, maybe she won’t, but you gotta make an honest try at it.”

“How?”

“Damned if I know.  But take it from me, kid.  I had a girl when I was your age, and I fucked it up completely.  Even once I realized how badly I fucked up, I was too proud to try and set it right.  Now it’s been years and it’s far too late.  So you gotta try, so even if she never forgives you, it’ll set right in your chest that you did everything you could.”

Rhett stares at him for a long beat, then nods.  Then there’s a beat of glassiness in his eyes, near-tears, that Rhett blinks away almost angrily before he turns and clears his throat.

“I don’t mean to, you know.  I don’t mean to be a piece of shit,” he says, his voice rough-edged.

“Aw hell, kid.”  Wyatt heaves himself out of his chair and starts to make his way back to the kitchen for another beer.  He stops in front of where Rhett sits, slouched over, and he lays a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit,” he tells him.  “I just think you’re kind of a shithead.”

Rhett snorts.  “What’s the difference?”

“First one is a lost cause,” Wyatt says.  “Second one is just an idiot trying to do his best.  Like most of us.”

*****

Christmas day at a bachelor’s ranch is not as sad as it might seem.

Wyatt brings in a tree but they only throw some lights on it to give it a bit of cheer.  They build a fire in the fireplace, exchange no gifts, settle in and watch the football games.

Christmas dinner is a pot of Wyatt’s ulcer-inducing chili and a pan of cornbread.  Cecelia drops by in the morning with a plate of cookies and a handful of gifts for Rhett, but it’s just the two guys for most of the day.

Until you call to Facetime your uncle.

You take Rhett unawares; you call off-schedule.  You usually call in the evening but this is the afternoon, and Wyatt mutes the football game and take the call from the couch.  Rhett starts to stand up, but the man waves him to sit back down.  No need to hide out like he usually does.

So Rhett gets a full accounting of your life from you directly.  He can hear your voice, and you sound like you have a sore throat.  You tell your uncle about your big rescue mission, how it’s bitterly cold in the city but how you’ve saved so many dogs, so many cats, and how you can’t wait to head back out after you warm up a bit.

“I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas,” you tell Wyatt.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

Your uncle glances over at Rhett, nods in his direction.  “We’re doing okay for a couple of guys.”

“You decorate a tree?”

“Just string lights.”

“The prettiest part of a tree anyway.  What about dinner?”

“Chili.”

You laugh, and the sound makes Rhett smile – when was the last time he heard it? 

“Happy Birthday, Jesus.  Here’s some indigestion,” you joke.

“Good thing the kid went to Costco and got a gallon bucket of Pepto,” Wyatt jokes back.

It draws another laugh, which makes Rhett laugh, which makes you stop and ask your uncle if Rhett is there too.

“He is,” Wyatt admits.  “We’re watching the football game.”

There’s a beat of silence from you that seems to stretch out forever but is probably only a second or two. 

“Merry Christmas, Rhett,” you say, and Wyatt hesitates, then tilts the screen so Rhett can see you and you can see him.  He almost doesn’t want to look but he can’t help himself.

You’re smiling at him.  Not as broadly as you usually smile when you’re delighted in something or someone, but it’s a medium-sized one that touches the corners of your eyes. 

It’s genuine.

It’s a place to start.  It’s a sliver of hope.  It’s not a door slamming shut in his face but a door left ajar by a fraction, and maybe Rhett can toe it open if he can just find the right way to try and square things up with you.  It’s confirmation that he’s not a piece of shit, just kind of a shithead, and if he tries his best, maybe that will be enough.

“Merry Christmas,” he replies, and if you notice the gruffness in his voice, you don’t react.

“Thanks.” 

Wyatt holds his phone there a moment, starts to turn it back to him, but Rhett blurts out, “be careful out there, okay?” so Wyatt turns it back.

Your smile grows the barest bit.  “Will do.”  A pause.  “Don’t let my uncle work you too hard.”

A toe in the door.  A sliver of hope.  The fire snaps in the fireplace and the string lights twinkle on the tree, and Rhett may be an idiot just trying his best, but maybe that’s enough.

“I barely work at all,” he jokes.  “Gotta leave plenty of work for you when you come back.”

It makes you chuckle.  It’s not a laugh, but it’s something.

“In that case, Uncle Wyatt, work him into the ground,” you joke back, and Wyatt turns his phone back to him this time, and Rhett is left with perhaps a bit more than a sliver of hope.  He leans back on the couch and thinks that yes, maybe he can salvage this after all. 

Maybe trying his best will be enough.

[vodika-vibes]

Me again 😈 this is the last one (for now)

How about Howzer x reader with "sh, sh, I'm going to patch you up."?? I love Howzer so much and virtually no one writes for him </3

Playing Doctor

Summary: In an ideal world, being trapped in a cramped place with Howzer would be a dream come true. After all, you’ve been crushing on him for ages now. You just wish the situation was a little less sucky.

Pairing: Captain Howzer x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1200

Warnings: Reader is injured, pining, Howzer is jealous but pretends that he isn't

A/N: Sorry that this took so long! I couldn't get Howzer to agree with me. Until I put on a Disney playlist on Spotify and the words just started flowing. (Also, I have been in a not-great mental place since the 6th, but I think I'm better-ish now). I hope you like it!

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You’ve known Howzer for years now. 

You first met him at the beginning of the Clone Wars, all of those years ago. And, looking back now, you can admit that your first impression of him wasn’t the greatest. 

He was arrogant. Cocky, even. And in his opinion, you were a meddling busybody who needed to spend a day or two sitting in a jail cell.

You weren’t, and aren’t, a soldier. You were the former base commander’s receptionist, and when he left for greener pastures, you were left behind with a handful of soldiers and support staff who weren’t important enough to anyone to manage to pull a reassignment.

In truth, you kept the base running through duct tape and a prayer. And then Howzer came along and took it from you. 

It wasn’t until he realized that none of the NatBorn soldiers, or support staff, would listen to him, that they all deferred to you, that Howzer realized that he stepped on a few toes. 

And he didn’t apologize until your Squad of Misfits pulled him and his men out of an ambush that should have killed them, but only left him badly injured and with a scar on his face.

The rest, as they say, is history.

By the time the Jedi Purge happened, you and Howzer were friends. Friends enough that, when he called you to ask for help, you dropped everything and hurried to his side. 

That had been a year ago, and while you won’t ever say that you regret it, you do wish that you had been more clever about your career prospects.

Or, at least, more clever.

Surely, if you had gone to medical school like your mother wanted you wouldn’t be in this situation.

Right?

You release a pained whimper as Howzer presses his hands, firmly, over the wound in your side. You try to pull away from his painful touch, but the way he has you positioned against the wall of the cave you’re taking shelter in means that you can’t move.

“Howzer—”

“I know it hurts, ad’ika.” His voice is low, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen such a grim look on his face before. Well, not directed towards you, at least, “but I need to stop the bleeding.”

Hesitantly, because he’s been funny about you touching him lately, you wrap your hands around his wrists, “‘m sorry. I messed up.”

“It’s not your fault. Who knew that the Stormtroopers had people who could use fucking javelins. Where are we, the Middle Ages?” He sounds stressed and angry.

“Many Indigenous people use weapons like that,” You reply, “Like the Ewoks and the Tusken Raiders of Tatooine.”

Howzer releases a huffed laugh, “Why do you know that?”

“I saw a documentary about it before,” You admit.

“Yeah? When was this?” He applies more pressure and you whimper as the sudden pain knocks the air out of your lungs, and you see a muscle work in his jaw.

“When I was a kid,” You manage to say, “There used to be a show. Tula the Tooka. Tula would teach kids about different races and show how we’re all the same.”

“Fighting bigotry one little kid at a time?”

“Something like that.” You wince, “She also covered some basic language skills, like how to say hello, or I’m lost, in whatever language.”

“Sounds educational,” Howzer shifts his hand and glances at your side, and then he takes your hand and presses it over the wound, “Apply pressure while I pull out my kit.”

“You could always just leave me here,” You offer.

“Don’t be fucking stupid, I’m not leaving you behind.” Howzer replies as he starts digging through the bag he’s been carrying, “You can’t actually think that I would do that.”

“I don’t.” You admit, “Make your life easier if you were less loyal, though.” You pause, “Idiot.” The word is affectionate, and the corner of Howzer’s lips curl up into a small smile.

“Wonder what having an easy life would be like,” He jokes, before he turns back to you, “Alright, move your hand.” You do as he asks, though you don’t realize why he’s saying that until the sharp scent of alcohol reaches your nose.

You yelp and jerk back when an alcohol-soaked cloth presses against your side. Though, you don’t get far.

“Shh, shh,” he effortlessly tugs you closer, so he can keep the cloth pressed against your side, “I’m going to patch you up.”

“You couldn’t have given me some warning?” You choke out.

“Sorry, ad’ika. But you’re kind of a baby when it comes to pain.”

You stare up at him through tear-filled eyes, “And you thought this would help? You’re a jerk. Rex would never—” You yelp again when his touch gets rough enough that it hurts.

The painful pressure vanishes almost immediately, “Sorry, I’m sorry! I forget that you’re so much more fragile than me.” Howzer blurts as he uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe a tear from your cheek, “Please don’t cry.”

“I-it’s okay, you didn’t mean it.”

Howzer sighs, “It’s not okay, but thank you.” He pulls some bandages from his bag, “I bet Rex would never forget that.” There’s something odd in his voice, and you realize, with a start, that he’s jealous. 

“Howzer?”

“Hm?”

“Are you jealous of Rex?”

He fumbles with the wrapper of the bandage, and his dark eyes flicker up to meet your gaze, before dropping back to your side, “Course not.”

You stare at the top of his head for a moment, and then you sigh and reach up to run your fingers through his hair, “You know you’re my favorite, right?”

“Are you allowed to have favorites?” Howzer asks as he applies the bandage and tapes it to your skin.

“I think you’ll find that I don’t care about what’s allowed,” You counter, “You’re my favorite, and I’m glad that I ended up stranded here with you over anyone else.”

He finally meets your gaze, “You hate being stranded anywhere.” Howzer corrects with a wry smile.

“See, no one else knows me like you do.”

“Well, I have known you for years now,”

Your hand falls from his hair to rest against his cheek, just over his scar. There are so many things you want to tell him. So many thoughts you want to share. 

Things that he deserves to know.

But the words seem to stick in your throat.

After all, there’s no way he feels the same way for you as you do for him.

So, instead, you offer a tiny smile, “I’m guessing you have a plan.”

Howzer turns his head and presses a light kiss to the palm of your hand, “Always do.” He pulls away from you, “Are you okay waiting here for me?”

“Just don’t forget about me.”

“Never.” He stands and peels off his jacket, “Here, use this as a pillow and get some rest. I’ll be back when I’m done.”

You take his jacket and fold it so you can lay down, “Be careful,” Howzer tosses you a wink, and then he’s gone. 

And, now alone, you release a quiet sigh. “I love you, Howzer.”

@imabeautifulbutterfly

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[sodacowboy]

weird dreams after an awful night

[chastiefoul]

jjk men coming home and finding you crying

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji fluff and comfort

gojo satoru

you wiped your eyes quickly as you heard the door opened. you took a deep breath, making sure your voice didn’t come as shaky as you said, “welcome home, toru.” with a big grin and the usual paper bag filled with sweets on his right hand he planted a kiss on your head. “i’m home baby.”

you were just about to let out a sigh of relief when satoru suddenly knelt in front of you who’s on the couch, blindfold off as his blue eyes stared as if seeing right through you. “what’s wrong?” he said softly, his knuckles brushing over your cheek with such a careful gesture. “what do you mean?” you tilted your head, cringing inside at the bad feign. “you can’t fool my six eyes, baby. also what kind of boyfriend i’ll be if i can’t even notice when my girl is sad?”

you tried to form a sentence to say as an excuse but the kisses he peppered across your face wasn’t really helping. you chuckled as you whine softly, “toruu.” the white-haired man cupped your face, a gorgeous smile on his face. “my favorite sound, baby,” he said, kissing your lips. “tell me? pleaseeee.” you laughed once more at his emphasis at the last word. “it’s really nothing, toru.”

“i love listening to nothing. we even have some sweets here as snacks,” he said, opening the paper bag excitedly. “i think you just want an excuse to eat it at 8 pm,” you raised an eyebrow, as he grinned. “nonsense, baby. now c’mere, let me hold you while you tell your story.” he put you between his legs, your back resting on his broad chest comfortably. you sighed out of wonderment, thinking how you could be so lucky, being this loved by the man.

“here, pick whatever. this one is my favorite,” he rummaged through the bag that’s on your lap. you looked at him with fondness as his face leaned in beside you to see better. “yeah? you’ll give me your favorite?”

“there’s nothing in the world that you can’t get, baby.” he kissed the side of your face. “now start from the very beginning.”

geto suguru

“if you thought you were doing a great job hiding those tears i have some news for you sweet girl,” geto’s voice was gentle on your ear as he wipe the wet residue underneath your eyes with the inner sleeve of his robe. “i wasn’t really hiding it,” you frowned, somehow not liking the fact that he noticed your little moment of weakness. “yeah? so you were just rubbing your eyes all rough like that for no reason?” he gave you a little smile.

yeah, it was a battle you had lost from start.

he put his arms around you, rubbing your back in a soothing pattern. “what’s wrong baby, everything okay?” you melted right into his touch, resting your head on his chest right on the calming beating of his heart. “yeah, it’s not really a big deal,” you mumbled, your low spirit was really affecting him more than he would ever let you know. his hand kept moving as he once again kissed the side of your head, a low chuckled escaped him. “you’re cute when you think you have a choice on telling me what had upset you.”

you laughed softly at his playfulness, knowing full well to you’ll end up telling your boyfriend everything. “you’re right. but can i tell you later?” you asked, wanting just this peaceful moment to last just a little longer as you held him tight.

“’course baby, got all the time in the world for you.”

nanami kento

nanami already knew that something was off when the house felt a little quiet as he arrived. and then he found you hunched over as you stood behind the kitchen counter. “honey?” you wiped your eyes with what you thought was the speed of sound but it was clear to both of you that you had been crying. “hi ken, how was work?” you replied with a small voice, a smile nanami didn’t particularly like plastered on your face; only because it seemed forced.

