#after her asshole husband just up and left

[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 blas��, 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.

[jaune-submissive-and-breedable]

'Jaune father sold him to Weiss's family as a servant/bodyguard. And of course, Weiss's asshole of a father would have him experimented on, making him taller and place him to be a guard the mansion like a dog. But Weiss and her family/friends take full Avenged of their sweet power guard dog.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oh, Of course, we'll be happy to see you dear" Willow chirped. The screen before her had the visage of her eldest children, standing at attention with a crispy military uniform. "And I'm sure HE will be happy too~"

After closing the call, Willow leaned back in her chair and sighed happily. It's been a long while since she's had all her children together, maybe longer, with Weiss and Bleiss going to separate combat schools. She rose to inform her daughters that their elder sister would be visiting soon, pausing to ask her personal maid a very important question.

"2P, where is Jaune right now? I'm sure he'd be overjoyed to hear Winter's coming for a visit"

"I believe he's playing with the twin mistresses, ma'am" the dark skin maid replied.

Willow sighed and raised a hand to her temple. "I swear...those girls..."

She left her office and headed towards the twin heiress' room. they always wanted to play with the blonde boy, even from a young age, despite Jaune being a faunus. Honestly, she couldn't blame them, he was a really good boy. And the way his ears and tail wagged when he was happy is just the cutest.

Years ago, before Weiss was born, her husband, Jasque had acquired Jaune from his family for a pretty penny. The transaction was visibly illegal, but the law meant nothing to wealthy men like him. After doing so, he had atlas physicians and scientists experiment on the poor boy for months before introducing him to the family. He was tall, almost to her hips, had scars all over his body and his eyes were dull and lifeless from the experiment. What shocked her and enraged her most was how young he was. For this reason, he was placed as Winter's bodyguard and servant since they were the same age. They were inseparable since then, always doing things together no matter who was present. Be it eating playing, bathing, or even sleeping Jaune was there for her, he even got a little life back in his eyes After Weiss, Bleiss, and Whitley were born, he became their bodyguard and servant as well. All including Willow, the servants, Klein, and some of their guests loved Jaune's company for one reason or another. He also lived up to his bodyguard status in the family quite well. He truly was a good boy.

As Willow neared her daughters' room, she could her the muffled sounds of flesh colliding, moans of pleasure, and the distinct shouts of swears, no doubt from that vulgar child of hers.

*I swear that girl is gonna be the death of me* she thought as she turned the nob.

When she opened the door, Willow was immediately hit with the distinct smell of sex emanating from the twins' room. Looking inside, she saw Jaune lying on Weiss's bed. His clothes were thrown all over the room leaving him naked as the two girls in question had their way with him. Around his feet, and presumably, his hands were black glyphs that held him in place.

Weiss sat atop his face with a groin smashed into his mouth. Her long white hair was loose and tangled around her sweat-caked body. She wore only her pure white panties and a pair of white thigh-high socks. Her mouth was wide open from Jaune's long flat, dog-like tongue licking and probing her pussy.

Bleiss, on the other hand, sat on his groin, moaning and shouting as his cock speared her tiny pussy. Unlike her sister, she was completely nude save for the lacy pair of panties that hung loosely around her ankles. Her pitch-black hair was held in a neat ponytail allowing any onlooker to see her cup breast bouncing wildly up and down.

"FUCK, HIS COCK IS SOO~ GOOD!" She shouts ceasing her bouncing to wildly grind against Jaune's cock.

Across from her, Weiss moaned as his voice vibrated in her pussy "Bleiss you sow...*Moan*....Get off his it's my turn now!"

The haired girl flipped her twin off with a smirk, "Oh please, you snooze you lose bitch~"

Weiss's face scrunched at her twin's reply, her face red with anger "Why you listen here you....you"

"Ahem"

Looking to who said that, they girls' eyes widen when they saw their mother standing in the doorway, arms crossed with a disappointed expression.

"Oh.....fuck"

"Mother!..."

"Care to explain what you two are doing.." she paused looking at Bleis. a splatter of cloudy fluid covered his ass and leaked from her womanhood. Looking down Willow also saw a bright blue cockring laying on the floor "Bleiss....turn around"

Bleiss had a nervous expression on her face and protested "Oh...but umm.......I'm...uhhh"

Now, Bleiss"

She wanted to protest more but begrudgingly turned around. Willow shook her head upon seeing her daughter's bloated stomach, no doubt allowing Jaune to cum inside her.

"Really dear...." she sighed

"I warned her not to but she wouldn't listen, Mother" Weiss chimed, despite having a bloated stomach as well, albeit small.

Bleiss turned around to face her twin, fury covering her face "YOU FUCKING ASS KISSING!!!!..."

Willow was about to stop their arguing but 2P beat her the punch. The android grabbed the duo by their arms and roughly pulled them to their feet. Their stomachs emptying themselves of cum now that they're unplugged, the cloudy white fluid forming into lakes on the floor. From the bed, Jaune sat up coughing, his throat full of his own cum from Weiss sitting on his face.

"Jaune" Willow called out calmly. The blonde looked in her direction for his orders "Go clean yourself up and wait for me in a quarters please, I'll be along to talk with you shortly"

He nodded and made his way towards the door, passed Willow, and into the hallway, leaving his clothes behind. She bit her lip as he passed. Over the years, He's grown into a handsome man. He was well built, still very tall almost 7 feet, and had a decent amount of muscle on his frame. His hair had grown long enough to reach his shoulders. He also had some stumble growing that made him look a bit more mature. She could understand why her daughters risked pregnancy with that stud. Not letting herself be led astray, she turned back to her daughters, disappointed and overall just tired of their shenanigans.

"You too are to be attending two of the best huntsman academies in the kingdoms and yet you risk getting pregnant before you even graduate? You know Jaune's sperm is highly potent" She sighed and turned to leave, giving 2P one small task. "2P, please make sure these too are cleaned and dressed. Also, inform Klein that they are not to have any desserts for a week"

"What!"

"Bullshit"

"Make that two weeks"

Hours later, in Willow's bedroom

A muted groan escaped Jaune's mouth as he squirmed on the soft mattress. On his lap sat a half-naked Willow, her blouse torn open, skirt hiked up to her waist, and pantyhose ripped with her panties moved to the side. Her stomach was bloated with cum with small streams leaking from her stuffed pussy. Her left hand was raised in the air holding a syringe of pink fluid while her right used Jaune's chest for balance.

"Your taking to the aphrodisiac nicely" she cooed as she gently rolled her hips on his cock. "I can feel your balls churning with cum~"

"Mistress...I....need to.....BREED" he growled dangerously, his eyes had a feral look in them

She gently kissed his lips and looked into his dull blue eyes, bringing him back to his senses for a moment. whispering huskily"Then breed me~"

Willow gasped as he thrusted his impossibly large cock inside her. He was already skewering her womb from just that one thrust. She hardly had time to process anything before he trusted again then again before fully pistoning his hips inside her. She watched his face twist and contort into a feral expression, his pupils' mere slits in an ocean of blue. She watched him open his and lean to her right, groaning as she felt him nibble on her shoulder. All the while her trusted into here cunt like a dog in heat.

"Oh...Jaune your...AHH!!!"

Willow gasped as Jaune bit hard into her skin, though not enough to draw blood. It was sudden, but a welcome surprise from the faunus. But when she felt him increase the force in his mouth, she began to feel a bit afraid, but even more aroused.

"Jaune...Not so rough" she chuckled, only to be met with animalistic grunts from the faunus. Her smile faltered as felt him biting hard, his teeth threatening to break skin. "that's enough, Jaune"

He didn't reply instead applying more force.

"Jaune....That's Enough"

Still no response.

"Jaune..." she called with more authority "I said that's enough...."

Willow lost all thought in that moment. He had broken through her skin resulting in streams of blood to flow from her shoulder. All according to plan

PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP

"AHH...BREED ME YOU FUCKING ANIMAL!!!" she cried. Ignore the pain from having her snatch destroyed by his massive cock.

The faunus man obeyed his mistress's request, never stopping his thrusts for a moment. His mind clouded with only one thought, Breed. His cock stretched her vaginal walls as he pushed in and out, occasionally scrapping out leftover bits of cum from earlier. His balls churned with more of the life-giving seed, eager to release it inside of Willow's battered womb.

the matriarch moaned loudly as she felt herself getting dominated by the faunus. It wasn't the first time he ravaged her form, in fact, it was a near-weekly occurrence. Ever since the "tragic" death of her husband, she along with her daughters had been using Jaune for sexual relief. And he was leagues better than Jacques ever was. After their first rendevous, the night of Jacques's death, she secretly had a special aphrodisiac that would make him into a horny beast hell-bent of breeding. Sure it left her sore for weeks, but it was well worth it to feel his seed swimming inside her.

"PUMP ME FULL OF YOUR SEED" She screamed, "MAKE ME HAVE ANOTHER PUPPY"

He was more than happy to oblige, his cock twitched and pulsed as he felt his climax rapidly approach. With a mighty grunt he shoved himself deep into her pussy and release a torrent of cum inside her womb, never stopping his thrusts as his seed flooded her womb. Willow's eyes rolled back in her head, moaning loudly as she came alongside her lover, their juices mixing inside her cunt. Even though it was a safe day, there was no way she wouldn't be impregnated afterward, though it wasn't the first time. She moaned contently, knowing he was nowhere close to being done. Sure Winter wouldn't mind if she stole her lover's seed.

Atlas Military base, Winter's quarter.

Winter screamed into her hand as she came. She laid on her bed with her other hand inside her pants, rapidly pumping her fingers inside her drooling snatch. She could hardly wait to visit Schnee Manor and reunite with Jaune. Ever since he entered her life, living had been much better than what it used to be. Especially since the death of her bastard father. That was the day she finally gave herself to I'm. Pinning him to her bed she rode him like a horse forcing every drop of sperm from him til she looked pregnant.

*Jaune....*she thought as she rode out the last seconds of her orgasm.

She wanted him to com with her, but he declined, saying he was nothing more than a guard for the Schnee family, and she needed him no longer. It broke her heart to hear him say those words, but she knew he wanted her to walk her own path. Though she made sure to return home to see him whenever she could. She knew her mother and sisters would use him too, but she knew he longed to her.

*I will make you mine* she thought as she pulled the covers over her *You'll see*

with that last promise, she fell asleep. Dreaming of when her knight slew the foul beast that imprisoned her.

He truly was a good boy.

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Sent by @dumbawesomev69

Hope you like it.

Also it is implied that jaune killed Jacques

[szollibisz]

I know a lot of people hc that Curt can't cook but I present you with my evidence on why he's the best cook out of every saf character:

Mrs. Mega raised him as a single mother during the great depression. That I'm pretty sure is canon.

This would mean she had to work a lot to keep them afloat

Which would lead to Curt having to be alone a lot as a kid

He tried to cook home alone, but nearly set the kitchen on fire multiple times

Mrs. Mega banned him from the kitchen and also couldn't teach him to cook, because she didn't have the time nor is she the best cook herself

Curt not liking being told to not do something started cooking a lot, both for himself and his mom

Over time he got good, like really good

(He started baking too although he wasn't as successful in that)

It went from cooking just to eat warm food everyday to a sort of thank you for his mom for doing so much

All in all he was quite the problem child getting bad grades, getting into fights etc so this was one of the few ways he felt he could make it up to her

Anytime Mrs. Mega saw her favourite food on the table when she got home she knew Curt fucked up big time

It became a sort of tradition for him to apologize by making dinner, even if he never gave a verbal apology or fully admitted to doing something wrong

this tradition carried over to his other relationships and other occasions

He makes dinner every time him and Owen can visit each other in their homes, He cooks soup every time someone he loves is sick, on missions where he can't make full meals he'll still find the time to make tea or coffee for Owen (He once tried to give Cynthia cookies. She nearly killed him, because she doesn't trust any food or drinks made by anyone but her... or Susan)

Anyways yeah I'm very passionate about this headcanon. This man will literally do anything but say how he feels

[luvgam3]

Summary: You and your ex-husband Nanami have a good relationship. Even after the divorce you remained good friends and even better co-parents. Babysitting for one another isn’t out of the usual, and talking about your newest relationships isn’t strange either— but when you show up at his doorstep after a particularly nasty date it leads you both to wonder if your relationship is really truly over for good.

Cw: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, small mentions of cheating, you and Nanami have a kid together, girl dad Nanami, hair pulling, consent king Nanami, oral (fem receiving), aftercare !!!

“Fine! Fucking leave!” You yell, your voice cracking as cold rain pierces your skin.

That asshole. That shitty excuse of a man your boyfriend of two weeks, left you on the side of the road. Alone. In the middle of a late summer storm.

But what did you really expect to happen? The red flags were all neatly lined up for you. Sure maybe the fact that he smelt like a different woman’s perfume every time you met should’ve set you off, but maybe you were just over thinking it! Maybe he was a little too handsy for a man you just started dating, and maybe he was a little rude to waitresses, and bartenders, and you— but your last straw was calling him out on his empty threats. ‘I’ll leave you-‘ for this ‘I’ll shut your ass up’ for that. God did he ever stop talking. You snapped; telling him that if you pissed him so much then why didn’t he just drop you off on the side of the road. The only time he’d ever followed through… and it had to be now.

Low rumbles of thunder sound in the distance, blending with the pop of his engine as he speeds away. Inside your head is a loud jumbled mess of ‘where the fuck am I?’ and ‘who does he think he fucking is?’ but all of that sound is ultimately drowned out by that heavy pitiful feeling tugging at your heart. Angry tears prickle at the backs of your eyes as you walk, your heels crunching pebbles and walking through puddles, carrying you to the only place you know by heart. To the only man who you know wouldn’t leave you stranded.

If the night were to play out correctly you wouldn’t be showing up till noon the next day, even when dates did go wrong you never made it his problem. You were divorced after all, your love life mishaps stopped being his problem a while ago. Okay that isn’t entirely true… Nanami comes over to your house once a week for family dinner. After your little girl is tucked away in her bed and the dinner dishes have been done do you two sit alone at the table, drinks in hand as you catch up. Talking about your kid wasn’t the only topic of discussion. Friends, gossip, dates, normal adult conversation. The topic of dating other people because less and less embarrassing as the years flew by. Like the amazingly wonderful co-parenting duo you are— you came up with the babysitting agreement. Nanami happily took your daughter for the night so you could relax and bask in the company of anyone you wanted. He cherished every minute he got with his little girl, it was never a disappointment when you texted him asking if he could take her for the night.

Lost in the depths of your own mind you aimlessly walked down the dark and dreary road. Void of people, void of light. The only sound the pattering of rain and the rumbles of thunder.

Static buzzed in your ears as you slid into the empty apartment lobby, your soggy heels clacking against the neat polished floors. Your tears fizzled into a pale anger that burned the back of your throat as you pressed his floor number on the elevator. The only good thing about this entire situation, you think, is that the rain washed away the feeling of his hands on your skin. The scent of him clinging to your clothes. All gone. Washed down the sewage drain with the unpleasant memory of him.

Softly, you knocked on his door. It’s well past eleven, he should be asleep, but you know him better than that.

Nanami slowly opens the door, his brows furrow as his eyes meet yours. Concern painting his face.

You don’t have the energy to answer his unsaid questions, so instead you silently squeeze past him, kicking your wet heels off at the door. The air-conditioned room sends shivers up your soaked spine, littering your skin in goosebumps as you carry yourself to his liquid cabinet. Your fingers find the key he keeps hidden on the top of the rich oak cabinet, quickly pushing it into the lock and twisting. You’re on a mission as you blindly grab a bottle, bumping the door closed with your hip before turning to his rack of expensive drinking glasses, plucking two and setting them onto the counter with a soft clink.

He watches you pop the cork as quietly as you can, pouring the expensive liquid into two glasses, pushing one towards him without a word as you bring the sparklingly clear glass to your gloss smeared lips.

Married for four years, divorced for two, he knows the crinkle of your nose and the subtle twitch in your eye means one thing— you’re fuming. Beyond mad. If there was a word for that level of anger he’d use it to describe you in this moment.

He knows better than to ask what’s wrong, so instead he drinks with you; listening to the wall clock tick, to your nails tap against marble countertop, to the soft melody flowing from his record player. Darkness envelops you both, the only light combing from his little yellow reading lamp. It’s hardly enough to aluminate your faces, but the flicker of amber reflects in your fiery eyes.

“I think I got dumped.” You mutter, swishing the dark liquid around in your glass. You don’t wait for him to respond as you groan, willing the anger to subside and for the chill in your skin to vanish.

The crackle of the record prickles your ears just as much as the cool night air prickles your skin, filling your veins with ice as you continue to drink.

Nanami watches you, your hair drips onto your shoulders, your mascara streaky and your lips smudged. Disheveled and shivering in his kitchen. Filled with that unmistakable blinding anger you hold with such grace. If he was still your husband his hands would be wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him in a slow lazy sway to the soft music playing. But he isn’t your husband anymore. The word ‘ex’ stopped leaving a bad taste on his tongue a while ago— you’ve both worked around your usual ways to comfort one another and made them more friendly more… pg.

He pushes his glasses up into his hair, putting his glass down softly and disappearing into the dark hall. But you don’t notice. Not when your stomach pulls, not when your head is swimming with so many useless thoughts— thinking of the waisted days, waisted nights. Ugh even waisted money. All on some asshole—

“The bath is running, I left a towel out for you.” Nanami says as he reenters unnoticed, his voice soft and airy as he stops infront of you with a towelette. He tilts your chin to the side, your eyes scanning over his face as he cleans yours; he runs the cool wipe over your cheek, under your eyes and across your lips. He knows you’re more than capable, but still he handles you as delicately as humanly possible, swiping away stray hairs clung to your forehead and cheeks as if you would shatter under his fingers like the glasses you drank from.

He finishes, turning away to clean up the kitchen as you make your way towards the sound of running water.

The smell hits you before you push open the door; lavender scented suds decorate the surface of the water. Steam swirls into the air as you peel off your wet clothes— and for the first time tonight you were excited. Scolding water seeps into your skin as you step in, a tired groan escapes your lips as you sink farther in.

It’s funny how things change, how time passes and people grow apart, you think as you submerge your shoulders. Nanami used to run you baths almost every night, his small way of telling you how much he cherished you. Bubbles of every scent, bath oils and salts, candles and wine. The memory like a blanket as your skin tingles under the scolding water.

A soft knock at the door has your droopy eyes opening, “It’s unlocked.” You say, your voice horse and exhausted. Nanami softly cracks the door open, he walks in and places a small bundle of clothes onto the toilet lid, “You can wear these.” His clothes, a lounge shirt, too old sweatpants and a pair of boxers. You watched as he picked up your pile of sopping clothes, ringing the remaining water into the sink.

You’ve worn his clothes before. On laundry day, the morning after… an eventful night, even when you just missed him. That weird feeling in your stomach probably means nothing.

You watch him in the low light of the bathroom, his muscles rippling under his t-shirt as he works the water from the fabric in a comfortable silence.

“How was your night?” You ask, your fingers swirling through foamy bubbles. Nanami hums as he turns to face you; he rests against the sink, folding his arms across his chest. “Fine.” He says, his tone even as he scans your face.

It’s normal— seeing your ex wife soak in your bathtub, naked in your home for the first time in years. The thought makes Nanami shift slightly, his eyes focusing on the tile behind you. A safer option.

You mold the bubbles into little lumps, feeling his gentle gaze on you as if it’s normal again. Maybe tomorrow this memory will haunt you, make you burn up from the inside out. How oddly vulnerable the entire ordeal is. But for now you just smile softly, “what, you’re not going to ask me about my night?” You hum only half kidding.

Clearing his throat he turns back to the sink, “I assumed you wouldn’t want to talk about it.” Droplets of rainwater trickle down the drain as he squeezes the fabric again.

You don’t want to talk about it, so why did you even bother bringing it up?

You lean back, your eyes still glued to the fizzling bubbles in your palm and clinging to your skin. Where would you even start? Maybe how your date was ogling the waitress as soon as you got there, or maybe how he tried to gaslight you in the car, or how you have him the wicked suggestion to dump you onto the streets.

“Would you?” He asks, cutting through the silence, “Like to talk about it, I mean.”

Maybe you could talk about how your date never asked what you wanted. Or how he never called you gorgeous, just because. Maybe you could bring up how he only ever seemed to want you a little more when other women wouldn’t look his way.

There’s a line, right? Between ex’s and friends? There’s things you shouldn’t talk about past a certain point. Yet you still got excited to tell him about small insignificant things. Like the amazing bagel you had for breakfast, or how you and your daughter watched the most gut wrenching animated movie the night before and cried way more than she did; the small things you never seemed to tell your other partners. But you were friends… right? That’s what this was. A friendship.

You hum, “let me wash my hair first.” Nanami takes his cue, collecting your still wet clothing and leaving the bathroom.

You dip your head under the rapidly cooling water after heating the door click closed. The soft hum and the slight pop as the water envelops you like a liquid blanket, drawing you in as you hold your breath.

✮ ✮ ✮

His clothes seem to always sag on you, no matter your size they always felt so big. The cold hardwood floor sends a shiver up your spine as you step through the quiet hall. Nanami sits in his arm chair, your unfinished glass waiting for you on the coffee table, the record has been changed, joined with the soft hum of the drier now running, the warm yellow light still flickers away.