“oh no, we’re not breezing past it. come here my love.” and his embrace enveloped you like a dream, all warm and perfect. he stroke your hair ever so softly as he whispered sweet nothings. when you calmed down a little he sneaked a hand under your jaw, rubbing his thumb on your cheek gently, a gesture with amount of love you could only guess. “what’s wrong, hm?” he questioned you, his eyes shone with adoration; there’s only you in that moment.

“i’m okay, ken. more importantly aren’t you tired from work?” there’s a deep crease between the blond’s man eyebrows he heard you say this, as if that was the most offensive thing he had ever heard from you. “’more importantly?’ there could be nothing that’s more important than you, dear,” he said, knowing that concern was from a good place, like he was worrying over you, of course you would fuss over him who just came home from work.

“still…” you hesitated, but he kissed it out of you quickly. “want me to prepare you a bath, love? you know i can get the perfect temperature for you,” he whispered, coaxing you. and he was right, even sometimes he would get it right more often than you. before you could even mumble out another excuse he continued. “and while you do that i’ll prepare dinner, okay? i’m sure there’re still some ingredients left to make that nice meal you like.”

“no, i couldn’t possibly let you do all the work ken-“

“love, i’m here. you can relax, okay? you always do so much for me, let me do this for you,” he reassured you, cupping your face as he trailed your cheeks with soft kisses. you’re still not convinced, as he smiled over your great concern. “do this for me, please?” he tried once more and there’s no way you could refuse that. you nodded, feeling another wave of tears coming out of gratitude for your boyfriend., “thank you ken, i love you so much.”

“i love you too. and when you’re ready to talk, i’m here okay? always.”

toji fushiguro

he lifted you up, your leg instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist as he grabbed both of your thighs to support you. you tighten the hold of your arms around his neck, resting your head on your shoulder, nuzzling closer to his neck; not wanting him to see your post-crying face.

he sat you on the kitchen counter, putting both of his hands on the hard surface, on either side of your body practically refraining you to run away. “what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asked you who’s currently staring at the fingers on your lap as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. he kissed your shoulder blade, intentionally lingering a little long to hopefully calm your nerves. “nothing, i guess,” you answered nonchalantly, like detaching yourself. “you’re shit at lying babe, you know that right? look at the frown that you’re wearing right now, it’s almost touching the floor,” he said as he kissed your neck next. “mean,” you meant to frown, and you realized you were already doing that for the past hour. fine, maybe he had a point, so what?

“nah, what’s mean is when my girl won’t even tell me what made her upset,” he said, tilting his head confidently, his big hand on your waist as he rubbed your side. the look on his face was enough to make you relent. “fine… you’ll force it out of me sooner or later anyways,” you mumbled as he smiled, knowing that you needed a little push is all to sound your worries. “atta girl.”

“tell me all ‘bout it yeah? don’t leave out a single detail. then maybe if you’re up for it, i can show you that i got many ways to cheer you up,”

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

COCKWARMING W/ JJK MEN

cw: smut

Gojo Satoru

Such a whiny boy. He's sooo confident that he can have you sit on his cock for hours and he won’t budge and even says that you won’t last. But he’s all talk. Once you sit on his pretty cock he’s fucked out. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, a thin layer of sweat covering his body and his hips bucking up into you. Pleading to his pretty girlfriend to let him cum because he can’t take it anymore. He needs you. 

“Please, please baby, f-fuck.” he whines as he keeps a solid grip on your hips sure to leave his hand prints.  

“Wait, toru… not yet baby,” you coo into his ear as you continue to meet his desperate thrusts. 

“Can I cum now? Please baby…” his lips attack your neck, pressing sloppy wet kisses into it causing you to throw your head back from the immense pleasure this man knew how to give you just from mere kisses, let alone the fact he was so deep inside you about to burst.

And he does. He fills you so good. Mouth slightly agape, eyes shut close as you feel him twitch inside you. 

“Fuck, so good” he smirks at you watching his cum drip down your thighs. 

Geto Suguru 

His cock is so deliciously thick but you hate (not really) cockwarming this man because of how much of a tease he is. He’s holding you down as you slowly sink down onto him. 

“C’mon babe… can your poor pussy take all of it?” his hand comes up to wipe the tear forming on the side of your eye. 

“Y-yes, i can” you nod as you finally bottom out on his cock. 

He brings you in for a hot kiss, the shift causing you to arch your back. Good thing he’s holding onto you so tight that he won’t let you escape, ever. Both of you carry on making out, tongues swirling around exploring each other's mouths. His hands slide up to your ass to give it a squeeze as your hands tangle in his long raven locks. Finally ending the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you both as you try to breathe. 

“I’m so fucking deep inside you,” Geto’s hand comes to your lower tummy, pointing out the slight bulge there that his cock is making. A grin appearing on his perfect face. 

Wasn’t long after, he was fucking into you. Purple orbs set on watching how you take his cock so well, over and over again. 

Nanami Kento 

Nanami who lets you cockwarm him when he’s had a long day and he’s just about to be done with work. Having his pretty wife sit down on his cock while he finishes some annoying paperwork, but you just can’t help but start moving your hips up and down on him. Desperate to tease you oh-so handsome husband. 

“Don’t be naughty honey,” he utters softly into your ear. His voice like music to your ears. “Gonna give you my cock right now.” He presses a kiss to your temple. 

“Can’t wait no more Ken,” you sigh as you begin peppering tender kisses on his neck. “Need you so bad…”

Nanami knows so well he can’t resist his wife when she is so needy for him. He throws his back at the feeling of your kisses, eyes shut tight trying to enjoy all the attention you were giving him. Honestly overwhelming the man to the point, he instinctively wraps his large arms around your waist and pumps his entire length into your cunt at a rapid pace. Not slowing down until you are filled to the brim with his cum. 

“This what you wanted honey?” He murmurs coming to kiss your cheek. 

Toji Fushiguro

Toji loves cockwarming after he fucks the living soul out of you. Holding you in a mating press as he cums inside you, he wants to make sure it stays inside so he doesn’t pull out. Instead he fucks into you painfully slow after your orgasm, leaving you with no words besides desperate whines only for his ears. Taking pride in leaving you a babbling mess, he watches you with a smirk that only makes his scar that much more attractive and prominent. Green eyes piercing into yours as he takes your hand and presses soft delicate kisses on it because in his words “it helps ease the pain” of his fat cock drilling into you. 

“Fuck… so pretty f’me” He grunts as he thrusts into you deep one more time before coming down to lay on your chest. 

“You aren’t gonna pull out?” you ask him obviously still trying to catch your breath. Your hand comes up to push his strayed hair out of his face. 

“Nah, wanna sleep like this.” he mumbles. 

And just like that, he's out cold. But don’t be surprised if you’re woken up in your sleep by him fucking into you once again because he always gets hard around his pretty baby. 

Choso Kamo

You needed to explain what cockwarming was to Choso and even after you did, he wasn’t so fond of the idea. He loved being inside you so much that he didn’t believe in himself that he wouldn’t be able to just absolutely destroy your cunt once he slipped in. 

And he was right. 

“No baby… I can’t,” he whines as you're still trying to take him inside completely. 

“Cho… you aren’t even fully inside yet,” you reiterate to him, almost scolding him. 

All he can do is shake his head before he turns you over so he's fully onto top of you. A string of curses leaving his lips as he sinks himself all the way into your silky walls. Once Choso is inside you, he’s a lost cause and no one can pull him out until he makes you cum again and again until you’re both satisfied. It was worth a shot you think to yourself before he begins fucking into you at an animalistic pace.

“Never doing that again,” he enunciates with every thrust. 

“You didn’t even try Cho,” you manage to say as he presses into you deeper. 

“I’ll let you sit on my face later… to make up for it,” you feel him smirking into your neck. 

A soft laugh echoes through the room as you nod, accepting his compromise. 

Sukuna Ryomen 

“You want to do what?” He scoffs as he watches you with a displeased look. 

“I want to sit on your cock… for a while” You try not to make contact with the curse. 

After explaining what cockwarming was to Sukuna, he was intrigued. Letting you do most of the work since it was your idea. He watches you attentively as you lube and prep yourself for him. 

“You gonna keep watching me or are you gonna help?” you give him an almost annoyed look. 

“Such a needy brat. Just come sit on it already.” He demands, staring daggers at you. 

You do just as he says and Sukuna derives immense joy from seeing you in such pain taking his monstrous cock. Lazily holding you up with one of his four arms and he watches you take him inch by inch, pain and pleasure mixing divinely. 

“Why are you crying little thing?” He asks in a worrisome tone but the stupid smirk plastered all over his face says otherwise. “I haven’t even fucking moved, yet.” 

[lemonlover1110]

𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬

Satoru Gojo

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Summary: Satoru makes the biggest mistake of his life. If he could go back in time, he would take it all back in a heartbeat.

Warnings: Heavy Angst, Cheating, Smut, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Some Biting, Vaginal Sex, Daddy Kink, Creampie

*This is a commission for the lovely @mew4-ever18. Thank you so much dear, this was so fun to work on❤️ also you can thank her since she wanted me to share with y'all!

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

There’s something wrong with Satoru, and you can’t quite put your finger on it– Well, you have an idea of what it is but you don’t want to accuse your fiancé of such an outrageous act of betrayal. He’s coming home later than usual, bearing gifts and stinking of some cheap perfume. He claims he’s working late with his secretary, the company is going through a rough patch and he has to fix it all.

You noticed it from the beginning. One night Satoru came home later than usual and he wasn’t your usual Satoru. He was distant and refused to even make eye contact with you. He was hiding his phone, and was extra wary about where he put it for the night. It happened six months ago, and you were willing to look past it because you loved Satoru and it was surely a one time thing.

Until the next day where the same thing happened. And then a week later. Six months later you’re dealing with the same issue, trying to convince yourself that it isn’t happening. The signs are all there, but you don’t want to question your partner’s loyalty. Truly after making such accusations, everything will be over. So you bite your tongue even though Satoru clearly acts differently for a reason.

“How was work today?” You ask him, clearing the table from the dinner you just had. You surprised him tonight, preparing one of his favorite meals since you knew he’d be home early tonight. You hope that by surprising him with food, he’d come home early more often.

Unluckily for you, Satoru played with his food the entire duration of the meal. He was looking at his phone the entire meal, barely acknowledging your presence. But you’ll attribute it to him having a rough day at work. A rough week at this point… Nevertheless, you’ll find a way to excuse his behavior.

“Can you help me clean up?” You ask him after your question goes ignored, and Satoru barely acknowledges your existence. You’re getting tired of this, and you’re not sure for how much longer you can withstand it. You speak again, your voice much firmer this time, “Satoru, honey, can you help me?”

“Uh… Sure.” He replies, standing up from the table and doing just as you’ve asked. You make some conversation with him, knowing you hold his attention for a small fragment of time and you have to make it count. He gives you vague answers, but at least he gives you something. 

Midway through the conversation is like a flip switches in Satoru, and he begins to smile as he speaks to you. He cracks a couple of jokes, and you two begin to laugh like the sweet couple you are. You feel like you’re in the very beginning of your relationship once again. He’s making jokes just to hear your sweet laugh.

Before you know it, you’re cuddling up with him on the couch. You allow yourself to easily forget about his past behavior, simply because he’s acting like the man you love after all this time. 

“Was dinner not good? You barely touched your food.” You ask him, and he bites down his lip.

“It was good, I wasn’t too hungry though.” He answers, though he quickly changes the topic. You partially understand why he wants to talk about something else. You’re finally having a good time, he doesn’t want it to change. “When’s your next work trip? I don’t want to get accustomed to having you here.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow for three days.” You respond, and you see a small pout come to his face. You almost laugh at the response, chuckling before kissing his cheek. You don’t understand the response when most nights he isn’t by your side either way, but you still appreciate the reaction. “I’ll be back in no time, babe.”

“I’m going to miss you.” He says, a phrase that is odd to hear from him but it brings a smile to your face. Maybe whatever is going on is fixable. You peck his lips, getting even closer to him.

“You can appreciate me while I’m still here.” You tell him, and within a blink of an eye, you’re on top of him. He’s given you no sign, but you feel the need to try to initiate something with Satoru. You had a consistent sex life with him until recently. The last time you felt Satoru’s touch was three months ago, and it was unsatisfactory to say the least… You hope you can change his mind this way. It’s stupid. 

You’re getting frisky, your hands unbuttoning his shirt while you kiss him, full of desperation. You need him. You’re too caught up in your own sentiments, barely noticing that he’s not touching you. You’re doing everything.

He’s not even kissing you back. You’re grabbing his hands and putting them on your ass since you know it’s one of– If not his favorite part of your body. But his hands quickly fall, telling you he’s disinterested.

“Satoru–” You pull away, about to ask why he isn’t even moving. Before a business trip, he’d make sure to remind you how much he loves you– But right now he can’t even keep eye contact with you.

“I’m not in the mood.” He mutters, and you swear you hear your heart break. It feels like this confirms all of your fears and doubts. You just know you’re frustrated. You get off him, and without even thinking twice, you blurt out,

“Are you cheating on me?” Which makes his eyes go wide. He looks at you, offended that you’ve asked that question. As if he hasn’t given you reasonable doubt. But even though the question lingers in your mind, you regret the words that leave your lips.

“How dare you?” He immediately replies, and you feel the urgent need to apologize for what you asked. You still want an answer that’s not his offense. Even though his response should give you an answer, you’re still wanting to hear him deny it.

“You’ve been acting weird– I don’t know what to think.” You try to justify yourself, as Satoru stands up from the couch.

“What? I told you I’m busy with work! But your first thought is that I’m–” Satoru finds himself yelling, and he stops himself. He takes a deep breath to not be too rash. He’s upset, but he won’t yell at you. “I love you so much, why would you even say that? I’ve done nothing but be loyal and cherish you but you’re–”

“You’re acting weird, Satoru! I– I’m sorry that I even suggested that but you’re acting really weird.” You’re tripping over your words, getting nervous during your confrontation. This is something that can completely ruin a relationship, you should’ve bit your tongue and held back on asking the question. 

“I can’t even look at you.” He mutters, walking away from you. He’s heading toward the front door, and you can’t stop him. You want to tell him to stop, you can figure this out; however, your voice gives out. Maybe deep down you know that you don’t have to apologize for anything. 

The feeling lingers, deep down you know you’re right. 

You allow yourself time to think. Time away from Satoru to decide what you want to do with your relationship. Work keeps you busy, but it reminds you of him. You met with him through your work, you were hired to accompany him on a trip and he kept flirting with you until he mustered up the courage to ask you out.

You’re wondering if maybe your work is the reason why he’s acting like this. Maybe you’re overthinking that he’s distant, and he’s actually just worried that someone else will woo you. You’ll think of anything to excuse his behavior, anything to stay on cloud nine when it comes to your fiancé. 

During your time away you reflect on your relationship. You need to have a serious chat with Satoru, something that you’ve been holding off on. You don’t want to have tough conversations in fear of hurting him, but it’s hurting your relationship.

You’re losing sleep over your issues, and you can’t stay away for another day. You’re going home early to try and fix your relationship problems, because you won’t be able to properly rest if you don’t fix it. 

Luckily, the lights are on when you come home. You’ll be able to speak with him immediately. You hope that by next week this will all be something that you laugh at. Alas, you know that you’ll need to put in a little more work. 

You walk into your place, leaving your luggage in your car. You want to talk to Satoru as fast as you can. 

You expect to find him in the kitchen, cooking something for himself since Satoru tends to try to make himself something when he’s free. But you guess you’re a little late. It’s past dinner time, he’s not in the kitchen… But he did leave a mess. You’re about to walk past it and check for him in the bedroom, but your eyes fixate on the sink.

Two glasses of wine. One has a red lipstick stain. The son of a bitch lied to you– No, maybe you’re overthinking. Perhaps he invited his mother over for dinner. He’s probably upstairs, too tired to clean up after himself so he left the mess for the morning.

You take a deep breath, using all your might to move your feet. You have to go upstairs to talk to him. You pray that you find him sleeping so you can avoid this whole situation right now– Or that the scene that plays in your mind isn’t happening.

Satoru is loyal to you. Satoru is loyal. You keep repeating the words to yourself as you walk upstairs. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest with every step. You’re getting sweaty, and thinking of the worst when you’re standing outside the closed bedroom door.

You hear it, and your heart breaks. You’re fidgeting with your fingers as you press your ear against the door to listen better. It’s his voice… It’s Satoru. Your Satoru. The same man that got defensive when you confronted him about his loyalty.

A man that you’ve loved so dearly for years, has betrayed you in the worst way possible.

But maybe, just maybe, you’re getting this whole situation wrong. You refuse to cry when you’re probably misreading this situation. Perhaps he’s just watching some explicit videos on his phone, something to kill his loneliness. You crack the door open, and you want to puke at the scene. 

A gasp leaves your lips, as if you’re surprised by it all. As if you didn’t already feel this was happening. Tears well your eyes, quickly spilling and falling down your face. He’s not only betraying you, but doing it on your own bed as if it were nothing. The bed that you’ve laid down beside him and shared so many intimate moments.

You make eye contact for a split second before you look at her. The woman that was always so sickly sweet with you is in bed with your fiancé. You always knew that there was something up with her, there was no plausible reason for her to be so nice. You brought up your concerns with Satoru, and he brushed them off.

“You two can go to hell.” You yell, remembering the words that Satoru always told you: She’s no one important, she won’t last long in the company or something along those lines. And yet here she is. You’re holding your breath, unable to exhale until you finally turn around. You hear Satoru call out your name as you begin to walk away.

You try to hold back on crying now, you don’t want to look pathetic in front of them. You’ll simply leave, even though he calls out your name to talk to you. The man that you swore you’d love for the rest of your life has made a fool out of you. With his secretary of all people… How cliché. 

“It isn’t what it seems!” Satoru is yelling, trying to catch up to you. You take a swift look at him, rolling your eyes. At least he has clothes on now, that’s an improvement. 

You don’t want to entertain him, you just head to the front door as Satoru mutters out baseless apologies. You don’t want to hear it, he’s just spewing whatever to get you to stay. Your hand lands on the cold doorknob, and before you get to turn it, his hand lands on your wrist.

“Please let me explain.” There’s desperation in his eyes, something that would’ve made you drop everything and tend to him ten minutes ago. Right now your blood is boiling, and the only sight that you want to see is a bloody Satoru lying down on the floor– It’s extremely unlike you, but you guess your thoughts won’t be too normal after finding out your fiancé balls deep into his secretary.

“Fuck you, Satoru. Fuck you and your secretary–” You begin before a loud laugh leaves your lips. It’s rare that you curse, but you can’t hold back now. You truly mean it, never in your life do you want to see the man that stands before you. You were ready to devote your entire life to him; yet, this is how he repays you. “I guess you already did, didn’t you?”

“Please, it was nothing.” He tries to explain which makes you scoff. You pry his hand off your wrist and open the door.

“I’m coming to get my stuff tomorrow while you work. I’ll leave the engagement ring on your nightstand.” You tell him before walking away, leaving him behind to yell your name. He mindlessly calls out to you, hoping that you come back to talk to him, but you don’t dare to look back at him. 

That concludes your relationship of years with Satoru. A few minutes of pleasure were worth ruining your four year long relationship, and an eternity together. You wipe away the tears that leave your eyes, trying to not feel bad about it. After all, Satoru made his bed, and you can’t change anything about it.

Satoru tries to contact you more times than you can count, which results in him being blocked everywhere. You don’t want to speak to him ever again. You spoke to his parents one last time, and explained everything to them before closing that chapter of your life. You want to completely forget that Satoru Gojo ever existed in your life. In your mind, you want it to be as if you never crossed paths.

You had two weeks of dwelling in sorrow, pitying yourself for your ex-fiancé’s actions before school started. Going back to teach English was actually going to be more helpful to you than you thought. The students keep you busy, managing to push away any dark thoughts from your mind.

You find the school to be a safe space from all the drama that surrounds your life. You don’t have to worry about Satoru trying to get you to communicate with him, and you know that he won’t dare to show up at your work. The idiot somehow found out where you live, and he’s been attempting to send you flowers or other romantic deliveries that quickly get turned down or end up in the trash. 

You hate the turn of events. You were practically begging for a more eventful life since everything had suddenly become so dull– How you regret wanting that change. Yet you guess it’s better like this. You should be grateful that you found Satoru’s true colors before it was too late. 

“There’s someone that wants to talk to you… He’s at your desk.” Your coworker warns you as you walk to the office. You furrow your brows, picking up the unsureness in her voice.

It’s been nearly two months since everything happened, so Satoru is the last thing on your mind. So you don’t have a problem walking to the office, assuming that it’s a student that is seeking help. Though you’re not too sure about it since most of them are supposed to be in class.

A scoff leaves your mouth when you enter the office and you see the man that you’ve been avoiding for the past two months. As you watch him lean over your desk and inspect every little gadget that’s on it, you realize it’s a miracle that he hasn’t shown up at your door to beg for forgiveness.

He hasn’t realized that you’re in the same room, so you have two options: turn around and pretend like you were never here, or confront him. You want to turn around and avoid him. And you will. But just as you turn on your heel to leave, he calls out your name. 

“Can we talk?” Satoru asks, clearly desperate to explain everything to you… But what is there to explain? No matter the reason, what he did is unforgivable.

You want to yell at him, and tell him to get out of your life forever. But your coworkers are standing around and you don’t want to cause a scene. You have to swallow the sharp words that rest at the tip of your tongue. You choose a more professional way to deliver your message,

“Mr. Gojo, please stop contacting me. Next time I receive some sort of message from you, I’ll be forced to file a restraining order.”

He calls out to you again, but you don’t acknowledge him in any way. Your coworkers stare at him, wondering what happened between the two of you, but no one is bold enough to actually ask. For your ex-fiancé to show up at your work to talk, and refusing to speak to him is no small feat. Regardless, no one will ask you and no one is going to dare to speak to the man.

They don’t get a chance either way, Satoru quickly walks out of the office after checking his phone, leaving the place behind. Leaving too many questions unanswered.

“What do you need?” Satoru answers the phone with attitude when he gets into his car. He’s too annoyed to deal with anything else, especially with her. The woman that he broke things off with immediately, yet she won’t leave him alone for some reason. 

For some reason, as if he hadn’t started an emotional affair with her– Sure, for him it was purely physical but for her it seems like feelings developed. Even though he tried to fire her (which didn’t work out since she threatened to sue due to an inappropriate workplace relationship with a very clear power imbalance), she keeps trying to call him and act as if their relationship hasn’t ended. 

“When are we meeting again?” She acts as if nothing happened. Her voice is so irritating to him, it’s become one of his most hated sounds. He rolls his eyes when he hears her speak, and he has to sigh. He can’t get rid of her completely, as much as he wants to. 

“Please refrain from calling me unless there’s a work emergency.” Satoru tries to remain calm. He’s not going to waste his energy by losing his cool on her. By keeping things professional, he hopes that she’ll take a hint and leave him alone. But he’s not so lucky, he’s getting extremely bad karma for his actions. “Is there anything else? I’m busy.”

“We– We have to talk.” She sounds hesitant, though Satoru doesn’t really care. If she wants to never speak again, he’d be overjoyed. 

“What is it?” He asks, hoping that it’s something she can say over the phone. He wants to meet as little as possible with her. The line is quiet for a minute before she says,

“Can we please meet in person?” She questions, making Satoru scoff. No way in hell will he willingly meet up with her. His response gives her the answer she needs. She knows he’ll hang up soon so she blurts out, “I’m pregnant.”

“Huh?” His eyes go wide as he processes the words that he just heard. Pregnant? No, that can’t be, he’s always been so careful with her. He ensured she was on birth control and he always made sure to wear a condom. A pregnancy shouldn’t even be possible. “What– You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“I– I’m not. I wish I was.” He can almost hear the smirk that’s on her lips. She tries to act like this is something bad, but he can hear that this is ideal for her. “I swear I’m not lying.”

“What the fuck?” Satoru is pinching the bridge of his nose as he wonders how the hell this happened. He still can’t believe her, and he won’t until he sees a test result right in his face. One that he sees her take.

He absolutely can’t trust her with anything.

Satoru finally decides to leave you alone for the first time in months. You’re still on his mind, but he has bigger issues to deal with right at this moment. Somehow, someway, he’s becoming a father. This wasn’t in the cards for him, especially with someone that isn’t you. 

“What do you think about going shopping for baby clothes tomorrow?” She’s resting her head on his lap, talking like she usually does when she’s with him. He’s engrossed with his phone, creating a new account to check up on your social media. Satoru’s given you space since he has a girlfriend now. 

He’s not sure if he’s a coward or what, but he can’t do much. He got someone pregnant, so he’s forced to step up. He’s fucked up in a lot of ways, but he isn’t the type of man that’s going to leave his child behind. But he’s for sure the man that secretly looks at his ex’s social media. 

“Satoru, are you listening?” He hears, and he hums in response. Though he’s not too enthusiastic, which makes her sigh. She raises her head from his lap and squints her eyes as she looks at him. She doesn’t have to look at his phone to know.

She snatches the phone out of his head and tosses it to the side, making a frown appear on his face. He’s about to protest but she gets on top of him, cupping his face. “You know… I miss you.”

“I’m right here.” Satoru can’t make eye contact with her. He feels guilty by just looking at her. Not because he feels like he owes her anything, but because by looking at her he’s reminded of you. You two would’ve been married now. 

“Baby, stop thinking of her.” She says, going down to peck his lips. The sentence would’ve driven any other woman mad, but that’s her reality. It’s been her reality since the beginning, ever since she decided to sleep with a man that was in a relationship. “I saw her last night.”

“Where?” A sudden spark appears in his eyes which ticks her off. She has to pretend like she doesn’t see it.

“She was out with some man.” She’s fighting off a smirk, she can’t seem wicked in front of Satoru. Though watching his expression darken satisfies her. “She’s moved on, you can move on as well.”

“I guess.” Satoru is vulnerable, weak enough to believe anything that goes past him. As long as he gets to hear about you, he doesn’t care if a statement is true or false. Though he doesn’t like the news he’s receiving. “Are you sure it was her though?”

“Yeah. I know so. She’s hard to confuse with someone else.” She answers, and Satoru clenches his jaw. Perhaps it was just a male friend, no one that you’re interested in romantically… Though he did the same thing, and this is where it landed him. “I’m here for you, baby. Me and our baby.”

She grabs his hand and places it on her small bump, reminding him that they’re bound together for life. Satoru is biting down his lip, jealousy consuming him at the mere thought of you with someone else. He almost wants to get back at you. As if you’d get hurt by what he does or doesn’t do. You’ve moved on from him, you clearly don’t care about what he does. 

Satoru knows that he’s lost you, he doesn’t win anything by not giving in. He is touch deprived, desperate to feel something more. He’s already sacrificed so much for the few moments of pleasure that the woman in front of him gave him, what’s one more time?

Her lips land on his again, and he doesn’t fight it. But he also doesn’t kiss her back. The situation reminds him of the last time that you made a move on him and he rejected you. He’s so close to shutting his eyes and listening to his dick, but he almost pukes when an image of you pops up into his head.

He can’t do it, not even when he’s trying to get back at you. It’s his bad karma. He ends up pushing her away, telling her, “It’s best if we don’t.”

“What’s the harm in it?” She’s annoyed that he pushes her away. He’s not wrapped around her finger like she thought.

“I’m not in the mood.” He takes a firm stance, and she tries to remain calm. She opens her mouth to speak but Satoru clears his throat, “I think it’s best if we stop whatever we’re doing here. It’s not healthy.”

“What do you mean?” She furrows her brows. Satoru takes a deep breath, thinking of how to land the blow. He knows that she won’t be too delighted, but does he really care about her feelings?

“If we’re going to have some sort of relationship, it’s only a co-parenting one. I’m not interested in anything else.” He says, and she begins to laugh as if it’s some kind of joke. Though it fades when she realizes that Satoru has a stoic expression on his face. He couldn’t be more serious.