A time capsule of peace, this was your life. Coming home and reading your respective books on opposite sides of the room, or maybe together on the sofa huddled close together— but why’re you thinking about that now? Ugh it nags at you as you sit down, your body suddenly heavy as the plush couch pulls you in.

“What time is it?” You ask as you give in to exhaustion, your eyes fluttering shut and your head lulling back. You hear Nanami close his book, “2:45am.”

You sigh, digging the heels of your palms into your tired eyes, “Shit.” Despite the pang of unmet hunger in the pit of your stomach, despite the exhaustion gnawing at you, despite everything that’s happened tonight— you giggle. The sound startling another one out of you as you curl in on yourself, “god what a fucking night.”

Nanami gazes at you, drowning in his t-shirt, absolutely hysterical— with what he wonders.

“That asshole—“ you start, your wet hair clinging to your face as you roll your head to face him, “never once asked me what I wanted.”

He nods, and you continue, “not when we went out for dinner, not when we grabbed drinks, not when we fucked—“ your hands fly up on a silent groan, “who does that?” The question far above a whisper.

Nanami was many things— always busy, always working, but he never neglected you or your needs. That’s one thing you could never replace in your newer partners, his attentiveness.

“People are greedy.” He says, pushing his glasses up as he gently places his forgotten book onto the coffee table. “They—“ should he say this? Should he even be thinking it? But you’re friends… friends… comfort each other. “They don’t know how to please you in the ways you want crave— need. They never take the time.” His voice a husky whisper.

You groan, tired and not thinking as you go to continue complaining, “Like you know what I want.” The words come out with an edge you never meant to put there.

“I’m not saying that—“

“You might as well be, I never asked for your input, it was rhetorical.” You snap, the words clawing their way out before you can stop them. Was it pent up anger that made you stand up? Or maybe that simmering unmet lust burning deep in your gut that made you walk in front of him, challenging him, begging him wordlessly. Or maybe it was that deep history, etched into your bones, your body craving his forgotten touch.

He stares up at you, his legs spread wide, his arms gripping the armrests. His breathing slows, his eyes set on yours in a heated stare.

“Do you know what I want?” You ask, voice low, your words crackle with need. “Did you ever know what I wanted?“

Nanami knew you like the back of his hand. You liked when he’d go down on you, legs spread wide by his strong hands. You liked to pull his hair when he’d bite at your neck, so he grew it out. You liked when he’d ruin you with just his tongue while he held your small hand in his much larger one. He knew every freckle on your body, every stretch mark, every hair. He knew what your moods meant, when you were silently begging to be split apart on his cock.

He knew what you wanted more than you did.

The record keeps spinning as he rises, his body towering over you, his voice rumbles deep in his throat, “You know the answer… but tell me—“

You swallow thickly, your body stiffens as he brushes your drying hair from your shoulder, his face lowers, his hot breath fans over the damp shell of your ear sending goosebumps flying across your skin. “As long as we’ve been apart… have you ever wished… it were me between your legs?”

Your eyes flutter, just like your heart as you press your palms into his firm chest. Did you? You stand there, your fingers pressing harder into his clothed skin as you wrack your brain. Maybe you have been comparing your partners to him, maybe that’s by you can’t keep one— fuck maybe that’s why you got yourself kicked out of a car tonight. But his breath is so hot against your skin, you can feel his hands hover above your hips. You both know what you want, you both know what you need.

“If I said no,” your voice breathy, “would you believe me?”

He laughs, the sound brings a slime to your lips as his forehead falls to your shoulder. In this moment it seems so simple, feels so familiar. And maybe that’s all you need tonight.

“Is it… okay if I touch you?” He asks, that sentence hasn’t been heard in years, you’d almost forgotten how wet it makes you. Almost.

You nod, your palms slowly sliding up his chest and around his neck.

That light moment slowly fading before your eyes as he presses his lips to the exposed skin below your ear. “Words.”

“Yes dammit you know I hate when you—“

You choke on your words as he pulls back, his hand threading with your damp locks and craning your head back. Your eyes frantically search his, the reading lamp the only light reflecting off of them.

Nanami’s usual gentleness is gone as he stares you down. “You need to be quiet for me, can you do that?” One hand cradles your cheek, the other tugs at your hand, begging to be held.

Before you can answer he’s pulling you with him, leading you to his bedroom. The darkness of the apartment swallows you both as you enter the room, the music fading, the sounds of your eager breath becomes the only sound ringing in both of your ears.

He doesn’t waste time sliding his warm hands underneath your shirt, pulling you closer to him as his lips crash into yours.

Everything about him invades your senses, the taste of his lips, his touch, the smell of him— all of it makes you clench your thighs together as his fingers press into your soft skin.

“I forgot—“ Nanami’s lips trail a path down your throat, his fingers sliding under the waistband of the boxers you’re wearing, “how incredible you look in my clothes.” His boxers, his shirt, his sweatpants— all of it reeks of him— the overwhelming scent of his cologne makes you dizzy as the pads of his fingers teasingly brush against your clit. The tips of your ears burn as you choke down a moan, your own fingers tangling into his combed blonde hair.

He makes a quiet ‘tsk’ before biting your neck, a soft nip before he’s licking the pain away, “quiet—“ lithe fingers sink slowly into you, “or I stop.”

Lust clouds every rational thought swirling around inside of your brain as you nod frantically, desperate for him to continue.

“Good girl.” Your hips grind down onto his fingers, clit brushing against his palm with an infuriating lightness. Not enough. Never enough. A soft whine of frustration sounds in the back of your throat. His free hand sneaks up your throat, his fingers dancing across your jaw, this thumb pulling at your plump bottom lip. A groan—husky and raw sounds deep in his chest as the diget slips past your lips into your warm wet mouth. Hot and slick as he presses the pad of his thumb down onto your tongue.

Dark eyes meet yours in the inky black of his room, “get on the bed.”

He pulls out of you, turning away from you before you can beg him to continue. Nanami rushes to the door, his feet light as he gently clicks it closed. You’re too busy peeling off his boxers to notice him lick a long stripe up his slick fingers, but you hear the sound he makes. He groans as his tongue licks every last drop of you from his fingers.

You sink onto the bed just as he flicks on a small lamp, your body cast in that familiar pale yellow glow. Nanami however is a silhouette before you, warm light framing his every move. Clenching around nothing you watch him peel his shirt off, the sound of his pants following suit. You crawl backward in search of the headboard, his hands grasp your ankles and in one quick yank you’re back at the edge. You instinctively clamp your thighs together as he sinks to his knees, hands prying your legs apart. “Don’t run from me, show me what I’ve been missing.” He whispers, his gentle voice sending shivers down your spine and to your waiting cunt. And he notices. You’re spread wide with his hands trailing torturously gentle shapes into your skin.

He feels so pathetic. He’s harder than he’s ever been as he gazes at your weeping pussy splayed out for him, leaking down your ass and onto his freshly washed sheets. How long will he just stare at you, mouth watering as you bite down hard on your bottom lip while your legs tremble under his feather light touch.

“Kento-“ you mumble, “this is embarrassing stop teasing m—“ you gasp at the sudden sensation. His lips find your swollen clit without fail, the familiarity slowly rising back to the surface. He mumbles against you, his words muffled and sending shivers straight through you as his fingers prod at your dripping hole.

It’s torture you think. The way he flattens his tongue against your throbbing clit, fingers sliding in with ease as you clasp your hand around your mouth. Lips trembling as you choke down moan after moan.

Nanami’s always been a tender lover, putting your needs above his own— it’s nice to know that hasn’t changed as you dig your heels into his mattress, thighs trembling and back arching ever so slightly as he bullies his fingers into you again and again. The desperate depraved moans you choke down slip out as small squeaks that have Nanami leaking through his boxers.

He can’t take it— how warm you are against his fingers, juices leaking down his arm, his tongue working in ways he’d forgot possible. He moans against you one final time before pulling off, licking his lips clean as you prop yourself up onto your elbows.

“Ken—“

“Turnover” his voice deep and laced with utter desperation as you watch him tuck his thumbs under the electric of his boxers.

It was like a game, waiting to see who will crack first as he peels away that last layer of fabric. He’s throbbing and so painfully hard under your watchful gaze. Your eyes taking in every vein, admiring that upward bend that had to seeing stars countless times— not even a foot away from you now.

“Can I-“ suck you off.

Large hands pull you forward, “Later.” That inhuman strength has you spinning, landing on your stomach with a startled yelp.

You push yourself up, arms trembling as he reaches over you and snatches a pillow. “W-wait, I wanted to—“ you go to stutter in protest only for his palm to press down firmly on your back, right between your shoulder blades. One second your hips are pressed into the soft bedsheets— the next they’re held high in the air only supported by his brutal grasp.

Your senses are on fire. Your cheek is pressed into a pillow that smells so much like his shampoo, your thighs covered in your cooling slick, all you can hear is your own hammering heart and jagged breaths as his hands slide over you. One trailing up the small of your back, sneaking over your shoulder blades and stopping at your nape. The other holds you up by the hips as he slots his cock between your slick folds with a sickeningly low groan.

Nanami presses his chest against your back, you can feel his heart, feel his body heat, you can practically taste the sweat that already adorns his face as his lips hover over the shell of your ear. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” He whispers, his voice so husky you can feel the rumble slide down your throat and live in your ribcage. You nod frantically, “Fine, okay you have my word— fuck—hurry up already! Please-please-please—“ you whine, a memory that will have your cheeks the richest shade of red come tomorrow.

“Good girl,” he hums, his tip slowly enters you with an infuriating slowness that has you gripping the sheets under you. “You learned how to use your words, m’proud of you angel.” He moans as he wills himself to go slowly, he wants to savor the way you clench around him again, savor the way you gush at his gentle praise.

One twitch of your hips and you’d be completely split open, and somehow that’s what you need. You press yourself into his sheets, rocking your hips back into him with that impatience that pissed him off and made him even harder.

More.

More.

More.

You groan, your lip bitten and raw as you beg. “Ken—“

His chest still rests against your back as he litters your neck in open mouth kisses, “I know, Angel.” His teeth graze the flesh of your neck to feel you tremble under him. “Be patient for me.”

It’s so hard to obey when he’s moving so deliberately slow— drawing it out so you feel every vein, every twitch, every slight stutter of his hips when you whine into the pillow under you. You don’t know how hard it is for him not to grab a fist full of your hair and press your face into the sheets— how hard it is for him not to snap his hips into yours at such a brutal pace it gives you a lip the next day. He needs to hear you scream his name until your lungs burn and your hands cramp from clinging onto him with the last of your strength.

Next time he thinks. Next time you’ll be all alone, folded in half under him with your pretty little face staring up at him as he fucks you again and again.