“Satoru, I am carrying your baby. You can’t be serious.” She makes a big show of it, putting her hand on her bump. She wants to make it as clear as she can that she’s expecting his child. 

“Which is why we’ll co-parent. Other than that, I’m not interested.” He responds, and her hands ball up into fists. She doesn’t understand. He’s already lost everything, what’s the harm of being with her now? He should move on since you clearly don’t care about him.

“What is wrong with you?” She asks, completely offended. How could he not want her? He’s risked everything to be with her, but when he actually can be, he refuses. “We’re having a baby, you’re not with her anymore– We can finally be together.”

“I don’t want to be with you. It’s simple.” Satoru answers, and before a major argument ensues, he stands up. He begins to walk to the door, leaving her behind to yell at the wall. He knows arguing is senseless.

If she wants to escalate the situation, he’s more than willing to settle everything in court.

Satoru is trying to come to terms with the fact that he’s becoming a father, and you aren’t the mother. His secretary is six months along, and time is flying by. The day that his baby is born is getting closer, and he has to come to terms with it soon.

His parents aren’t thrilled by this. They love his son, but they hate that this is the result of an act of betrayal. They dreamed of becoming grandparents but the situation was much different than this. They’ve made their feelings clear to Satoru, but Satoru couldn’t care less. He has his own feelings to account for. 

Satoru has his own weird feelings and behaviors to deal with. Like camping in his car, and waiting outside your apartment. He wants to see if you’re actually seeing someone else. With all his other issues, he’s been limited in time. He’s only been able to check up on you through social media, and you haven’t been posting which means he has no way of checking on you. He can’t contact your friends without getting cursed out, and he can’t just reach out to you to ask. Therefore he only has one way to check up on you; even if it’s creepy.

You leave the house at around 8:00 PM, and he’s on the move. You take a cab, and he follows you to a nice restaurant. Outside of it you meet a man. Satoru squints, trying to see every detail of this man. Perhaps it’s some relative that you’ve decided to meet outside a very expensive restaurant. Who is he fooling? You’re clearly on a date.

He still exits the car and enters the restaurant. It’s unlikely for him to get in without a reservation, but luckily Satoru is influential– Even when he isn’t well known, he has money to spare. 

He convinces the hostess to give him a table near your own, but your back is turned to him so you don’t see him at any time. He’s listening in, and he feels like a psycho for even being here but he has no other option. It’s a one off situation, a confirmation that you’ve actually moved on before he finally lets you go for good.

He doesn’t know why his heart hurts so much as he hears you laugh with someone else. He fuels with jealousy as he hears the dumb conversation that you two have. You don’t even sound entertained, but Satoru feels his eye twitch. He can’t just pop up at your table and ask you to speak, you’ll for sure ask him for a restraining order.

It’s best if he just leaves, it’s clear that you’re going out with someone else. He can’t do anything else. But just as he’s about to rise from his seat, someone catches his eye. He frowns, seeing the woman that carries his child, arms intertwined with someone else’s.

He watches attentively, trying to figure out if it’s a relative that he’s yet to hear about. He doesn’t really remember anything about his secretary… It was all sexual, and he didn’t care enough to listen to what she had to say about her life. Perhaps it’s a brother– The same stupid way that he thought you were here meeting a relative.

Satoru stands up and approaches their table, genuinely smiling as he sees them, “Good evening.”

“Satoru–” She looks astounded when she sees the man. She looks back and forth between the man that sits across from her, and Satoru. Her face grows red, knowing she’s been caught red handed. But she can play it off, she just has to control the situation before either speaks. “This is Satoru, my boss.”

“Nice to meet you, and who are you?” Satoru extends his hand for the man to take, and the man suddenly straightens his posture. She tries to speak, but Satoru directs his attention elsewhere. He doesn’t care what she has to say, he’s not going to believe her. Satoru doesn’t hear a name from the man, he blocks out everything except the vital word: fiancé.

“Well we– We… We were taking a break for some months and we’re back together now.” She attempts to play it off, and Satoru smirks. Right. As if he was dumb enough to buy it.

“We have a lot to talk about on Monday. Dinner’s on me tonight, enjoy it.” Satoru is sickly sweet with them, overjoyed by what he found out. He walks from the table and breathes a sigh of relief. It feels like a massive weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He just has to take one DNA test to prove that he isn’t the father, and he’s free of her. 

He’s upset to find that you’re not alone romantically, but he’s overjoyed by the news he’s just found out. He might not be becoming a father like he thought.

After finding out about Satoru’s betrayal, you thought you’d never move on. A man that you were ready to devote your life to, threw everything away for no apparent reason– You never asked why, but you don’t care either way. A year later you’re thriving without him, and with a man that makes you happy.

The perfect man that sends you flowers to work weekly even though you’ve been dating for almost a year. A man that’s open to communication, handsome, hilarious and to top it off you have great sex with. You’re still not sure if Akito is the man that you want to spend the rest of your life with, but you’re pretty comfortable by his side. After all, he fills in all the checkmarks.

You’re preparing dinner with him tonight, singing along to one of your favorite songs as you chop some vegetables and he pours you something to drink. As the song and your voice drowns out, you bite down your lip and you prepare yourself to speak. You've had something in your mind for a while, but you’ve been too nervous to say it.

“I think I’m going to leave the agency.” You tell him, as he slides you a glass of your beverage. He continues his task without saying anything, and you feel the need to explain yourself. “I hate leaving on business trips every now and then. I just want to focus on teaching.”

“I get it.” Akito sounds unphased, and it bothers you. You feel his arms as he hugs you from behind before kissing your cheek. You bite down your tongue, unsure as to why you’re annoyed by this. He should be thrilled since it means that you’ll be around more often. 

“Is that all?” You ask, and he hums in response. He lets go of you and grabs a pan to begin his part of the dinner.

“Won’t you miss traveling? You’re going to lose touch with some of your languages.” He finally says, and you purse your lips together. You’re not satisfied by the response. Satoru would’ve reacted differently– No, you can’t compare him to Satoru. Akito would never betray you like Satoru did.

“I can always travel in my free time. Plus, it’d be more enjoyable since I don’t have to worry about work.” You respond, and he hums again. You compare him to Satoru once more in your head, before changing the topic. You can’t compare him to Satoru; after all, they’re on very different levels.

“Hey!” An all too familiar voice calls out your name when you walk into the school. You begin to walk faster to the building, not wanting to speak to a ghost from your past. It’s been well over a year since the last time you saw him, and you intend to keep it that way. 

You know he’s following after you, and he’s quickly catching up because of his damn long legs. Just as you’re about to enter the building, he grabs your arm, stopping you from going inside and avoiding him. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you look back at him and look into his regretful blue eyes– And your heart skips a beat like the first time.

“May I help you?” You ask, averting your gaze as guilt quickly consumes you. It immediately feels as if you’re cheating on your boyfriend.

“I heard that you’re not working with us anymore and–” Satoru is stumbling over his words, getting nervous. He should probably ask how you are first, or any other small talk but he knows it won’t help in this situation. He can’t waste a single second. “Did I do something wrong? I mean, I know I did with our relationship… But you’re leaving your job as a translator for–”

“Mr. Gojo, my decision is frankly none of your business. The last time we talked was over a year ago, you have little to no influence in my decisions.” You answer, and he gives you a weak nod. “Did you come all the way here just to ask me that?”

“I would feel like shit if I knew I did something else to make you quit… But I guess you wouldn’t leave the agency just because of me.” He runs a hand through his hair, giving it away that he’s nervous. You feel your face get warm, feeling giddy knowing that you make him feel nervous. But you quickly try to shake away those thoughts. 

“I just want to focus on teaching. That chapter of my life is over…” You explain, although you don’t have the need to. “How did you even find out?”

“Heard from a friend of a friend.” He responds before an awkward silence ensues. He should probably speak, but what would he even say? Hey so you remember my secretary, right? The one I cheated on you with? Well she got pregnant and made me believe that it was my baby but it totally wasn’t. That won’t make for great conversation, and frankly it would earn him a punch in the face.

“Will you let go of my arm?” You ask him, and he looks down to see his hand holding your wrist. He nods and lets go of you, muttering an apology for it. You take a good look at his face before turning around to go inside.

“Can we go grab a coffee soon? I’ve been getting counseling and I want to have at least one last conversation with you before moving on.” He says which makes you stop in your tracks. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you think about it… 

Maybe it’s what you need. One last conversation with Satoru will confirm your feelings for Akito. It’ll help you move on to the next chapter of your life with your amazing boyfriend. Not getting closure from Satoru is what’s holding you back .

“Are you free after four?” You ask him, and his eyes widen before quickly nodding.

Satoru frantically looks around the café, trying to find a sign of you anywhere. It’s five after four, and he’s sure that you’ve stood him up. He’s a nervous wreck as he waits for you. This is what he considers his last conversation with you, and he knows that once you get to the café, his time with you is limited.

He shouldn’t be too upset about it since you haven’t spoken in a while, but knowing that it’s the last time you’ll talk still stings. He dwells on his decisions, regretting everything he’s done that’s led to this. If only he could go back in time, he’d beat himself up for making such a stupid decision. He let go the love of his life, all for nothing.

He zones out, thinking about you. A warm smile comes to his face as he remembers every tiny detail of you and of your relationship. His times with you were some of the happiest of his life, and his stupid self just had to screw that up. 

A snap of a finger brings him back to reality, and he’s overjoyed when he finds you standing in front of him. You bite down your lip as you see your order resting on the table. At least he remembered that.

“What did you want to talk about?” You ask as you sit across from him. You try to act indifferent. As if this doesn’t matter to you at all. You’re here to do him a favor, at least that’s what you’ll make it seem.

“How are you?” He won’t get to the point as easily as he did earlier. He slides your drink, hoping that you’ll take it without a second thought.  You glance at it, but you don’t take it into your hands immediately. 

“I’m great.” You respond, not asking anything back because you don’t want to seem like you care about him even though you do. You’ve been wondering for days on end how Satoru is holding up. Wondering if he’s moved on, if he’s with his secretary or whatnot. “So you’ve been getting counseling.”

“It’s been a rough year.” He chuckles, and you give him a subtle nod. You can relate, but your year has gotten progressively better. You’re happy with where you are. “You’re always on my mind but now more than ever.”

“I would say I’m flattered but… I’m not sure.” You confess with an awkward laugh. He agrees. 

“I haven’t gotten to properly apologize, and I need to do it to move on.” Satoru begins, and he takes a deep breath before speaking again. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I threw away our relationship for nothing. You were the best thing to happen to me, and I messed that up.”

“Yeah…” You feel yourself get emotional, tears welling up in your eyes as you hear the apology. You had no idea how much you wanted to hear it. You thought that never talking to Satoru again would fix your issues, but you feel so much weight lifted from you as you hear his apology. 

You take deep breaths to calm yourself down. You won’t begin to cry in front of him. 

“Why did you do it?” You blurt out, wanting an answer for the reason why he betrayed you. You’ve come to terms that it isn’t for your fault, but you still want to know what prompted him to make that decision.

He stays quiet, which makes you ask, “Did I do something?... Was I not enough in that sense?”

“No! No, you’ve always…” Satoru begins, biting down his lip as his cheeks turn pink. It’s almost embarrassing to say out loud. “The best that I’ve ever had.”

“So, what was it?” You ask, and Satoru sighs. He doesn't really know himself. It was just something that happened and he couldn’t stop once it began.

“I’m an idiot, that’s all.” He admits, and it’s not the satisfying answer that’ll ease all of your worries. But it’s enough. “If I could go back in time, I would beat myself up for even thinking about it.”

“I would too.” You joke, and he chuckles in response. He’d deserve it. “But I guess I’m happy you did it. I’m happy with where I’m at now.”

“Really?” He raises a brow, and you nod, further confirming your words. He looks into your eyes, knowing that you don’t mean it. It’s so easy for him to read you. Maybe it’s because you’re with him, and there’s no way that you’d feel happy sitting across your ex-fiancé who betrayed you, but you don’t look happy. That spark that appears in your eyes when you’re overjoyed with your life isn’t there. “I heard you’ve moved on.”

“Yeah. I’m with this guy named Akito. I met him through work.” You share, and Satoru can’t help but furrow his brows. 

“Did you meet through the agency or–”

“The school. His nephew is in my class and we met through a parent teacher conference, since the parents couldn’t show up.” You explain. You finally grab the beverage that Satoru gave you and you begin to drink it. Conversation begins to flow smoothly, and you change to a more lighthearted topic.

You laugh nonstop for almost an hour. Satoru has a lot of flaws, but he knows damn well how to make you laugh. You completely forget that you’ve had a tumultuous past with him. The man in front of you isn’t the man that betrayed you, but simply an old friend that knows you better than anyone.

Though your loving conversation comes to an abrupt stop when you check the time and you realize that you have to go back home soon. You cut him off as he speaks, telling him, “I should get going.”

“Huh? Oh yeah.” He responds as he checks his watch. He got a little carried away, but you didn’t seem to mind. You’re about to stand up, but you take a moment to stare at him.

You bite your tongue, wondering if you should tell him what’s on your mind. Satoru is fun to have around, even if he isn’t your boyfriend or anything like that.

“We should do this again sometime. You might not be the best partner but you make a great friend.” You comment as you stand up. You’re about to walk away, but his voice stops you.

“I can’t.” He says, which takes you back. You’re a bit confused by his response– Is he dating someone? Is that why he can’t become friends with you? No, he wouldn’t have insisted on apologizing if he was seeing someone else. Sure, it gives him ease of mind but Satoru wouldn’t.

Before you can question it, he confesses, “I’m in love with you. I can’t be friends with you while you’re with someone else.” 

“Oh–” Your stomach drops at the confession and your breath hitches. Out of all things he could’ve said, he said that. You open your mouth but quickly close it because you can’t say anything. You’re speechless. You point to the door and say, “I have to go.”

All the weight that was lifted off your shoulders after your conversation with Satoru, quickly comes back. You’re laying down next to your boyfriend who sleeps so peacefully beside you. He asked to spend the night and you couldn’t refuse. Yet tonight you keep glancing over, and wondering if you’re happy next to him.