“So good for me.” He moans into your ear as his hips finally meet the swell of your ass. “So good.” He bites your neck, stifling a moan as you clench around him.

Nanami kisses the pain away as he pulls out halfway and then slowly entering again. And again. And again.

The feeling of him so deep in your gut has you panting, trembling and clawing at his pillow. Your hands ache from clinging to anything you can reach, but you’re afraid if you didn’t occupy yourself you’d scream, so completely under his control it drives you insane. You’re so focused on breathing and willing yourself not to be too loud that you don’t feel one of his hands leaving your body only to wrap around your wrist, his thumb circling your skin in time with his movements.

Slow and lazy strokes turn into quick sloppy thrusts, the soft squelch of your mixed arousal becoming louder in your ears. All you can hear is Nanami’s low groans next to your ear and the subtle squeak of the bed frame and it has your head spinning.

“Ken—“ you moan, teeth imbedded in your bottom lip.

He reminds that eager little yelp in your tone even when it’s being suppressed. You’re close already. So so close.

He sneaks his other hand under you, trailing it down your stomach as the other tightens around your wrist. 

Even if he can read you, he needs to know. To hear it drip from your lips and into the heated sizzling air. “What do you need? Tell me—fuck— tell me what you need.”

Your stomach flutters, ears burning and legs trembling as you whine. So high pitched and pathetic it has him reeling on top of you, his cock throbbing at the sound of pure desperation.

“M’so close— Kento please I need—fuck fuck fuck—“ you shudder as you feel the heat of his palm hovering over your clit. “Need to cum—“

His fingers hone in on your pulsing bud before the words even finish leaving your lips.

Who is he to deny you that high?

Maybe you’ve been so unknowingly pent up, or maybe you just craved his touch that much— but as soon as the rough pads of his fingers sought you out you felt your back bow, your lips tremble and you’re turning your hand palm up to intertwine your fingers with his as the coil in your gut tightens.

Nanami’s face scrunches as he feels your pussy tighten around him. You squeeze his hand, you tremble under him and moan and drool onto his pillow. His bed might’ve smelt like him this morning but tonight it drips with you. The body he’s craved ever since his eyes met yours for the very first time— his pace quickens.

“Cum for me,” he hooks his chin over your shoulder. “Please— I need you to— fuck— I need it.” He whimpers, words trembling as his fingers quicken, his hand could fall off for all he cared. He needed this. He needed you.

He’s whined before, but now in this moment it sounded so sinful. His face was so close to yours, you could feel his now damp hair touch your cheek, you could feel his breath and if you opened your eyes— see the bead of sweat trickle down the curve of his nose.

His gruff voice sounded so sweet as he begged you, pleaded with you to cum around his cock.

You nodded, frantic.

The only warning your body allows is a shiver that shoots up the base of your spine as you cum. White flashes behind your eyelids as you bite into the pillow, your teeth threaten to pop a seam as you ride our your violent high through choked sobs.

Nanami cums after you, your tight walls spasming around him as he pumps you full with a groan that hangs heavy in the sticky air.

It takes everything he has left not to collapse on top of you as he eases his way out. Leaning back he watches as his cum oozes out of you, and with gentle fingers he pushes it back in, watching the way you writhe as overstimulation knocks on your door.

With a fuzzy head you allow him to carefully lay you on your back. His hand cups your cheek as he presses a parting kiss to your forehead. You hardly register his absence till you feel him part your legs, a warm towel glides up your legs and you hum at the cozy feeling of it. The familiar comfort he brings you is something you’ve missed. Nanami takes his time cleaning you up before he urges you under the covers. You sleepily comply.

Sleepily. Who knew his dick would be your melatonin again, you think to yourself as you tuck yourself farther into his bed with a content sigh. Before sleep can fully grasp you, you feel Nanami’s strong arms pull you to his chest, his nose buried in the crook of your neck once more. It isn’t long before you fall asleep in his arms, in the pitch black of his room, in a bed that smells like black coffee and lavender, just like you used to. It’s so familiar, so inviting and whole.

Maybe your next boyfriend will be better than the last guy. In fact… maybe he’ll be just like your ex-husband.

[hoshigray]

This is my first time requesting something but HEAR ME OUT, "Slow Cuddle-fucking with og Sukuna while he is holding (and caressing) Reader (His wife) tightly and praising her (with him having size(difference) and breeding kink) oneshot please please please PLEASESSS😭

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: NAH CUZ I SEE THE VISION, HOLD ON–

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size difference - monster-fucking (he got 2 dicks, y'all) - double penetration; anal and vaginal - spooning dp position - breast fondling + nipple play - breeding kink - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - dacryphilia - pet names ([little]dove, good girl, my wife, woman) - soft! kuna, but not too OOC - mention of drool/spit and tears.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k

“Stay still, woman…Mmnnn, good girl, nice and easy…”

It’s not a rarity for Sukuna to have his hands on you as you two slept through the night. After all, he is the King of Curses; asking permission to touch his is beneath him. You were made for him to hold – sculpted for his cursed hands to touch – everyone else was far behind or had no standing compared to your demonic husband. And with you both sharing a futon every night, who’s supposed to tell him to keep his hands to himself?

You, his little spouse, knew of this. Marrying the King of Curses was something you never imagined would happen — let alone falling in love with the giant man! You’ve always had dreams of becoming a sweet little partner to someone; for that to be fulfilled by the cursed man who could kill thousands in the blink of an eye is astounding. 

And, of course, being a wife entails all the duties accompanying the package. Especially now, as you two lie together on the floor, nude bodies nestled close on the futon above the tatami floor, and your naked figure trembling from the insertion of one of Sukuna’s paired cock. And your heart drops at the second one brushing up against the crevice of your ass when he pushes the one inside your throbbing, velvety channel. 

“Mmmph…! Sukuna, no,” you whined, your butt inching away from the second member. “I can’t handle both—“

“Don’t lie; you’ve done it before and did it well,” a hand brings your waist to him. “Or maybe I should just have one of the concubines take care of me, seeing as though my own wife is neglecting their duties.” 

He wouldn’t do that; Sukuna’s interest in his insignificant mistresses had long been diminished once he took you up as his bride, practically collecting dust as he hadn’t visited them since you shared a bed with him. Now, he uses them as tools to probe you. And he has to hold back the mischievous snicker when your eyes widen with anxiousness, wrapping your arms around his neck in desperation.

“N–No, please!” You pleaded; it was the only sufficient approach. “I’ll be good to you, I promise!”

The four-eyed curse scoffs. “Then do what you’re supposed to,” Each crimson orb takes in information about your bashful expression, “And attend to your husband like a wife should.”

Further complaints cease at his command, so you quiet down and arch your behind to him submissively. Sukuna takes your initiation with his hungry bottom hand on your ass, squeezing the flesh as you guide his other dick to your lubed asshole. With a hum, he pushes himself and forces you to take his cocks with your bottom, needing a few seconds to breathe when your holes reach the base of his members.

“Good girl,” he says to your ear to make you shudder, and he lifts your leg with the hand that finished groping your asscheek. “Obeying me so well like always…”

He begins to move without a signal, slowly pulling himself in and out of your warm wetness that coats his length with your slick. You can’t help but grip the girth limbs that massage your insides, involuntarily throbbing on them with shaky breaths.  

“Mmmaah, ohhhmyG—Mmm!” Speech isn’t easy, even with his upper left hand cupping your cheeks. And your brows furrow as the upper right sneaks to grope a breast. “Faaahh, Suk..una, I’m too full already…”

“Mmm? Is that so?” Sukuna asks with a patronizing tone, licking the helix of your ear to hear you gasp. “But we’ve barely started yet, my wife. Don’t bore me before I can enjoy you yet.” 

His hips go at a gradual cadence that has you keening a mess, the sensation of the veins of his cocks felt by the walls of your holes. You howl silently, not wanting to make too much noise.

But that doesn’t fly with your husband, speaking to your ear with that hoarse voice. Almost has you melting as he squishes with your cheeks, “Let it out, princess,” he commands. “I want to hear that voice; don’t you dare hide that from me.”

Fuck, the way you felt on his dicks was so fucking good, having the cursed behemoth burrow his face into the cubby of your neck. Slow kisses on your skin segway to sucks that should mark for later. He could never get enough of how small you were up against him. His giant palm swallowed your tit, your ass bouncing with every thrust, and how damn tight you were as you accommodated the two members making your entrances busy. 

Goddamn it, he bites his lip, dialing up the speed of his ruts a bit. Scratching your inner walls has you squeaking louder, unable to stop yourself when he grinds his hips after a sudden grim pound. So warm and snug for him as if you were meant for him. He knew you were meant for him — taking his huge, fat shafts with no objections, just arching your back further so the sensation could be more pleasurable like the loyal, little pet you are. “Hmngh…! Yeah, just like that, little dove; keep clenching around me like that…”

Restraint was gone long ago, letting your voice and shrieks fly out and fill the quiet bedroom. The sound of his skin shaking against your ass, the heat of your cheeks making it hard to think, and the shivers crawling your spine with every graze to your sweet spots. Everything feels like a haze, your brain too clouded to think outside this moment. 

And then you sense the hand on your breast let go, slithering down to your unattended clitoris, which has your eyes shoot wide as your demon husband presses down. “—Khhff! Nooo, ‘Kunaa, you mustn’t…!”  

He lifts a brow with a grin; you dare question him? “And why shouldn’t I?” He pinches the delicate bud, resulting in a scream sneaking past your lips. “Hmm? Plead for yourself.”

“Becau—Ahhh! Mmmm, I’ll cum. I’m gonna cumm…”

“Then don’t,” Sukuna doesn’t remove his digits playing with your clit, and the hand on your chin pulls your face to look at him. “Cum without my permission, and I’ll make sure to not be so kind next time...” His words carry a warning filling your bones with apprehension, yet his soft lips greet yours and he hums into your mouth. The kiss serves as a distraction from his thick digits gently swiping on the pearl.

The rhythm of his hips, however, increases in speed and prompts more moans to be taken by Sukuna. Drool trickles down your lips, same with tears that welled up earlier from the insertion of his girth inside your ass. Your eyes roll at the jab to your silky walls, breaking the sweet yet passionate kiss to cry out as your husband’s fat balls smack your ass. 

“—Ooooo, fuuuck, I can’t,” your eyelids shield your vision, using the rest of your senses to indulge in this euphoric pleasure. “‘Kuna, I’m so close, so—Ooohh!”

“Me too…Ghhh! Shit, me too…” Sukuna presses his hot face to yours when you throw it back, licking the tears off your sweaty skin. You looked so stunning like this, all disheveled and immodest because of him. “Gonna take my load, huh?” He licks the sweat off your shoulder and bites when you don’t respond. “Answer me, Y/n.”

“—Ahhh, yes!”

That’s not enough. “I said,” he pinches your clit again as he gives slow yet rough ruts to your holes. And he can tell by your twitching that you’re doing everything in our power not to come. “Answer me.”

Holy shit, this was borderline torture. “Mmmph! OhhhLord, ‘Kunaaa, I want you to fill me up. Pleasee, pleasepleaseee, I wanna be full; wanna be all ‘round and fat with your child…!”

“Keh, dumb pet; who said I wanted a brat, huh?” He scoffs, yet you can hear the groan as he licks and sucks on your neck while squishing your hot, tear-stricken cheeks. “Fine then; go on and cum with me. So damn needy for my seed…”

Sukuna brings your chin for another steamy kiss, his lower left hand holding yours as his pelvis goes at an irregular pace. Your muffled shrills are taken by feisty lips, teeth clashing with his fangs before sucking on his tongue, and the upper left hand releases your chin to caress your chest once more, tweezing the nipple along with swipes to your clit.

Release gradually creeps up your shaky frame, crying to his mouth when your chasm and anus pucker around the lengths that graze your walls with the tips. Sukuna is not too far behind you, pumping his load into you with a few harsh plunges, making your contracting cunt and rear full of his hot and thick semen. The lower right hand propping your leg up leaves soft kneads on your inner thigh, hoisting it up further so his shafts are deep enough until his pulsing balls meet your ass.

You withdrew from his lips to breathe, your figure quivering through the aftershocks, and your slit and asshole still flutter around his girths. And you mewl when he kisses your cheek and temple.

“Mmm, that’s my princess,” he purrs while placing your leg down to massage your waist. “Such a good dove…”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ✩ dividers by @/benkeibear.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

He’s Not A Machine!

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

summary: when dean collapses from exhaustion, it takes everything in you not to beat the shit outta john

pairing: (stanford era) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 4.0k

warnings: hurt/sad dean, language, john being a terrible father, john being an asshole in general but what else is new

pairing note: reader washes/brushes her hair

author’s note: hiiii me again after many moons of zero contact with this lovely website. sorry for taking so long, hopefully i’ll stay a while this time lol.

It’d been nearly four weeks of back-to-back hunts. This was the seventh motel you and the two Winchesters had been at this month and you were almost ready to call it a night. 

“I’m gonna wash this wraith stench off of me,” you told Dean. You then added quietly so John—who was sitting at the table and cleaning his guns—wouldn’t hear; “Would you like to join me, handsome?”

“More than anything,” he whispered before he bent down and kissed you. John coughed loudly, and you weren’t sure if it was just a perfectly timed accident or a purposeful guilt trip. It was most likely the latter. “But… I think it’s better if I don’t, sweetheart.”

You smiled sadly with a small nod; “Next time, then,” you assured him. You looked up into his eyes and noticed the tiredness laced with the usual burden he carried. He blinked unusually slowly as if he was trying his damndest to stay awake, and you furrowed your brows. “How about you head to bed, you can shower after you get some sleep.”

“It’s alright, I’m not that tired,” he said.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” you asked him, barely above a whisper so that John wouldn’t hear.

John didn’t like you. He didn’t really trust your intentions with his son, and he thought you were just a distraction that would end up getting Dean killed if he wasn’t careful. He didn’t like how easily Dean would get ‘all giggly’ when he was near you, and he didn’t like that his son kept his guard down when he was with you.

He didn’t like the matching rings you wore, or that you too often referred to the other as husband or wife when a stranger would ask. You weren’t married, you were his fucking girlfriend and John fully believed you wouldn’t still be together by the time Sam finished his first four years at Stanford. 

“I’m fine,” he replied, matching your quiet tone. “I’ll shower right after you so don’t use up all the hot water, okay?” There was a teasing smirk on his face which made your worries subside temporarily.

“I promise to leave you some,” you said before you kissed him once more.

**

“Dean are you okay?” you asked, seeing the far-off look in his eyes when you left the bathroom.

“Yeah, I uh…” He rubbed his eyes as he tried to again focus on your face. He looked over at his dad, who raised a brow at his eldest son. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

You followed his line of sight and pursed your lips when you saw John.

“Dean says he’s fine, drop it Y/n,” he told you.

Against your better judgment, you decided not to ask Dean again. With your hair still wet from the shower, you took the brush from your bag and started fixing it. 

“Aren’t you gonna shower, babe?” you asked Dean, who hadn’t moved an inch.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. He started to kick off his shoes when he tripped and fell straight to the floor, his cheek now pressed against the carpet.

“Dean!?” you exclaimed and hurried over to him. You fell to your knees and took him into your arms, shaking him gently in hopes he’d just wake up. “Dean? Dean, honey, please? J-John he’s not waking up!” You pressed your lips to his temple; “C’mon, Dean!”

John had left his spot on the couch and was now hovering over you, as you looked up at him desperately.

“Is he breathing?”

“Yeah,” you replied, tears slipping down your cheeks. John helped you lay Dean down so he could check his breathing.

“He seems fine,” John deduced. “Is there a wound we missed or something?”

“W-We need to call an ambulance,” you said and rushed to grab your phone off the nightstand.

“Y/n, Dean wouldn’t want us to call the cops,” John replied. He seemed a little too calm for your liking, so you weren’t about to let him call the shots regarding Dean’s wellbeing.

“I don’t care, we’re getting him to the fucking hospital,” you said as you dialed and made your way back to Dean. “Now hide your goddamn guns before the paramedics get here—I need an ambulance at the Rosebud Motel room 302, my husband just collapsed unexpectedly.” You ignored the look John gave you when you called Dean that. The operator asked questions and you answered each one; “Yes, he’s breathing… No, no bleeding… He’s twenty-five… Uhm, I’m not sure…” You pulled the phone from your ear; “Has he had anything to drink yet tonight?”

John was putting away the guns and paused to think before he shrugged; “I dunno, I wasn’t watching.” 

Your eyes widened and your teeth clenched, the fucking audacity. Looking at the table you saw three opened beers so you made an educated guess when you answered the 9-1-1 operator.

“He might’ve had a beer or two, but he’s not a lightweight, he’d never pass out after two beers… Yes, his dad is in the room with me… Yes, I can stay on the line.” You took in a shaky breath as you brought his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles. 

“Just stay calm, ma’am, help is on the way.”

“I’m trying,” you replied, tears streaming down your cheeks as you kept his hand pressed to your lips. “Th-This isn’t like him, he’s–he’s always okay.”

**

You bounced your leg anxiously as you sat next to John in the waiting room. As you absentmindedly played with the ring on your right ring finger, you couldn’t help but think of the time when Dean had told you how much you truly meant to him almost three years ago.

* flashback *

“I got you a present.” His smile was adorable as he sat next to you on the couch. He saw your face light up and felt the need to downplay the gift; “It’s nothing much, don’t get too excited.”

“Dean, you could give me a dirty sock and I’d love it,” you teased, placing a quick kiss on his pink lips.

“Well… this is like one teer above ‘dirty sock’, I think.” He smirked and handed you the small velvet box. 

You opened it and your jaw fell open; “Oh my god, Dean!”

“I know how much you like mine,” he said quietly.

“I do like yous,” you took his right hand in yours and kissed the ring on his finger, “I love yours, Dean.”

“Well, this one is exactly like mine.” He smiled. “Except it’s in your size, obviously, so we can… you know… match.” You took the ring out of the box and admired it for a moment. You were about to put it on but he stopped you; “May I do the honors, sweetheart?” he asked. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips as you nodded and he took it from you. He slipped the ring onto your right ring finger before he kissed your hand. 

“I mean this in the most genuine way possible; this is by far the best gift anyone has ever gotten me, Dean! Ever!”

A sheepish blush was forming on his cheeks as he leaned over and kissed your lips; “I love you so much.” He pulled away so he could look at you; “And, I want you to know this isn’t a regular gift.”

“Yeah?” you asked, your smile growing. 

“Yeah,” he replied and kissed you again. When he pulled away again he chickened out a little and didn’t say what he was going to. “You’re twenty-one, which means you can now legally drink in all fifty states.” He stood up, pulling on your hand gently so you would follow him to the kitchen. He took two beers out of the fridge and put them on the table. He used the ring on his finger to easily open one then handed the other to you. “Why don’t you give it a try.”

It took you a few tries but you managed to open the beer using the ring he just gave you; “Okay, now that’s awesome!”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Dean said and you clinked your beers together before you both started drinking them. As he brought the bottle down from his lips, he watched as you kept drinking and smiled to himself. He suddenly felt the courage he felt when he bought the ring and decided to tell you his thoughts; “You know you’re the only girl for me, right?” You nodded with a smile. “I don’t just mean ‘for now’ I mean like forever. That’s the real meaning behind the ring, I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.”

You couldn’t help the happy tears beginning to sting your eyes as you looked up at him; “Forever?”

“Forever.”

* end of flashback *

You were shaken back to cruel reality by the sound of John’s voice beside you; “What’s taking them so long? We’ve gotta get back on the fuckin’ road.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you scoffed and looked at him. “Dean might be in serious trouble, and you’re thinking about the next hunt!?”

“Dean’s gonna be fine.” He rolled his eyes.

“We don’t know that,” you replied. You again started fiddling with the ring Dean had given to you.

“You know that ring doesn’t make you two husband and wife,” John commented. 

You stood up abruptly, not wanting to say what was running through your head; Yeah, and Dean being so fucking perfect doesn’t make you a good father.

“Dean Smith’s next of kin?” the doctor asked. 

“I’m his wife, this is his dad,” you said. “H-How is he?”

“He’ll be fine,” she replied. “He has a very minor concussion from when his head hit the floor, but he just needs some rest.”

“What happened?” John asked. 

“He fainted from over-exhaustion, he’s gonna be okay.”

“Over-exhaustion?” You furrowed your brows, placing a hand over your chest. “B-But he’s been eating fine? A-And sleeping as much as me, I think?”

“Actually,” John interrupted, “he’s been helping me with research at night, he doesn’t sleep as much as you.” 

Never in your life had you wanted to knee John Winchester in the balls as badly as you wanted to at that moment.

“How many hours a night are you sleeping, hun?” the doctor asked you.

“Like three to five… every other night,” you admitted. “And that’s always been enough! If it wasn’t, Dean could’ve just taken a nap he didn’t have to—fuck.”

“Can we see him?” John asked.

“He’s still asleep but yes, you can go and see him,” she replied.

On the way to Dean’s room, you kept wondering how this all happened—how did Dean get so fucking tied he collapsed!? If he was staying up at night, why didn’t he just sleep in the car? You would’ve happily driven Baby, and it’s not like you hadn’t done that before—Dean’s love language was sharing that fucking car.

“This hasn’t ever happened before, right?” you asked John. 

“Never,” he replied. “Guess Dean’s just not as strong as he used to be.”