You’re comfortable. Akito is a great man and you can see him being with you for the rest of your life. But do you love him? You knew you loved Satoru within a month of dating him, but you’ve been with Akito for a year, and you’re not sure about your feelings

You just want to curse Satoru out for putting you in this situation. You shouldn’t be questioning your feelings for your boyfriend. You’re happy, that’s enough.

You shut your eyes and lay on your side, trying to fall asleep. You aren’t going to question your feelings for your boyfriend because of Satoru. It’s all some dumb tactic to question your feelings. Satoru knew damn well that showing up at your work, and asking you to coffee will make your feelings come back–

Your eyes snap open as you realize that you’re still in love with Satoru.

“What’s wrong? You can’t sleep?” Akito speaks up, and from the sound of his voice you know that he’s been awake this whole time. You’ve been squirming, trying to find the right position that will get the unwelcome thoughts out of your head. You sit up on your bed, reaching over to turn on the light.

“I think we have to talk…” 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up as well. You told him that you met up with Satoru, something that he had no issue with until now. Now, he’s absolutely worried. With one swift look at him, he knows. He’s gotten to know you better than you know him.

“I should’ve known.” He chuckles, getting out of bed.

“I’m sorry.” You mutter, and he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize for it. You can’t control it.” He says as he begins to get changed in front of you. “It hurts like a bitch but at least we only wasted a year.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, burying your face into your hands. “I didn’t think this would happen. He’s hurt me so much and I–”

“It’s not something you can control, so I’m not mad.” He reassures you, but no amount of reassuring is going to make you feel better for what you’re doing to him. 

After breaking up with Akito, you take a week to decide on what you actually want to do. You love Satoru, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that you should be together. You come to the conclusion that you want to try one last time; you’ve already wasted four years on him, would it hurt to waste some more time?

You contact him first, and you agree to take things slow. So painfully slow for Satoru, but he’ll take all that you’ll give him. He understands why you don’t want to rush things, so he isn’t annoyed by the fact that your relationship progresses slowly– But he’ll admit he’s tired of using his hand all the time.

A year after reconciling, you leave Satoru high and dry. The most you do is make out, and just when you’re moving to the next base, things come to a stop. You go back home, not even accepting the offer to cuddle. 

But tonight is the night, Satoru feels it in the air.

He’s cleaning up after cooking you a decent meal while you do something. He’s not sure what you’re doing, but he’s happy as long as you’re near. He couldn’t care less if you’re snooping around or stuffing something into your pockets to take back to your own place. 

“Satoru!” You yell, making the man nearly drop a plate. He bites down his lip, knowing that you’re in the bedroom. This is it, he’s sure. But he still has to clean up… Screw it. He can clean up in the morning.

“I’m coming!” He yells, putting the plate down in the sink and nearly running to the bedroom to go after you.

He finds you sitting on the bed, a smile on your face. This is it. 

You stand up, taking a couple of steps toward him before your hands meet behind his neck. You kiss his lips as Satoru’s hands go straight to your ass– That’s the most you’ve let him do. Poor guy has suffered enough, at the very least he can squeeze your butt to deal with this torment.

“What do you think if we–” You begin, and he frantically nods which makes you giggle.

You pull away from him, not allowing him to help as you take off your clothes. His hands go to your hips, but they’re quickly slapped away. You don’t need any help, but he doesn’t mind. Even when you take things so slow tonight. He’s not mad that you’re doing things slow tonight, he’s been waiting for so long to feel you, so he’ll appreciate every second of it. 

Satoru knows that he loves you, but staring at your beauty like this just confirms it more than ever. What a fool he was to even reject you once. And he almost hits himself as you get naked in front of him. How dare he?

Satoru helps you onto the bed before pecking your lips. Satoru begins to hungrily kiss down your neck, going down to your breasts. His tongue rolls around your nipple sucking. His soft hand caresses your thigh, the mere act making you squeeze your legs together. He hums against your nipple, something that earns a moan from you. A simple moan that nearly makes the man come in his pants… He’s needed you for so long.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He says when he unlatches from your nipple. He kisses your breasts before going down and kissing your stomach, praising just how beautiful and perfect you are. He’s never been as lucky as tonight– Or well, the night that you decided to give him another chance.

He kisses down until he reaches your cunt, a smirk on his lips but he won’t spread your legs apart just yet. He begins to kiss your thick thighs, the sudden urge to bite down consuming him. It’s just a tiny bite that makes a small cry come from your lips. But you don’t stop him because it feels so good. He licks his lips, looking at his late night meal. 

His head goes down, tongue licks up your folds, almost going insane at the taste of you on his tongue. Satoru spits on your cunt before his lips go to your clit, a moan leaving your lips as you feel his warm mouth on you. 

“Oh, daddy. It’s so good.” Your moans sound like music to his ears. He’s sure he’s enjoying this more than you, even when you begin to moan daddy in total pleasure, he’s sure that he’s missed this more.

Satoru’s mouth kisses your clit before detaching, his tongue going down from your clit to the entrance of your pussy. He teases it, while his thumb plays with your clit. He’s already driving you insane, doing everything that he knows drives you insane. He wants your body to feel like it’s on ecstasy. He needs you to think of him and only him when you need some relief.

His tongue goes back up to your clit, circling around it while his fingers gather your slick.  He pushes two fingers in, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. They’re just so thick and long, it’s hard for you to contain yourself. You can’t help but moan, “It’s so good, daddy!”

It encourages him even more. He curves his fingers so they brush against your sweet spot, making you get even louder than before. Your voice is like music to his ears, and he wants to keep hearing it so he’ll do anything and everything to get a reaction from you. He remembers your body better than he expected, though he doubts that it’s something that he’ll ever forget.

He makes it clear how much he loves eating your pussy, moaning against your cunt with every lap of his tongue. Your thighs squeeze around him as you get lost in your own feelings of satisfaction. He’s going crazy. He can die happily right here.

You’re getting louder as pressure builds up on your lower abdomen, your climax approaching. Satoru feels you squeeze around him, fulfilling him. He’s completing his duty. A duty he should’ve been doing over the years.

He’s glad he’s back in between your legs, tasting you on his tongue. There’s no sweeter melody than you moaning in complete pleasure because of him. Your back arches, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you reach your peak, but that doesn’t stop Satoru. He takes his fingers out but his tongue keeps lapping at your cunt, running through your folds but mainly focusing on your clit. 

Satoru isn’t stopping until he’s satisfied, which makes you grab a fistful of his hair and pull him away. He whines but it doesn’t take him too long to kiss up your body until he reaches your lips. He pecks your lips over and over again until you put your hand over his mouth to stop him. 

“I need you so bad, Satoru.” You tell him, and Satoru doesn’t waste a second. He gets undressed in less than thirty seconds, grabbing your legs and putting them over his shoulders. He spits on your cunt before running the tip of his cock through your folds before teasing your entrance. You’re not one for begging, but you’re nearly begging the man to put it in. You’re desperate. “I need to feel you, daddy. Please, please, please! I need it.”

Satoru is dying inside because he doesn’t feel you around him. He needs you more than you need him. Right now. Always. Satoru pushes himself in, a breathy moan escaping his lips as he feels you around him. 

“You feel so good, baby.” He moans as he gives you a moment to adjust to his size. He begins with slow thrusts, one hand on your plush thigh while the other is on your hip. “I missed you so much.”

His eyes are glued to your face of pleasure, and the look on your face drives him weak. You’re so fucking beautiful, it’s crazy for him that you’re actually with him. Satoru moans your name before biting down his lip. He doesn’t want to be too loud, he’ll just look pathetic.

“Right there–” You moan as he begins to pick up speed. His cock hits every right spot, and it won’t take too long for you to reach your peak again after your first orgasm. It feels like he’s doing everything to drive you over the edge, and you can’t complain.

You’re squeezing around his cock, and he feels like this is an out of body experience with how good he feels. His nails are digging into your soft skin as he tries to contain himself. The hand that’s on your hip goes to your clit, he wants to ensure you orgasm again before he finishes.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He says. You hate the fact that no one will ever please you the way Satoru does. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why you’re getting back together. He goes just at the right speed, filling you with so much pleasure. Satoru does everything in his power to fulfill you.

You’re coating his cock with your juices, moaning loudly as your second orgasm of the night slowly gets the best of you. Perhaps it’s your high talking, but you’re so glad you took him back, and that you’re having sex with him tonight. You have no idea for how much longer you could’ve gone without him. 

“Oh daddy– I’m gonna–” You begin to announce but before you can finish your sentence, your orgasm washes over you. You drive him absolutely insane, how could he have ever screwed things up so badly?

“Can I–” He begins as his thrusts get sloppy, surprised that he’s lasted this long. You couldn’t give him a more resounding yes.

He swore he was done for when you got naked in front of him. He’s moaning, feeling too good as you’re wrapped around him. He can never go so long without you again– In every manner, truly.

Satoru comes to a stop deep inside of you, grunting before filling you up with his cum. He remains buried deep inside of you until he makes sure every drop of his cum is inside of you. When he pulls out, he lays down beside you.

He brings you into his warmth as he kisses your forehead over and over again. Words can’t even describe how he feels as he lays down beside you. He’s needed this for longer than he thought.

He kisses the tip of your nose before saying, “I’ve missed this so much. You’re so perfect.”

Giving Satoru another chance was one of the best decisions that you could’ve made. Though things took a while to come together, and you don’t blindly trust him like you once did, your relationship is nearly perfect. Sure, Satoru has his flaws but you’re over the moon while you’re at his side.

Things took a while to start up, but then things escalated fast. By a year and five months you were engaged. By two years you were married, which made everyone happy; especially his parents who have always seen you as a daughter. And now after three years, you’re pregnant with your first child.

You’re six months along, expecting a healthy baby. You and Satoru came to an agreement to keep the sex of the baby a surprise, which does cause you to bicker since you think you’re expecting a boy and he badly wants a baby girl. He swears he’s happy regardless.

You’re happy your relationship isn’t stale, like it once was. Truly, every day by Satoru’s side is magical. Though right now…

“Are you almost ready? The venue is an hour away.” You remind Satoru as he decides which tie he wants to wear. Akito’s getting married, and although you don’t have much contact with the man, he’s invited you and Satoru to come; of course, you couldn’t pass up on the opportunity.

“You can’t rush beauty, my love.” Satoru jokes, making you roll your eyes. He decides to go with a navy blue tie, and he rushes to your side for you to tie it.

“If we’re late, I’m going to be so mad.” You remind him, as you tie his tie for him. You feel his hands resting on your bump, caressing the soft fabric of your dress as a subtle smile comes to his lips.

“It sounds like a dream. You’re so hot when you’re mad.” Satoru says before kissing your forehead. You roll your eyes, knowing that you can’t be too mad at him when he’s just trying to lighten the situation.

“Can you stop moving?” You ask him, and he hums in response. You kiss his cheek when you’re finished, turning around to walk away before being promptly stopped by Satoru. He wraps his arms around your bump, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Can’t we just stay? Watch a movie or–” He begins, and you glare back at him. “Got it, we have to go.”

“That man helped me through some of my toughest times, the least we can do is go to his wedding and give him a very expensive gift.” You lecture him, and Satoru pouts like a child that’s getting scolded. “Now hurry up.”

“See, you’re hot when you’re mad.” Satoru responds, and you glare at him as if you could kill him. He won’t lie and say it’s not a bit scary, but he’s feeling an emotion that perhaps he shouldn’t be feeling.

You begin to walk away, leaving him to finish getting ready. Even though you’re a pregnant woman, Satoru somehow manages to take longer than you to get ready.

“I love you!” He yells, hoping to calm down the anger that brews inside of you. He should know better than to mess around with your hormonal self, but Satoru can’t help his personality at times.

A sigh escapes your lips, knowing that you can’t leave him hanging as much as he’d love to.

“Love you too, Satoru!”

[i2sunric]

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 (l.hs)

PAIRING: demon!heeseung x angel!reader (f)

SUMMARY: in a world where you either become angels or demons in the afterlife, heeseung and you were fates of high ranking. despite all the strict rules cast upon you, you two couldn't help but drown in the forbidden feeling of your love.

WARNINGS: kinktober. frforbidden love, mentions of blood and wounds, angels and demons, lucifer and God (i do not intend to offend anyone), sexual tension, smut, dry humping, making out, missionary, this is basically love making, cream pie, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!) fluff, pet names (angel, baby), bad jokes abt heaven and hell (lame ik), lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 26th October 2024

WC: 3.7k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @destinyhoon @jakeflvrz @emislove @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove (oneshot) @mitmit01 @lost-fantasy @annoyednblax @j1sb4e @eneiyri @strayy-kidz @victoriasvz @farashawhee @mheretoreadff @hazycottagedreams @kxppachu @rayofsunshineeee @moon368 @punchbug9-blog @strxwbloody @starggukies @wonbonie @304files @ethelia @moonpri @chuckychangmin @roslayy @cyjhhyj @iamliacamila @lanpanaz BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED

NOW PLAYING: MATCH MADE IN HELL by Dutch Melrose and benny mayne

a/n: honestly (yet again) i don’t really like how it turned out, lol. the smut is mid and isn’t very filthy but hey, i tried. please lmk your thoughts and REBLOG to spread 🫶🩷. i’m not sure i’ll publish my other kinktober works (vampire sunghoon and werewolf jay), cause i won’t be able to finish them on time.

In a world where in the afterlife you become either angels and demons, based on the amount of sins one commits in their previous life, you were the wisest angel.

Of course, being God’s right arm didn’t always mean having cool jobs, like at that moment, while you were searching through all the death certificates of your chosen region to see who would become an angel and find him a place in heaven.

You remembered how it used to be overcrowded, but now it was almost empty.

After a certain amount of time, you stopped being someone’s guardian angel to either reincarnate or stay the eternity in heaven, helping newbie angels and making sure everything was at peace.

Demons would always try to bring chaos into the mundane world, throwing unlucky cards or haunting people’s dreams, trying to drive them insane or make them commit crimes, such as murder, mugging or even as cruel as suicide.