“Excuse me?” you seethed and stopped in your tracks, pulling John to a halt as well. “Dean is a fucking hero but he is not a machine, he’s a fucking human being who’s been treated like a soldier since he was six-fucking-years-old!”

“If you wanna say something, fucking say it!” John exclaimed. 

“Oh, I am saying it! How fucking dare you work him so hard that he lands in the fucking emergency room!”

“We all know in this line of work, we have to do what we have to do!”

You slapped him hard across the face and your eyes widened when you realized what you did. 

“Dean is your son,” you said, quickly changing your facial expression back into one of pure rage. “He is your fucking child and you’ve been treating him like shit for far too long. He deserves better, he doesn’t deserve to be so fucking exhausted that he collapses.”

You walked away and into Dean’s room. Seeing him lying in the hospital bed made your heart break as tears welled in your eyes. 

“Oh god,” you mumbled. “Dean.” You quickly pulled up a chair so you could sit next to his bed and patiently wait for him to wake up. John did the same, though he seemed annoyed by the fact Dean was still asleep. 

You weren’t sure how long had passed before John got fed up; “Can you press the button for the nurse so we can ask when he’s supposed to wake up?”

“I think we should just let him sleep, don’t you?” you whispered, not knowing if Dean had been sedated or if he was just resting like normal.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, I told you to call the damn nurse,” he said, raising his voice which caused Dean to stir awake.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean said groggily, his eyes half-hooded as he brought your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles. He then dropped your hand and rubbed his eyes to wake himself up. “This isn’t the motel,” he realized. He noticed John sitting at the other side of the bed and he sat up a little, trying to somewhat compose himself. “Wh-What happened?”

“I’ll fill you in,” John said. “Y/n, why don’t you go grab us some coffee so I can talk with my son?”

All your instincts told you not to leave the two Winchesters alone but what choice did you have? You didn’t want to start another fight with John, you were tired too, and you didn’t want Dean worrying.

“Yeah, sure,” you said. You took the time to bend down and place a loving kiss on Dean’s forehead, causing him to smile. “No coffee for you though, you need more sleep,” you told him before you left the room. 

About ten minutes later you walked back in and the sight practically made your eyes bulge out of your skull as your jaw flew open. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked and placed the two cups to the side. 

“Dad said there’s a hunt,” Dean said matter-of-factly. “I can sleep in the car or something, let’s go.” He started to stand up so you pushed him back down. 

“How fucking dare you!” you exclaimed at John, who stood on the other side of the bed. “How dare you tell him to suit up right now! He is staying here in this hospital, and he is getting some goddamn sleep!”

“That is not your decision,” John replied. “If Dean says he’s fine, then he’s fine.”

“You realize those are the exact words you said to me before your son collapsed, right?” you scoffed. “Dean lay back down now,” you told him as you began taking his boots off. “You are staying here for the night, you understand me?”

“Don’t you boss him around!” John exclaimed. “Dean and I are leaving here now.”

“You can leave if you want to, but Dean is staying put!” you replied, matching his tone. 

“No, he is not!” John yelled. 

You’d never fought with John like this, usually yelling and getting yelled at made your eyes tear up in the most inconvenient way. But this? Dean’s health? You were not about to back down. Not one single tear dared to appear in your eyes as you looked at John with such anger you wanted to slap him across the face… again.

“Why don’t we get a third opinion?” you suggested.

“Yeah, Dean, do you wanna sit here like a pussy or do you wanna go save some fucking lives?” John turned to look at him.

“Don’t answer that,” you said quickly. “I meant, let’s call the nurse and see what they have to say about it.”

Before John could protest, you walked over and pressed the button. It took half a minute—during which you and John stared daggers at each other—but soon the nurse walked in.

“How is everyone?” she asked, noticing the tension in the room.

“Do you think this young man here can leave yet? He’s doing fine and wants to go home,” John said. 

“Let me check his chart,” she replied before doing so. “I would have to no, he should definitely stay here and get some much-needed rest.”

“Is there a doctor—” John started but you stopped him.

“Goddamn it John!” you scoffed. “He is not leaving!” 

“You are not his fucking family!” John shouted, much louder than before. “I am! You aren’t his wife, you aren’t his sister, you aren’t his fucking mother—you are just his current girlfriend, and believe me that’ll fucking change in a heartbeat. You are not in charge of what Dean does, you are not family.” There was a short pause as your eyes brimmed with tears yet you refused to let them fall. John sighed and continued; “I am Dean’s father, I know what’s best for him, and I say he’s packing his things and getting the hell outta here.”

The nurse looked absolutely shocked, her jaw hanging open. The look John gave her made her hurry out of the room.

“Dad,” Dean said, seeing the tears in your eyes. “Dad, you can yell at me all you want, I’m your kid but…” He exhaled shakily as John turned to look at him with a frustrated look. “But you can’t talk to her like that, you just can’t. You might not think of her as family but that’s on you, she is a part of my family, Dad. And yeah, we might not be legally married or whatever but she’s not just my current girlfriend? She basically is my wife, we’re not just… dating?” Dean looked at his father with a sense of desperation, John just had to apologize and you could all drop it. Of course, John, being a stubborn bastard, held his ground and crossed his arms authoritatively. “I-If you aren’t gonna take back what you just said to her y-you can go on this next hunt alone.”

“Excuse me?” John scoffed. 

“You heard me,” Dean replied. “She’s everything to me and I can’t sit idly by while you talk to her like that.”

“So you’re talkin’ back to me now? Like Sammy?” John asked. “Refusing to take orders?”

“This isn’t about me, Dad!” Dean said, his face twisted with guilt. “You know I follow any orders you give, that I’m quick to obey. But you saying Y/n isn’t family? I-I’m sorry but I can’t let that slide, Dad.”

John huffed and abruptly left the room.

“I’m sorry,” you said to Dean the moment John was out of earshot.

“Me too.” Dean smiled sadly as you both wiped your eyes quickly.

“Why don’t we get these jeans off of you so you can be more comfortable?” you suggested patting his shin.

His brows shot up; “Really? Here? Now?”

“Dean, no!” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I meant comfortable so you can go to sleep!”

“Oh…yeah, that makes more sense.” His trademark cocky smile was back and that made your own smile return to your now tear-stained face.

“I’m serious about you staying put, you know.” You nodded toward his pants and he got the message. 

“You can be real stubborn, you know that?” he laughed as he hurried and slipped his pants off. You folded them up and put them on the chair along with his belt. He shrugged off his jacket and you tossed it on top of where the pants sat. 

“Get under the covers,” you said. He rolled his eyes playfully but he obliged nonetheless. 

“Happy?” He smiled when he was comfortable in the bed. 

You nodded; “I love you, Dean.” You leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips, causing his smile to turn more genuine. 

“Hey,” the doctor interrupted as she walked into the room, “Nurse Roberts just told me about the little outburst… everything okay in here?”

“Yeah, just a little misunderstanding is all,” you replied. “But it’s all settled—Dean’s staying the night.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said with a smile. “I’ve gotta be honest I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, clearly anxious about her statement.

“I just meant that your husband is very healthy,” she assured you; “I’ve never seen a young, healthy man like him just collapse from over-exhaustion.”

“First time for everything I guess,” Dean laughed nervously.

You glared at him; “Not funny, babe.”

“She’s right,” the doctor backed you up. “Now, whatever you’ve been doing recently that caused you to lose this much sleep, get this stressed you need to quit it right here, right now.”

“It’s our job, we can’t just… quit,” you said. “But I will definitely keep a closer eye on him from now on, make sure he’s getting enough sleep.”

“You can’t put this all on her, you understand me, Mr. Smith?” She looked at Dean before he nodded shyly. “Mrs. Smith you need to fix your own sleeping habits as well — if you both don’t smarten up and take better care of yourselves, you will definitely be right back here before the end of the year. You got that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said. 

“Good.” She nodded. “Now, I’m gonna give you a small dose of a mild sedative to help you fall asleep, alright?” She said as she made her way over to Dean’s IV bag to give him the sedative. “You ripped this out the second you woke up, didn’t you?” She asked him when she realized the needle was no longer in his arm. “You two, I swear!” She started preparing to simply inject Dean with the sedative but you stopped her.

“Is there maybe like a pill equivalent to what you’re giving him? He doesn’t really like needles,” you said. 

“There is, would you prefer that?” she asked Dean, and he nodded vigorously. “Alright, I’ll go and grab that for you then. Mrs. Smith the chair in the corner folds out into a small bed if you two don’t want to share one.”

“Oh, that’s alright, I’m not tired,” you said. 

She gave you a look; “Seriously? Hun, what did we just talk about?”

“I get that, but I know Dean’s not gonna sleep properly if he doesn’t feel safe.”

“This is a hospital, it’s safe,” she said. 

“Sorry,” you said with a small shrug, and again she sighed.

At that moment, John decided to walk back into the room, making your breath hitch a little before the doctor left to get the meds for Dean. 

“It’s alright, you two get some sleep; I’ll keep watch,” he said as he made his way over to the chair and sat down. 

“You sure, dad? I thought you said there was a job nearby?” Dean asked. 

John looked at you and smiled ever-so-slightly. Maybe it was something you had said to him, maybe John didn’t want you being alone with Dean while he was so weak, or maybe there never was a job and he didn’t have anything better to do than stay with his son. 

For whatever reason, John Winchester sighed and answered; “You’re more important, Dean. Your safety is more important. Now quit whining and get some sleep.”

Dean pulled the covers back, silently asking you to join him in the bed and, of course, you obliged. You gave him a quick kiss on the lips before getting comfortable in his arms.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he said, kissing your temple. 

“I love you more,” you replied, making him let out a soft laugh. 

“You always gotta one-up me, huh?” he chuckled. 

“Uh-huh,” you giggled. His arms tightened around your frame as he tucked your head under his chin. John couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for treating not only you but his own son so poorly. Every time John saw Dean be this relaxed and happy, you were always the cause. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

By the time the doctor got back about seven minutes later, you and Dean were both fast asleep; the latter letting out snores that gently moved your hair with each breath. She smiled a little at the sight and decided to duck back out of the room so as not to wake you two.

[targaryenluvs]

— BEST LIFE

pairings: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader (past), harvey specter x fem!juniorpartner!reader (present)

summary: you’d once been apart of the bau team, but after a situation and a falling out with your boyfriend you moved on. what happens when the bau needs your help on a case, which your boyfriend harvey is also assisting on?

warnings: angsty, asshole harvey cause duh, jealousy (spencer) kisses, cute harvey

wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: this literally sprouted in my mind and i just needed to write it lmao, if you haven’t watched suits or criminal minds go right now‼️ they’re both my husbands 😋

when jessica had called you into her office, you’d been calm. apparently one of your cases, which had you and harvey working together, was now of fbi interest. your client was currently suing a company for faulty wiring in his home, which caused it to burn down. and it was apparently not the case at all, the home was suspected to be tied into a serial arsonist.

what you didn’t expect was for your client to be accused of being the arsonist.