At least, you were given a room to rest for a couple of hours and to be able to do your job properly.

It was white, mostly, with a little bit of beige and pinkish tone. Glittery as well.

Sitting on your desk, you were scanning through the nth file of the night when you heard a loud cracking sound and a groan behind you.

You turned around just to see that Heeseung had teleported there, a deep frown on his face caused by the even deeper cut in his chest, where blood was spilling out.

“Heeseung!” You gasped, and he stumbled as you stood up.

He was the nastiest demon of hell, you two had arrived around at the same time and had always been in a fight since the beginning of your astral days.

Heeseung chuckled, his face paler than usual as he clutched the gash on his chest “It’s just a little cut.” He tried to brush it off, though you were sure if any human had that kind of injury, it would’ve been fatal.

He limped forward, leaning against the wall, giving you one of his usual cocky smirks “No need to worry.”

His smirk would’ve even been hot if he wasn’t bleeding out in the middle of your room, which happened to also be in heaven, a place he definitely shouldn’t be.

Heeseung couldn’t die because, well, he already did. But the healing process would’ve hurt as much as dying another time would.

You hurried towards him, forgetting the work on your desk as you helped him on the bed “What happened?”

He groaned loudly, lowering himself onto the bed and flopping onto it as he clutched his chest, trying to keep the blood from gushing out of his body.

Heeseung hissed, looking up at you with a frown. "Got into a little fight", He muttered, "Can't you just heal me up?" He asked, tilting his head to the side slightly as he smiled at your worried expression.

“With who?” You asked as you unbuttoned his mutilated black shirt and winced when you noticed in what state his skin was.

Dark blood spilled out of the gash, his veins had turned black from some kind of venom you couldn’t quite point out “Or what..?” You asked, knowing it wasn’t made from mere humans or other kinds of demons.

He knew it wasn't a pretty sight. The pain was bearable for him but seeing you so worried made him hate being injured.

Heeseung looked to the side, avoiding your gaze. "You know I can't tell you..." He murmured, his voice low with a hint of guilt.

You frowned, hating that he had to keep it a secret “I don’t care about this hell versus heaven issue,” You snapped, feeling highly frustrated in that situation, “I know you’re hiding your aura so that God won’t sense you here, but you must tell me what hurt you so badly.”

He knew you only wanted the truth, and he didn't like lying to you. “ I can't tell you what hurt me," He whispered, his voice filled with pain that he hid behind his stubborness.

He looked at you, his eyes pleading as he reached to cup your chin in his palm. "Please, stop asking me, angel."

You sighed softly. No pain was comparable to seeing him hurt, “Okay,” You breathed out “I’ll see if I have some healing potion, it should help you.”

He nodded his head slightly, giving you a weak smile “I’d appreciate that.”

Heeseung laid in the bed, his chest feeling heavy with the pain. He didn't dare move to watch you as you frantically searched the drawers, trying to find the potion that would help him.

You opened and reopened drawers in desperate search of the healing potion, but nothing seemed to come to you.

“I’m sure I put it here somewhere,” You murmured as you threw out of your drawers white clothings and other items.

The panicked look in your eyes made his heart ache. He didn't want you to worry so much about him.

Heeseung sat up slowly, wincing as he did so. He reached out towards you, his voice strained as he spoke. "Angel, come here."

“No,” You frowned, not even turning around to look at him “I have to find it- I must.”

He let out a small sigh when you refused to come towards him. He could sense your anxiety rising as you scoured the room for the potion.

“Y/N,," He said, his voice firm but laced with desperation. "Please. come here. You don't need to find it for me right now, just come here."

“I’m sorry,” You whispered as you turned around. The blood dried a little, fortunately the flow had stopped completely.

You moved to the bed, sitting beside him as you adjusted the pillow behind his back.

“Don’t apologise,” His voice was a little too soft for a demon, “I just need you with me right now.”

You chuckled softly, “This looks like a bad joke. An angel worried about a demon.”

A light, amused smile appeared on his face. "It does sound quite ironic, doesn't it?"

He continued, “But I suppose it just shows the power of love, breaking boundaries even between heaven and hell."

You looked at him and nodded, intertwining your hands together, “It indeed is powerful.”

You looked at his gash again, it would take at least a whole day for it to fully close, and a week too for the scar to fade away.

At least, he was in your bed and not somewhere in hell-

bed. bed. under the bed you had some healing potion.

That’s where you had secured it. You jumped off the bed and quickly kneeled to rummage through the boxes.

He looked up in surprise at you when you jumped up so suddenly, his grip on your hand loosening as you rushed towards the bed.

He watched, a puzzled expression on his face, as you knelt down and started to rummage under the bed “What are you doing, angel?"

“Here it is!” You exclaimed, holding up a casket with bottles of healing cream.

He smiled faintly at your enthusiasm. "I can't believe it was right under the bed this whole time," He said, shaking his head slightly in amusement.

You helped him lay on the bed again, making sure he was comfortable. You opened the small bottle and poured some of its contents into your hand.

“This will help your healing process,” You informed as you opened his shirt better, “But it might hurt… a lot.”

Heeseung gave you a quick nod and you gently put the cream on his wound.

He hissed and gripped the sheet beneath him, trying to breath in as much air as he could as his skin burned.

“Shhh,” You soothed, putting the bottle on the ground and caressing his face “Don't fight it baby, it’ll be alright.”

“This ain’t got nothing on me,” He murmured, trying to be strong for the both of you.

The pain was just like dying another time, his skin was slowly healing, but by doing that his body would suffer.

Heeseung’s eyelids slowly grew heavy until they shut because of the pain.

You stayed with him the whole time, until his body stopped rocking in tremors and his skin stopped sweating cold.

He woke up just a couple of hours later, thanks to his high dark aura, making it easier for the healing cream to work.

His chest had been wrapped in a bandage, now being shirtless, just with his black jeans.

His eyes opened, taking in the light colours of your room. You sat beside him, continuing with your heavenly task, but also willing to stay by his side.

Heeseung groaned lowly, his body feeling heavy and sore from the intense pain he had undergone.

He looked around for you, his eyes landing on your figure sitting beside him.

“Angel.." he muttered, his voice weak and hoarse.

You widened your eyes at hearing his voice and quickly discarded the documents on the bed “Hey,” You whispered, turning toward him.

He could feel the effects of the potion, making his body stronger by the minutes “How long was I out for?” He asked.

“No more than a couple of hours,” You informed him, brushing his bangs away.

He nodded, wincing slightly as he moved to sit up in the bed.

Heeseung looked back at you, his eyes meeting yours. "Still doing your work, huh?” He asked, gesturing at the closed documents and pen beside you.

“Angel duties.” You shrugged, giving him a small smile “How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing okay,” You replied, sitting upright “The healing potion is working.”

“That’s good.” You nodded, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you for healing me, angel.” He said, the look in his eyes full of love and devotion.

You smiled gently, “I’m glad you came to me.”

He took your hand in his, “Where else would I go, if not to you?” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze “You’re my safe haven, Y/N.”

Your eyes softened at his words and something warm spread all over your chest. They then fell onto his lips, they looked so plump and soft. You had the urge to kiss him, but you couldn’t.

It was impossible for angels and demons to kiss due to the curse cast upon them, a curse that would make their lips burn as soon as they met.

He sighed softly, Heeseung knew exactly what you were thinking. He was thinking the same, “What would I give just to taste your lips, even just once.” He murmured.

“Me too,” You frowned. “This is so… unfair.”

He nodded in agreement, "It truly is unfair," He said, his voice filled with suppressed anger.

"I wish I could pull you in my arms, hold you close, and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. And most of all, I wish I could kiss you, feel the softness of your lips against mine."

You shivered at his words, each one igniting a fire inside of you that could no longer be contained. You needed him and you needed him to need you back.

Still, you joked, trying to lighten the mood “You seem a little too soft for a demon.”

He chuckled softly, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "I know, I know," He replied, a small smile on his face. “I suppose you bring out the softer side in me, angel.”

You traced your fingers on the bandage you used to cover up his gash, for finally just a small amount of blood had dirtied it “Does it still hurt?”

“No, not anymore.” He gave you a reassuring smile “It’s just a little sore now, nothing I can’t handle.”

Even if his reply was really important, you couldn’t seem to hear it as your eyes settled on his lips.

You moved unconsciously closer to him, and he noticed, licking his lips.

Heeseung held his breath as you leaned closer to him, his heart fluttering in his chest. He could feel the warmth of your skin, the gentle scent of your hair, and the soft touch of your breath against his face.

In a moment of lucidity, you shook your head and moved away. You craved his kiss, but you couldn’t hurt him just because of your selfishness.

“Would it be worth it?” You asked, your voice soft “If we kissed?”

He held your gaze for a moment, his eyes searching yours. He could see the determination in your eyes, the willingness to ignore the consequences.

“God help me," He muttered, his desire outweighing his caution.

He pulled you closer, his hands on your waist, and gently guided you onto his lap.

“Not the best thing to say in heaven.” You chuckled as you settled on his lap, holding yourself up on his shoulders.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You murmured, making sure not to add too much pressure on his aching body.

"Well, I'm not exactly welcome in heaven, aren’t I?" Heeseung shook his head slightly, his hands gentle on your waist. "Don't worry about me, angel," he whispered. "I can handle a little pain if it means I can hold you like this."

He moved your hair out of your eyes as you sighed at the contact “You’re so beautiful.” He stated. “You too,” You replied.

“You truly are an angel.” He caressed your cheek, tracing your featured “And you’re mine.”

You smiled back at him, and for a moment he didn’t even look like a demon. He looked like a human boy, holding his lover in his arms and not caring about anything in the world but for you.

And well, the worst part was that you loved him to the extreme as well.

You knew Heeseung was capable of breaking heaven and rule hell if he wanted, but he would never even consider it if it had the chance to hurt you.

He would set the world on fire to keep you warm, crave out his own wings to give them to you.

And you were no better, you thought you’d turn your back on heaven the second someone threatened to hurt him.

“What happens…” You murmured “If heaven or hell take me away from you?” You needed to hear his answer, to hear just how much he cared about you.

The thought of losing you, of heaven or hell separating you, was something he couldn't bear.

He looked into your eyes, his voice low and filled with determination. "I'll burn down heaven and hell themselves before I let them take you away from me," He said fiercely.

Heeseung pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "Nothing, not heaven or hell, can keep me from you."

At his words, you moved your face closer to his, feeling the ghost of his lips on yours, the electricity between the two of you.

His eyes flicked down to your lips, his own parting slightly in anticipation. He ached to close the distance, to feel the softness of your mouth against his.

His voice a strained whisper. "Y/N."

“Heeseung,” You whispered back “Please— kiss me, even if it hurts.”

The thought of the pain they would endure paled in comparison to the aching emptiness of not kissing you.

He took a deep breath, his voice a hoarse murmur “Damn it, angel. you'll be the death of me."

“Too bad you’re already dead.” Since he wasn’t closing the distance, you did.

You crashed your lips together in a desperate kiss. But as you braced yourself for the stinging sensation, it didn't come.

You pulled away, a surprised frown forming on your face “W-what?”

Heeseung’s expression mirrored yours, stunned, coating his sharp features.

“Maybe the curse was a lie.” You exclaimed “Maybe—“

“I don’t care.” Heeseung breathed out as he pressed his lips against yours once again.

The only thing he wanted was to focus on the sweet taste of your lips against his, the sound of your moans being swallowed in the kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and sighed softly, drowning in the feeling of him.

His usual cold skin was now burning hot, even so the mere contact made you shiver.

“I love you,” He whispered on your lips, “Even if my heart can’t beat, I can feel it within me.”

You could feel his growing desire under you, making your body ache for him, “I can feel it too.” You whispered, taking one of his hands and guiding it to the middle of your chest “The pull.”

“Fuck,” He groaned and kissed you hard again.

“No curse words in heaven.” You murmured on his lips, making him smile.

The kiss was hot and anything but pure lust. “You drive me insane.” Heeseung murmured “Damn it, Y/N. The things I want to do to you.” You knew you shouldn’t feel that way, towards a demon. It was against every rule set in heaven.

But who cared? With every swipe of his tongue against yours, you couldn’t even remember what was your porpoise in there.

Unconsciously, you ground your hips on his, making him groan in your mouth.

One of his hands cradled your head, massaging your scalp and pulling your hair gently.

You hummed, loving the way he was so gentle with you.

You placed one of your hands on his chest, but gasped as you felt the bandage. He was still hurt, you couldn’t do it.

But Heeseung just smiled and held your body against his as he turned you around, so you were the one laying on the bed.

He unbuttoned his jeans and kicked them off, as well as his underwear.

You looked down at him and lord, if you didn’t need him. He wasn’t huge, but he was long and thick and eveything you ever wished for.

“I need in you so bad angel,” He murmured, prepping kisses down your neck “Can I have you, hm?”

Mindlessly, you nodded. You thought that if he even asked you to give everything up and run away, you’d agree right away.

His hands roamed your body, groping your breast, then down your stomach as he sucked on your skin, leaving reddish marks.

Not even caring about the consequences, your hands tangled in his locks, encouraging him to continue.

In just a matter of seconds, your clothes were forgotten on the floor as he took in the sight of you. So ethereal and so his.

Heeseung licked his bottom lip and leaned in to kiss you once more, “It might hurt.” He informed.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing his chest flush to yours “I want the pain. I told you you’re worth it.”

His hips unconsciously bucked at your words, making his forehead press against your shoulder.

Heeseung took his length in his grasp and aligned with your entrance, “If you need me to stop or slow down, tell me.”

You nodded, breathing out a quick reply before he pushed himself in.

You had expected it to hurt, to burn the same way your kiss should’ve. But all you could feel was him and the sweet sensation it sent through your body.

Heeseung groaned, your walls hugging him so tightly. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to go at a slow pace.

“You’re so perfect.” He murmured, kissing your collarbone “You’re just so perfect, I don’t know how you ended up with someone like me.”

You shook your head, wanting to tell him he was wrong but his pace quickened and each thrust sent ripples of pleasure through your body.

“I love you too.” You replied to his previous confession “S’much.”