“you’re sitting here,”

“uh-huh.”

“telling me,”

“yup.”

“that i’m supposed to believe that richard jeena, the fifty three year old little man, is a serial arsonist?”

you shut the file infront of you, meeting harvey’s eye, “sweetheart?” he uncrossed his legs, leaning forwards with a sweet smile, “yes?” you leaned forwards as well, “that, is exactly what i’m telling you.” harvey leaned back into his chair, disbelief riddling his face.

“and the fbi is flying here?” you nodded along, “fbi agents?” you nodded again, “probably field agents or whatever they’re called. they’ll sit in on the trial, survey the scenes, collect evidence and all.” the familiar clicking of donna’s heels brought a smile to your face, “profilers.”

your heart dropped with one word, “what’d you say?” donna made her way to the two of you, plopping herself down in the chair next to you, “it’s those fbi profilers. yknow, they look at the room and can tell you if he’s left or right handed, blonde, mommy issues and all. nice little packaged criminal profile in seconds.” you couldn’t help correcting her, having dealt with your fair share of assumptions in your years as a profiler.

“that’s not how it works,” harvey swiveled in his chair as donna looked your way, “oh?” harvey smirked as you sighed, “that’s not how it works, we don’t just walk into a room and have it speak to us. we survey the place, fresh eyes and open minds. we look for the things that everyone else seems to miss. we put ourselves in the minds of the criminals themselves, to get a better understanding of them, why they did it and all. you work your way back, start from the victim maybe, see where they’ve been, what they did in the last week, who they talk to. sometimes the killers in their personal circle but not always. every case is different, we try our best to provide an accurate, unbiased profile.”

“i want to take you on my desk, right now.” you rolled your eyes at your boyfriends words as donna stared intently, “we. you said ‘we’, as if you know what they do and their job. oh my god, you use to be one. that’s the job you had before coming here! you have a degree in criminal justice, and you said your last job you were at for what, seven years?”

“i graduated high school early, entered harvard at a young age, graduated, entered the fbi at the same time as a— friend. was also studying law, sat the exam in new york since it’s where i wanted to be. finished up at harvard, i was mid to late twenties when i left, wound up here and am now a junior partner, capiche?”

“could just say your age.” mike stood by the door with a wad of files in his hand, “i’d rather die, mike.” harvey laughed, “please don’t incentivise my lovely girlfriend to killing herself mike.”

“as nice as it is to see you all bonding, and trust me, it hits me right in the heart, jessica wants yourself and y/n in the conference room.” louis spoke from the door as you stood up, “first of all, trust with you is fickle, second, tell it to hit you in the face next time lou.” you smacked harvey’s arm as he held his arms up, “friendly fire, i’ll put it out later.” you shoved him by his back before smiling at louis, “i’m sorry about him, he’s not a big fan of the fbi.” louis nodded as he followed you, “duly noted.”

“she’s right, damn pigs.” harvey joked as you approached the conference room, “your highness,” you grinned, “you never treat me so nicely when we’re at home harvey.” he held his hand over his heart, “now don’t lie sweetheart, i’m as nice as mike.” the snort that left your lips had harvey doubling over, “oh please, nice as mike? you wish.”

your giggles were drained from your throat as you stared at half of your old team.

derek morgan, emily prentiss, penelope garcia & spencer reid. the last name, and face you’d still not looked at yet. thankfully, harvey noticed your tenseness, “y/n? sweetheart, you alright?” there it was, that word, sweetheart. spencer couldn’t help but wonder, was it just a word? you always use to call him it, before you dated, teasing of course.

“yeah, i’m fine harv.” he nodded, even if he didn’t believe you he could always ask later on. pulling out his and yours chairs, you sat next to one another. “harvey specter & y/n l/n?” emily questioned as you nodded, “the one and only. and then there’s y/n.” harvey leaned back in his chair, whilst derek stared him down.

what an ass. is what he wanted to say, it was also what he assumed emily was thinking. “emily.” she glanced over at you, surprised at you using her name, “it’s nice to see you all. how’ve you been?” and the bewildered expression was wiped clean off your face, no remnant left. you were a damn lawyer, if there was one thing you’d learned, it was to keep a straight face.

penelope smiled, “we’ve been good, y/n. but we miss you, back home. you’re a lawyer now huh?” you grinned, “the one and only.” harvey squeezed your hand, you squeezed back. “youngest junior partner, ever. my dream. just hoping to make it to senior partner soon, take the title of youngest out from under this guy. i’m happy here, i hope you are too. but down to business.”

and for the next few hours, you’d sat and listened. overlooking the case files, giving statements, reviewing security footage from surrounding houses. at some point mike ended up in the room, having met with your client and being harvey’s associate.

you’d had the pleasure of introducing spencer and mike, the two undeniably similar. you felt comfortable, even betting with penelope that if they touched the world would implode.

“and how much would he loose?”

“127,478.23.” mike and spencer rushed out as the rest of you fought to suppress your smiles, “well y/n, seems like we’ve got a genius-off.” derek laughed as the two men looked towards you, “don’t worry i’ll still love you mike.” mike scoffed at your words, “what makes you think i’d loose?”

“because i know you, and i know reid. trust me, you’d loose.”

reid. not spencer, spence, sweetheart. none of the above, you’d used his last name. as if he was nothing more than a colleague.

“okay, we’ve been here for far too long. and as much as i’d like to sit here and slowly rot, i’d rather do that at the restaurant i have booked for dinner with two lovely ladies. y/n and i have a trial date tomorrow, 8.00am. i think, we bring him along, show him what’s to happen if he doesn’t confess, than toast victory champagne when said confession rolls through. how’s that sound?” if derek’s grin was any indicator, besides a big fat yes?

spencer wanted to puke, ‘lovely ladies?’ multiple women? this man was insufferable. you gathered yourself and harvey’s files, a hand gestured towards you, the last file in said hand. “thanks reid.” he smiled, “no problem-o.” your eyebrows furrowed, “never change do you?” spencer didn’t have time to respond, his brain was too busy blowing a fuse as harvey opened the door for you. “ready for dinner lovely lady?” they all heard harvey ask as you nodded, the four watched as you walked out, his hand on your back as he pecked you on the lips.

“reid, you alright?” derek’s hand rested on his shoulder, “i’m fine, why wouldn’t i be fine? don’t we have places to be? hotch would want to know their on our side, that they reviewed all the information. they’ll help us get a confession out of him.” derek sighed, “because you just saw your ex, who you haven’t seen in years. the one you never got over, happily living in new york as comfortable as possible. a successful business woman and lawyer, happily in a relationship.”

spencer shook his head, “you don’t know that.” emily directed a sympathetic smile his way, “we sat with them for three hours. we watched them laugh, bounce off of eachother for theories, quite literally finish eachothers sentences. order food for eachother without asking, and get their meals right. they held hands when they could, he continued to call her sweetheart. and now they’re going out to dinner.”

spencer’s shoulder dropped, they were right. he’d come here excited at the possibility of seeing you again, talking to you. maybe even beginning again with you. instead, you’re apparently with some suited up asshole. he was annoyingly sweet when it came to you though.

as if the whole three hours weren’t a slap in the face, harvey’s voice rung out through the hallway, “there’s my lovely lady!” rachel, who they’d all met earlier on, was currently guiding a young girl to harvey’s arms. “daddy!” if hearts were boats, than his was sinking. he may have had a chance beforehand, but now?

“is mommy here?” your daughter was currently situated on harvey’s hip, “why don’t you hug her and find out?” your arms were out in the open as your daughter squealed before running to you, “d’you have a fun day with rach?” she nodded her head rapidly as yourself and harvey smiled, he stood behind you, chest to back. his hand rested on your waist as the other moved aside hair from her face, before moving hair from your own.

“now, my lovely ladies, it’s time for dinner.”

lovely ladies, for once, spencer had made a mistake. harvey was going out with multiple women, but not in the way he thought. his daughter and the mother of his child, you.

his words and actions meant nothing, they would mean nothing. you were happy, so happy. you had everything you wanted, a loving marriage and man, a gorgeous family. something spencer hadn’t given you. a man who knew you could hold your own. spencer knew that too, but he couldn’t help himself back then.

right now, you were living your best life.

[nikkicloudie]

When I was your man...

Husband!Tyler Owens x Wife!Reader, Ex!Javi Rivera x Ex!Reader

Summary: 5 years ago you used to date Javi Rivera before the incident with your friends. You, Kate, and Javi all go your separate ways. What happens if 5 years later you all reunite and Javi sees you again married to a certain cowboy?

warning: Language, Javi being jealous, Mentions of sex but none, Javi is kinda an asshole and leaves a hand mark on Reader (you) and kisses you, use of Y/N

"Here let me help ya down sweetheart," Tyler says holding out his hand and helping you down from his truck as fans surrounded the truck of the run-down hotel with music blasting "Who that?" Kate asked Javi in the distance Javi rolled his eyes "Tyler Owens" he said before Scott jumped in "Hillbilys with a YouTube channel" Kate looked at the crowd as Tyler started to hype up the crowd.

After all the chaos some people started to leave pleased to have met The Tornado Wranglers. "Y/N?" you heard someone say behind you. You turned around to look at them "Kate? Hey" you said as she smiled at you "So I still see you Tornado Chase" She said holding her clipboard "Ya" You said looking at her just then you heard a familiar voice behind her "Kate you ready for-" Javi stops in his tracks as he sees you. "Y-Y/N?" he said before smiling nervously "Hey how are you doing" He said before hugging you tightly. He felt your body tense up as you slowly hugged him back. "Hey Javi," You said before slowly pulling away "I'm alright..you?" you asked him as he smiled "Been better but more happy to see you"Just then you felt an arm around you.

"Hey sweetheart," Tyler said looking at Javi "Javi.." he said as Javi started to connect the dots "Your dating Tyler Owens!?" he said his voice getting angry as Tyler smirked cocky "Married actually" he showed Javi your wedding ring "Married?! What the fuck!?" Javi yelled as Kate pulled Javi back "Javi we have to go.." she said dragging him away to his group and his van. Tyler kept on smirking watching him get dragged off "Didn't like how touchy he was being had to come to rescue ya" He said stealing a kiss from your lips as you giggled.

"So that's your ex?" Tyler chuckles "Really upgraded since then" He smirked at you as you frowned "Me and Javi didn't end on good terms but don't say that about him..." You said as Tyler looked at you

"He dumped you and you worried about his feelings still sweetheart?" he said raising his eyebrows, making you frown more at him. "Just forget it hon," he says grabbing your hand and walking to your hotel room with you.