His hips stilled at your words, his breath hitching. And then, his pace resumed, quickened as he held himself up.

He rested one of your legs on his shoulder and lightly kissed your ankle.

“So good, angel.” Heeseung grunted, the sound of skin slapping filling the heavenly room.

“Ugh!” You exclaimed as he hit a certain spot that made your toe curl “There, Hee, there.”

“Got it.” He chuckled and deepened his thrust, repeatedly hitting that spot, “Found your sweet spot, mh?” He asked, his voice low and husky.

Heeseung looked so perfect, his muscled body on full display, the bandage wrapped around his torso and his bangs sticking to his forehead.

He bit his bottom lip as he tried not to release before you, one of his hands moving down to circle your clit, wanting to bring the both of you to the edge at the same time.

Your body shook in tremors as he did, the pleasure almost too much.

Your back arched as you breathed out his name, needing him to stop and continue at the same time.

“Just a little more, baby.” He snapped his hips faster, letting your ankle go and hovering over you.

Both of your breaths mended, just panting onto each others’ lips as you felt your orgasm approaching.

You cradled his face in your hands and kissed him hard, teeth clashing.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you reached the edge, your body shaking. Heeseung throbbed at each clench of your pussy around him, emptying his seed inside of you.

His hips slowed, but he didn’t pull out. He intended staying like that for as long as he could.

He laid beside you not to crash you, but not even having the energy anymore to hover your figure.

He wrapped his arms around your body and held you close to your chest, “I don’t ever want to let go.”

“Don’t.” You stated, holding onto him for dear life “Don’t ever let me go.”

“As long as you’ll let me.” He whispered and kissed you again, deeply and slowly. For all the times he had wanted to kiss you but couldn’t because of the nonexistent curse.

Oh, but if only you knew the curse existed, but didn’t work for those who were soulmates in their past lives.

[loveanddeepthroat]

can i mc reader and sylus where mc ends up in hospital after a mission gone wrong and sylus shows up but she wants him to leave in case someone sees him there

Careless

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - You landed yourself in the hospital overnight after a mix up at HQ had you fighting too many Wanderer’s alone. You’re already bummed about being stuck at Akso, so the feeling of dread when Sylus turns up unexpectedly only adds to your unease.

Word Count - 2.3k

Warnings - Set in a hospital. Angst and fluff.

The incessant beeping of medical machinery echoing throughout the ward was getting to your sore head.

Akso Hospital was rammed full of casualties and emergencies, seeing as it was a Friday night. You felt a bit out of place amongst the partygoers and adventurous folk who had taken their fun a little too far.

In your opinion, you didn’t really need to be here. The eggplant coloured bruise on the right side of your forehead definitely looked a lot worse than it felt, but the doctors weren’t buying your claims that you weren’t in any pain.

Likely because you were wincing when you’d said it.

A night under their watch was what the doctor ordered, and it wasn’t up for discussion. You were just relieved that Doctor Zayne was working away for a week. He’d have checked you in indefinitely and scheduled an hour long lecture on why you needed to be more careful.

A mix up at HQ had the system only requesting that you attend a spontaneous Wanderer attack in Linkon Library. Just one had been reported, but seven of the ruthless bastards had accosted you the minute you stepped foot in the evacuated building.

Confident that you could handle them, you didn’t bother calling in for more Hunters. As it turned out, that confidence was misplaced, and the last thing you remembered before blacking out was a loud screeching sound. You had no idea what it was, but it hadn’t been important in your unconscious state.

When you eventually awoke in the hospital, Jenna had been hanging over you, immediately giving you the third degree for continuing alone. You should’ve known that the alert for only your assistance had been a mistake in the system, and you should’ve insisted that someone accompany you no matter what it had said.

She made sure to drill that into your head more than once.

Admittedly, you were glad to see the back of her once she had finally left. Your head was starting to throb with the volume of her voice, and all you wanted was the bliss of being unconscious again.

It was late now, and you were exhausted. Sleep was looking to be impossible tonight, however. There were several other patients on the same ward, all admitted with varying ailments. The injured man opposite you had done nothing but stare coldly from the moment he was wheeled in in a full leg cast.

You tried to speak to him. You offered him a polite smile, which was met with a sneer. Whatever his problem with you was, it was beginning to get on your nerves.

You just wanted to go home.

“Miss,” a softly spoken nurse greeted as she approached your bed. “There’s a visitor here to see you.”

You frowned, wondering if you heard her correctly over the hustle and bustle of the ward. It was well past visiting hours, and you couldn’t think of anyone other than your colleagues who knew that you were even at the hospital.

The man with the broken leg frowned, too. “What? She gets special treatment because she’s a so-called hero? I should get visiting rights, too!”

“Would you like me to let him in?” The nurse asked, ignoring the grumbling patient.

Him. That didn’t exactly narrow things down.

“Uhh,” you faltered, a little unsure. You didn’t want to cause any issues with the other patients. “Are you sure?”

The nurse nodded and smiled, though it looked a bit forced. It almost seemed like she was desperate for you to say yes to your mystery visitor.

“Okay,” you finally agreed. 

The look of relief on her face was not lost on you. She quickly hurried away to retrieve whoever came to see you, leaving you to endure the displeasure from the man opposite.

“I used to be a mailman, you know? If it weren’t for me, people wouldn’t have had their mail. Do I get special treatment, though? No, of course not. You Hunters get all the glory and adoration. And I’ll tell you another thing—”

“You’ve told her plenty.”

Prominent footsteps sounded from the doorway, the atmosphere immediately becoming heavy and tense. You almost choked on absolutely nothing at the sight of him.

Sylus.

Your eyes flared, heart hammering against your ribcage like a drum. He couldn’t be here. The risk was far too great.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the grumpy man sneered back, looking him up and down, “…vampire.”

It was a colourful insult, and one that made your unwelcome companion chuckle. “If you’ll excuse us,” he began, the swirling red vines of his Evol appearing to drag the man’s cubicle curtain to a close at a leisurely pace. “Mailman.”

To your relief, there was no backlash from the irritated patient across the room. Although that did make you wonder if he wasn’t retaliating by his own choice, or if Sylus had silenced him somehow. The latter wouldn’t have surprised you.

“What on earth are you doing here?!” you hissed quietly. “You can’t be here, Sylus.”

Crimson eyes didn’t meet yours, his cold gaze set only on the bandages around your head as he approached your bedside, closing your curtain behind him. He didn’t quite look like himself. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, green and blue veins prominently making an appearance.

“I’ll think twice before taking advice from a woman who was very recently knocked unconscious amidst a 7v1 Wanderer fight,” he rebuked monotonously. 

You scoffed. “I’m fine, if that’s why you came. Feel free to go back to—”

“Fine?” His face quickly turned from emotionless to severely unamused as he cut you off sharply. “That’s quite the contradiction, sweetie.”

You raised an eyebrow barely high enough for him to see your questioning expression. The gesture hurt, which wasn’t helping your case. “To what?”

He dragged a plastic chair towards your bed before sitting down, his ankles crossed in front of him. You couldn’t really read his demeanour. He almost seemed cross with you.

“To what I saw from Mephisto,” he responded tightly.

Mephisto. 

That explained the screeching you heard before you slipped into unconsciousness. “And what exactly was Mephisto doing there?”

Sylus merely shrugged, offering nothing verbal in response. The lackadaisy gesture did nothing but piss you off. You’ve told him countless times to stop sending Mephisto out to keep tabs on you, and each time it seemed to fall on deaf ears. 

He clearly was not pleased with you, but you weren’t stupid. He was here because you had concerned him. Sylus was a busy man, especially at this time of night. He wouldn’t have come just to berate you with words that could’ve been put into a text message.

Not that you knew where your phone was.

The atmosphere between you both fell into silence, only the sounds of medical machinery filling in the lack of conversation. You didn’t really know what to say to him, and he wasn’t typically the type to lose his words. But it was clear to see that he didn’t know what to say, either.

After a long moment, he cleared his throat, his hands flexing in his lap. “I told you those guns of yours were pathetic.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my guns,” you mumbled with a roll of your eyes.

“So it’s a skill issue?”

You glared harshly at him, flinching noticeably as you did. You weren’t sure what was bothering you more, the pain in your head or the mood that Sylus was so clearly in. 

His features softened ever so slightly as he recognised your pain. Still, that didn’t stop him from being an asshole. “It’s one or the other, kitten.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. If there was one thing you didn’t want Sylus to think of you as, it was weak. You weren’t sure why you cared so much, but you did.

“I suppose my guns are a little on the outdated side,” you murmured begrudgingly.

He smirked, his hands finally relaxing a little in his lap. The awkward atmosphere was slowly fading, which you were grateful for. You didn’t want to pry into his mind and make things worse again.

You buried your head a little further into the pillow beneath your sore head, letting your eyes fall shut for a moment. Fatigue was starting to settle in your body, almost dragging you into a swift sleep before your chilly hand was captured in a warm embrace.

Your eyes shot open again, finding Sylus out of his seat and leaning over you. His eyes were a bit wider than usual. “Have they checked you for a concussion?” 

“Yeah,” you told him gently. The close proximity had you flustered. “I’m a little concussed, but I’m allowed to sleep.”

His brows drew together slightly as he studied you. You’ve both had these strange little moments before, when his mask slips away just enough to see his true feelings.

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered in reassurance. “You should go, Sylus.”

He shook his head, his hand tightening slightly over yours. It looked like an effort, but he managed to smirk at you again. “Trying to get rid of me already?”

Beneath that facade of humour, he was a little bit wounded. You wouldn’t point it out, but you could see it. He was a stubborn bastard who wasn’t going to let you push him away, but he also didn’t like that you were trying to push him away.

It wasn’t as if you wanted him to go. Your relationship with him was…complicated.

Complicated in the sense that you weren’t in a relationship, but he had a habit of establishing a level of intimacy between you both that you weren’t blind to. Good morning and goodnight texts, constant invites to events as his plus one with no other reason than to be beside him, and random gifts left on your doorstep so often that your elderly neighbour recently asked if you were ‘getting some.’

A relationship with him would be very difficult to maintain. You both come from entirely different worlds that just could not merge. No matter how much you desired him, you had to maintain your composure.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” you sighed. “I just don’t like how careless you’re being by showing up here. Some people do worry, you know.”

He slowly lowered his loom over you so that his nose was just inches away from yours. You couldn’t help but swallow, feeling his steady breath on your lips as he spoke. It was intimidating and yet so intimate that you didn’t know whether to cower or cut him off with a kiss you never knew you wanted. 

“You don’t think I’m worried about you?” he drawled in a rather serious manner.

“That’s not what I—”

“Do you not realise how it looked through Mephisto’s eyes when you were walloped a great distance across a library and crumpled to the floor like a lifeless body.” His teeth were gritted in his mouth, the word ‘body’ coming out tightly like his tongue was rejecting the word. “You’re not the only person who is worried here. Do not brand me incapable of such feelings.”

Your mouth went a little dry, tears threatening to invade your eyes. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in his worry, and you hadn’t meant for it to come across that way.

“I just don’t want you to risk your freedom for me,” you whispered shakily.

He lifted his hand from where it was holding him up beside your free hand, carefully moving some strands of your hair that had fallen over your bandages. 

“I’d risk it all for you.”

He had never said such a thing to you in all the time you’d been acquainted. You knew that he would carry out every need you might have of him. You knew that he would listen to you sit and ramble on and on about anything, never interrupting you. You knew that he cared about you.

But you were still in the dark when it came to the extent of that care.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he murmured.

Thankfully, you caught yourself before you were about to shake your sore head. “Just…trying to figure you out.”

A smile slowly spread across his lips. A real smile. It was enough to make your heart flutter, embarrassingly made noticeable by the heart rate monitor you were hooked up to.

“It would require a lot of brainpower to do that, sweetie. Maybe lose the concussion first,” he said in his typically sarcastic tone.

You managed your own small smile, which blossomed into a chuckle. This was the side of Sylus that had you coming back to him whenever he asked for your company.

His real side.

He kept his hand atop your head, avoiding the bandages completely. His thumb swiped gently over the parting of your hair, pulling you off to sleep again. You were pretty sure that he was doing it on purpose to force you into rest, but you were in no position to argue with him. You were officially exhausted.

“Would you really like me to leave, kitten?” he asked in a soft whisper as your eyes fluttered.

The very thought of him leaving made you a little upset. Despite your attempts at convincing the doctors you were fine, you damn well were not. You needed his comfort, and he needed to know that you were safe and on the road to a speedy recovery.

“No,” you whispered, succumbing to the soothing strokes on your scalp.

A soft brush of his lips was the last thing you felt before you finally drifted off, feeling secure enough to do so with his company.

“Good,” he’d whispered back before you fully clocked out. “I’ll always be careless so long as I get to you.”

A/N - Long time no fic post. I apologise, life has been crazy. I haven’t proof read this cause honestly I’m just too tired so I’ll read over it in the morning and edit any mistakes. Hope you’re all doing well! 🖤

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny Fenton is so damn sick of rich fruit loops. It’s worse now, since he’s one of them.

It’s not Vlad that he’s with, thank the Ancients, but Danny isn’t sure that this is better.

Because he’s Timothy Drake, a baby, and he’s been reincarnated after the Ancient of Reincarnation accidentally drank too much wine.

He’s going to kick their ass so hard when he gets back.

Danny huffs. He rolls over, ignoring the silent manor. Sure, he’s read the comics. Sure, he laughed and imagined being adopted by Batman- come on, Danny had black hair and blue eyes even back then, he was totally adoption bait- when his parents gave him reason to lose trust in their love. But that’s it, that’s all he thought it was. A day dream, a wish for a universe that didn’t exist.

Danny hadn’t understood the reality of the whole Infinite Realms thing, a place he was now the King of. Batman? Real. Danny? Reincarnated. Hotel? Trivago.

Like, this wasn’t what he meant, dammit.

And now he’s stuck as Timothy Drake, and Ancients, he was starting to see parallels.

——

Danny tried photography. He really did. He wanted to at least stick to the source material. But that’s not who he is. Even with the shiny new brain that memorized, catalogued, and put together clues at the snap of his fingers, but Danny’s never been one to take photos. It’s a respectable art, for sure, but Danny preferred to live in the moment instead of capturing it to remember forever. It’s just-

He watched the Graysons fall. He watched Dick Grayson turn into Robin. And Danny can’t and won’t ever betray his Obsession like that, ever again. He can’t let Jason die for his “story” to begin. That’s not how Danny works.

He’s there to protect.

Danny hasn’t ever been just Tim. Danny was also Tim and the Ghost King without a haunt. But now? Gotham is his haunt. He, in lieu of an actual city spirit, is Gotham. He’s also a Drake. And Drakes were meant to hoard.

Batman and Robin? They are his.

He claimed them, as a Drake. But that claim is weak. So he claimed them as their city, and that is a claim that will never be able to be challenged.

Danny’ll be damned before he allows some lanky starved clown beat the life out of one of his Robins. So, for the first time in his nine years on this planet, Tim-Danny goes ghost and flies.

“Who- who. Are you?” Robin slurred from his place in Danny’s hold. He is broken, yes. But not dead. Danny infuses some of his vitality, his ecto, into Jason’s injuries to help them heal.

“Gotham.” Danny replied, layering his ghostly voice with those of the city.

“Goth’m?”

“Gotham. Sleep, little bird. Your city has got you.”

When Robin, Jason, settled with a sense of trust that tugs at Danny’s core, Danny carried him to Batman, whose eyes were wild and manic. He glared menacingly at the green and white ghost in front of him, who was holding his broken and beaten son-

Well, it’d be menacing if Danny hadn’t watched him eat bricks and mortar, crashing into a building while using his grappling gun.

“You-”

“I am Gotham.” Danny cut him off. Despite his wary nature and natural paranoia, Batman settled at his city’s gaze rested on him. Danny knew that Batman recognized his city. Batman’s head bowed, but his eyes stayed on Robin. “You were supposed to take care of Robin.”

“I- I know.” And that voice was all Bruce Wayne the Dad instead of Batman the Vigilante. Danny gently placed Robin in Batman’s arms, taking in the tremors as he held his son close.

“Go back, Bruce. And make sure Jason knows how much you love him.”

He laughed as Bruce whipped his head upwards. “I am your city. You are mine as much as I am yours. I’ve known of you before you were born.”

Technically? Not untrue. But Bruce will chalk it up to weird magic shit. It’s not like it’s a secret that Gotham’s kind of curse. Besides, this way, Danny will be able to help out more often. And Bruce won’t be able to connect Tim Drake to the “Spirit of Gotham.”

“Return, my knight. This is not your city. I can not protect you as well as I can in Gotham.”

“Thank you… Gotham.”

Danny sighed. He wondered when he’ll have to field questions from a John Constantine. He’s pretty sure Bruce will call in magical help, even if it was his own city he was investigating.

Batman’s lucky Danny liked him enough to allow it.

[cleo-fox]

Surrender

Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.

No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.

The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.

At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.

He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.

He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.

“Show me your wrist,” he says.

You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.

His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.

It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.

He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.

You do, of course. What other choice do you have?

*

The next several hours are a blur.

You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?

It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.

You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.

You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.

You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.

They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.

You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.

You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.

You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.

*

It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.

You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.

“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.

“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.

He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.

“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.

*

You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.

Or that was your plan, anyway.

Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

The room is much colder at night.

You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.

You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.

You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.

But you also have to pee.

You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.

The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.

Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.

Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.

“Come to bed,” Loki says.

You clear your throat. “What?”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”

You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.

You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.

You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.

“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.

“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.

You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.

You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.

He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.

And after a while, yours does, too.

*

Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.

It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.

It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.

But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.

But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.

You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.

“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.

God fucking dammit.

You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.

“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.

He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.

“It won’t happen again,” you say.

It does.

This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.

But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.

Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.

The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.

The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.

This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.

You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.

You open a private browser window and pull up Google.

Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.

The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.

You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.

But only nearly and only for now.

*

The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.

Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.

You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.

Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.

When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.

The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.

The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.

Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.

But not yet. Not yet.

*

Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.

You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.

You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.

The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.

You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

More heat prickles at your skin.

“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.

“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.

He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”

He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”

You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?

He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky. 

“You flatter yourself,” you say.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”

Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.

“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.

“Nothing,” you say.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”

You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.

“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.

Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.

“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”

Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.

“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”

You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.

The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.

You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.

You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.

“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”

You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.

You barely manage a breathy affirmative.

“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”

“Please,” you breathe.

“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”

“Don’t stop,” you say.

“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod, slack jawed and panting.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper, your hips rocking.

“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.

“I need to come,” you moan.

“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”

A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.

“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.

His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”

You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”

He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”

“Is it working?” you ask.

He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”

You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core. 

You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”

Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”

You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.

“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”

Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”

His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.

“Good girl,” he says.

And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.

You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.

You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.

You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.

The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.

“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.

You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.

So close.

“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.

Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.

It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.

He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.

“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”

It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”

He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.

Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.

Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.

He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature. 

Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.

You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.

“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.

“Will you show me?” you ask.

“Every day,” he says.

It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.

He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.

You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.

But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.

“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.

Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.

You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.

But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.

Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”

There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.

“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”

You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.

“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.

In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. 

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”

You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”

It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.

The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long. 

As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”

“Getting close,” you breathe.

“I know, I can feel you,” he says.

You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.

“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.

It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.

He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss.  He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.

“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”

You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”

He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.

“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.

Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.

“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.

You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.

“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”

You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”

Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.

Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.

His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.

Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.

For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.

[nickmarini]

Ayden’s Build 

TL;DR: Barbarian 1, Druid  2 (Circle of the Stars), Paladin 8 (Oath of the Ancients), and Cleric 9 (Peace Domain). Feats: Squire of Solamnia, Remarkable Recovery, Warcaster, Knight of Crowns, Spelldriver, Tough.

Building Ayden was a joy and a journey. To begin we were told we had 20 levels to work with and stats of 20 across the board. The only thing I knew about Ayden from the session 0 was that he was going to be a Cleric of the Everlight and that I wanted to make him the best support character I could. I also knew that the Dawnfather was aware of the mission briefing and so would have directed his growth to the task at hand. 

Stats of 20 meant multiclassing into any class was possible and that any ability score based bonuses or proficiency based abilities were going to be very good. I figured that with a warlock and a sorcerer we’d have some pretty good counterspelling and 9th level spell access, so I didn’t worry myself about either of those, instead focusing on making sure we all survived. 

The Dawnfather and The Everlight share 2 of 3 Domains. Life and Light. The Everlight’s 3rd domain is Peace. The Peace Domain cleric is an excellent subclass and its 6th level ability, Protective Bond, was something I knew I wanted to build around. The ability to take hits for, and aid, my siblings while teleporting around the battlefield is an excellent support ability and it also lets allies in the bond do the same, fostering sibling unity and cohesion.

With the Dawnfather having Nature as his unique domain separate from the Everlight, and literally sending himself to Exandria to infiltrate a city full of the greatest mages of the age, the Oath of Ancients Paladin seemed like an obvious path. It is the nature Paladin, (his domain) and 7 levels gives you both Aura of Protection and Aura of Warding. This means as Ayden moves through the battlefield with Protective Bond he will be granting allies +5 to saves from his cha as well as resistance to damage from spells. Incredibly good going up against the wizards of Aeor he knew he would encounter. I didn’t want to go to 10 with Paladin because I didn’t want to be immune to frightened. I just felt that fear played too large a role in the reasons the gods were here and although aura of courage is probably my favorite ability going back to 3rd edition, I felt like it wasn’t right for Ayden. He had to fear in order to reinforce his need to hope. 

These two classes were set relatively quickly and then I began looking at how else I was going to build him out. 

I really liked the idea of being able to grant my allies some extra attacks and so I was looking at battle master to get commanders strike and goading attack as well as maneuvering attack to help take hits for and position my allies. Action Surge is also a great ability that could really come in handy if I needed to save someone and needed one extra action to do so. 

I was also looking at the 2nd level Divination Wizard ability Portent. The ability to fully dictate 2 rolls is very powerful in certain circumstances, especially if the numbers are very high or very low.

Both these seemed good but weren’t feeling totally right from a character perspective. They felt too forced.

As I was playing around with these two classes I was also building Aydens backstory. I really liked the idea of him being agriculturally focused, as this aspect of the Dawnfather is actually his youngest. Sun begets days, and thus time and seasons, and as civilization evolves agriculture follows. The fighter levels lent the idea that he has spent some time training under a knight or some such warrior, and I knew that he would eventually find his way to Trist to begin his tutelage and become her cleric. I liked there being these different eras of his life. 

It was around this time that I got an awesome email asking me to describe Ayden visually so that the incredibly talented Hannah Friederichs and Cael Lyons could begin to bring Ayden and the Dawnfather to life. I wanted Ayden to be a simply dressed with a shield he took from his mentor, but no sword for striking. They sent 4 sketches and told me I could mix and match as I desired. Image #1 however was exactly as I had envisioned him. It was the simplest and had this depth to his eyes that told the story of a much older soul in this 15 year old body. It was so perfect that it made me realize I had been going in the totally wrong direction with fighter and wizard. The concepts of nature and agriculture were suddenly staring me in the face. It was not wizard, but druid, and his mentor could have taught him to be a paladin as easily as fighter, but if he is the bringer of agriculture who has he brought it to? A remote tribe still hunting and gathering was the answer. Barbarian therefore replaced fighter. I can’t tell you how influential the sketch I received was. It felt like a bolt of lightning suddenly clarified everything. 

I was for sure cleric 6, Paladin 7 and now looking at druid and barbarian. 

I didn’t know Druid subclasses very well but Circle of the Stars jumped out from the pack just with its name. The Sun after all is a star. When I read its 2nd level abilities Starmap and Starry form it was so obvious. I can cast Guiding Bolt to set up those attacks I wanted to grant, and I can glow instead of wild shape and either heal more or have a massive bonus to maintain the concentration spells I knew I wanted to cast. For the keeper of time to know how to read the stars just felt right. It also feel right that the druids of a tribe that had been hunting and gathering during the tumultuous Calamity would have learned to navigate by the stars, a singular constant in an every changing age. 

Barbarian has a number of interesting subclasses but none felt like they clicked. 1 level of Barbarian though, for a character with 20 dexterity and 20 constitution, catapults your AC to 20 and it also gives you a proficiency in Constitution saving throws if you take it as your first class, again reinforcing those concentration rolls. He was found as a child by this barbarian tribe and his first class is also his first community. Barbarian was the strong foundation I would build upon. 

I was now Cleric 6, Paladin 7, Druid 2, Barbarian 1. Reorganized to be the order Ayden would have taken them in it becomes the following:

Barbarian 1, Druid  2 (Circle of the Stars), Paladin 7 (Oath of the Ancients), and Cleric 6 (Peace Domain)

4 more levels to distribute. As a player who has mostly played 3.5 (I think downfall just about doubled the amount of 5E I have played) feats are my absolute favorite things, so getting to multiples of 4 in class levels to grab some was something I wanted to do (also I didn’t have to worry about ability score increases)! I had already given one feat up by taking barb and druid but I made up for it with the human variant. I also took the Knight of Solamnia background to give me Squire of Solamnia, the prerequisite for Knight of the Crowns which would give me the ability to grant attacks to my allies without needing battle maneuvers. 

So I upped paladin from 7-8 for a feat and then decided to take Cleric from 6-9 because it gave me a feat and access to the spell Dawn. I mean the Dawnfather should be able to cast Dawn after all! 

Now to feats

1) Background: Squire of Solamnia to give me the prerequisite for Knight of the Crowns

2) Human Variant: Remarkable Recovery. I knew I’d be taking extra damage so having 5 extra hp from any healing I get might just be the difference. It also plays into his background. He had to leave the Barbarian tribe he brought agriculture to because his skin could not retain the ceremonial tattoo ink that would have symbolized his initiation into the community. 

3) Cleric 4 Warcaster to get advantage on those concentration checks, that along with proficiency and starry form of the dragon means I need to take 28 damage (56 if it’s a spell) to even have to roll, and when I do I get advantage and proficiency on the check. Getting me to lose concentration is gonna be a task. 

4) Paladin 4 Knight of the Crown getting to grant an attack proficiency times per day combos wonderfully with Starmaps free guiding bolt, conveniently also proficiency times per day. 

5) Cleric 8 Spelldriver I’m gonna be casting a bunch of spells so the ability to cast multiple each turn is going to make my support spells come out much faster. I have a big fam to take care of!

6) Paladin 8 Tough I really went back and forth between this and Inspiring Leader. Granting all my siblings 25 temp hp is amazing but ultimately I decided that as I’d be tanking a bunch of damage I’d need toughness. Toughness gave me 15 more hp than Inspiring leader would have, and I ended up going down to 14 at one point so it was a decision that very much paid off by a single HP! Don’t wanna pop a deathward if you can help it!

Last but not least we were granted 2 magic items. One very rare and one uncommon. For my uncommon I chose a cloak of resistance, a parting gift from the tribe that Ayden could not join. This upped my saves to 11s or 17s and took my AC to 23. For his very rare magic item I took a spellguard shield, inherited from the knight who brought him from the remote tribe to Trist‘s school, giving me advantage on saving throws vs spells and magical effects and inflicting disadvantages on spell effects targeting me. Combine that with resistance to spells from Aura of Warding and that’s a nasty nasty combo v wizards. 

All in all Ayden’s build is an incredibly hard to target tanky support character who can move through the battlefield protecting his allies and being an absolute nightmare for enemy spellcasters. The only thing I really didn’t fully consider was just how much damage he would take from Warding Bond which totally bypasses all those wonderfully crafted defenses. As crazy as it is, I think we barely got to scratch the surface of Aydens full potential and it’s probably good those mages decided to cast spells at everyone else because Ayden was going to be a tough character for a spell caster to crack. The Commanding Rally did get to shine allowing characters who specialized in weapon attacks to get a little extra out of those 20 level commitments. Ayden’s build was crafted to keep his siblings alive and let them shine as bright as possible together. I’m very proud of him!

If you read all this then you’re as nerdy as me and deserve a reward!