A few days went by and the air felt tense you could cut it with a knife Javi kept looking at you trying to find any chance to talk to you without Tyler and anyone else around "Why him?! Out of everyone you married him!?" he yelled as you kept walking away from him. As you kept walking he pulled you back to him and made you look at him. His face was angry "I'm talking to you" He said in a whisper "You dumped me Javi not the other way around...you have no right to choose who I marry and who I don't...you, not my boyfriend anymore... I like to keep I that way.." you said pulling your arm away and look at the hand mark he left. "Don't you remember all the good times we had..." he pleaded with you like that would change your mind.

"Y/N..." he said leaning in close to your face "Remember all the fun times...when we went out...when we stayed in...when we got drunk and we would have the best sex ever...?" he said with hurt in his eyes "Javi.." but before you could finish he grabs your cheeks and pulls u in for a kiss. You jump back quickly "Javi what the fuck!?" you yelled at him as he stared at you "I.." you didn't let him finish "I'm married! And you can't just come back into my life 5 years later after dumping me feeling sorry for yourself!" you kept yelling which made a lot of people including Kate and Tyler who looked at each other and started to walk towards you both.

"What's going on here?" Asked Kate before Tyler was by your side quickly "You harassing my wife?" Tyler asked his voice getting serious which was a very rare sight. Javi looked at you "Y/N....remember when I was your man...?" he asked his voice still pleading with you. You felt Tyler's body tense up at Javi's words and he clenched his jaw in anger as Kate pulled him away again as he kept yelling. Tyler looked at you "What was that about..?" he says "I-I don't know!" I said and he sighed and grabbed your hand and kissed your wedding ring before pulling you to him gently and hugging you as you hugged him back.

Tadaaaaaaa all doneeee!! Lmk if you like!! send as many requests as you want!!

Part 2 coming soon:

[ew-selfish-art]

DP x DC AU: Bruce is the one to invite Constantine over, and no, it's not to improve his tenuous working relationship with the asshole. It's the opposite of that.

---

Danny had become a frequent visitor of Wayne Manor in the last few months, and Bruce had to admit that while the kid was certainly a bit ominous for his liking for a partner to Tim, he was a generally kind and happy soul. They'd been dating for a lot longer than the Bats knew of- Kon had been the one to let it slip to Jon who told Damian and so on- and since the relationship was no longer secret, Tim brings him to family functions.

The thing about Danny is... He's dead. More than half of the time. Which again, is not Ideal for Bruce's wishes for Tim's future husband, but it also means that he reviles in being alive. Danny is downright joyous about using his time left on earth properly. He makes Tim eat real food, enjoy real sleep and generally live a more fulfilled life than he had been. The whole family noticed the changes in Tim, and it made them like Danny even more.

So after a particularly grueling day of dealing with Trigon and therefore the JLD's lack of coordination and sensible planning- Bruce gets the idea. John couldn't fucking contain himself admonishing Bruce, and perhaps it was vindictive, but Bruce figures that John should meet Danny. Sans context of course.

...

John is really over dealing with Batman's prissy, over complicated and perfectionist attitude. Come to the Cave he'd demanded, as though John didn't have a favorite bar to get back to, deal with a ghost he ordered like John didn't have other priorities than some random shade.

When walking into the space however, the second his teleportation portal closed, John knew something was deeply, deeply fucked. The shadows were growing longer, the second hand on his watch ticked slower, the air smelled of sulfur and... Red Robin was sitting working at the computer like nothing was wrong. But what was wrong, was the kid was marked by The End. Marked by The Infinite. FUCK.

John knew Death, the Endless, and knew she could pick favorites just like her siblings (Dream's immortal drinking buddy comes to mind). But this wasn't her work, this was something other.

"Mate- the Bat said there was a ghost?" John feels like he might throw up, the eerie atmosphere complicating what should have been a simple request.

"Uh, obviously." The kid didn't even look over from his screen or pause his typing.

John slowly approached, looking over each shoulder a few times, turning in a few circles as the shadows appeared to dance and echo within the cave. He could see his breath, the air became so cold so suddenly. And then, with the gentleness of a pin drop, a new agonizing sound appeared with a Kid walking down the cave stairs. The aura of the room turned dark, every cell in John's body screaming to run, that this was basically the little girl from the ring crawling through the TV as the young man walked down the steps.

"Babe, your grampa says that dinners going to be ready in a second. Oh, uh, hey dude." The creature speaks, turning his eyes to John for only a moment to study him. It feels equivalent to a butterfly being pinned by its wings.

"Y-y-you, you're, you're one of the Endless?" John stutters, his body reacting in fear despite the nonchalant posture of the Beast. The young man rolls his eyes.

"Nah, one of the Ancients but like uh, I'm new in town. And hon seriously don't be late, A made tiramisu for dessert and you're not allowed to have any if you're late and I don't want to deal with you pouting."

"You had me at Tiramisu!" Red stands up from his computer and then turns, "John, what are you doing here again?" Red Robin finally looks over at him, completely confused.

"Just leaving." John mutters, his eyes still trained on the ANCIENT.

---

Bruce could barely hide his laugh when Tim reported the Magician meeting Danny in the cave.

That'll show the asshole to question Batman's knowledge of the occult.

[verinarin]

In your embrace, my eternal haven unfurls

fluff | Dr. Ratio x Fem! Reader | bathing with Veritas, Veritas taking care of reader who’s on her period, very domestic fluff

Authors note | you guys should definitely commission me to write fics so I could e6 him/srs dm me, also Franz Kafka…

You can’t sleep all night long, tossing and turning underneath the sheets, but you feel grateful for your attentive husband, even though he’s an asshole at work, he’s surprisingly patient whilst taking care of you and your unpredictable mood swings

Finally, after he embraced your body you were able to fall asleep with his warm hands wrapping comfortably around your stomach, acting like a natural heat pack, his face nuzzled closely on your neck, kissing the skin softly as he murmured his musings about you

Slowly the sun rises, you notice the sudden vacancy beside you. Your husband always wakes up right at 6 in the morning to workout, so he left you wrapped around the duvet, acting like a cheap imitation of his warmth

It’s not long before he’s back with a cup of ginger tea in his hand, “Are you up ?,” he softly asks as you feel his weight beside you. “Physically yes, mentally I just want to decompose,” you reply weakly

He simply sighs before putting the cup down on the drawer next to the bed, “I made you some tea, you should wake up and drink it,” his hand brush your hair in an attempt to coax you to wake up, “It’s ginger tea, it’ll help you relieve the pain and it also has anti-inflammatory properties,”

With a groan you finally manage to drag your body to sit up straight, he reaches forward to the cup and slowly blows it for you. Once he deems the temperature is to your liking he slowly places the rim to your lips and tilts it back slowly letting the orange liquid fill your mouth

“Is it good ?, I added a little bit of sugar,” he asks as he sets the cup down, “It’s very comforting,” you reply turning your head towards him, you lean forward and press a delicate kiss on his lips as a sign of your appreciation

“Now we have work to do, but I asked Aventurine to let us arrive a little bit late at the office,” he says as he stands up and kneels before you on the ground, “So for the next three hours I’ll be taking care of my wife,”

And with that, he carries you to the bathroom, “H-hey what are you doing ?,” your face flush red from his sudden affection, he’s not usually this romantic. He does not reply however, he simply chuckles before resting you on the corner of the bathtub, he then turn on the warm water and fills the bath with petals of rose and lavender, “It’s been a while since we soak together,”

“I’m on my period Veritas,” you huff, feeling disgusted by the idea of soaking with him, “Does that change anything ?,” he shrugs as he walks back towards the bedroom to bring back your cup of tea, “Just keep drinking this, you’ll do more good drinking than stating the obvious,” he huffs as he place the warm cup on your hand

You quietly sip on your tea as he prepares the bath, the calming aroma of lavender mixed with roses emanates from the water. Without any warning your husband takes off his shirt, revealing his sculpted back towards you, in a swift move he discards his shorts, leaving him bare and your face red

“You’ve been blessed by this sight countless of times, why are your cheeks more pigmented than before huh ?,” he chuckles as he crouches before you, your face warm and red from the sight of him, “I mean can’t I marvel at the sight of my husband,”

“I guess you could,” he smirks before setting your cup of tea elsewhere and starts to slowly undress you from your nightgown, “I-i can do it by myself,” you huff which he replies with a small chuckle

“Of course, you can, but that doesn’t mean you should,” he slowly drags your panties down to your leg, prepping kisses across your thighs, softly marking the skin with his lips until your feet, “Don’t get too close, I’m dirty,”

“You’re not dirty, not in the slightest ! but if you think you are I’m afraid that I don’t care about these ignorant and foolish opinion about yourself,” he mumbles as he leans forward and kisses your bare stomach, then his lips travel towards your sternum and end at your lips, consuming the spicy taste of ginger on your soft lips

“Such a romantic fool now are you ?, not like the first time we met,” you chuckle against his lips, you can feel a smile forming against your lips as he recalls how annoying he was to you, “Well perhaps I like to leave rude comments here and there so you would always think of me,”

“Well congrats, it worked I’m married to said asshole,” you laugh, making him smile in return as he sees that breathtaking radiance you exude. Not before long he swiftly carries you into the warm bath, he holds you close as he descends into the warm bath, the water is halfway filled so it’ll prevent it from flooding out of the tub.

He gently rests you on his muscular thigh, his face resting on your shoulder as he holds your waist, the tension on his muscles slowly alleviated as he’s embracing the warmth of the pristine azure and your bare skin, bathing by himself clears his mind, but bathing with you cleanse his soul and revitalise his whole being,

“In your embrace, my eternal haven unfurls,” he softly whispers beside your ear. He’s been yours for three years now but he never cease to admire you, his lips pressed against your head, inhaling your scent as his hands gently massage your sides, “Feels good ?,” he whispers against your neck as his trained fingers massage the points on your lower stomach to alleviate your cramps

You muster a relaxed sigh as you rest your head on his shoulder, his face now rest on your own shoulder enjoying the view underneath the pristine water, how delicate and soft your body looks against his own, at this point he knew he would be late to work, but he didn’t care at all, he has been yearning for a time well spent on his wife

“I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you,”

[poppy-metal]

arrange marriage with patrick where you know he doesn’t love you. this entire thing was cooked up by your parents, and you feel guilty for being the one that destroyed his freedom. so when he slips away for unexplainable periods of time, you keep quiet. you know who he’s seeing, what he’s doing, as he returns with a slack jawed smile and missed hair. it stings slightly, knowing you’re in a loveless marriage and that all chances of martial, conventional bliss were down the shitter, but what can you do? he doesn’t want to be with you. he owes you nothing, he’s just as trapped as you are. you’re polite and warm, you ask about his day, you want to be friends if nothing else. patrick gets frustrated, mostly because of the guilt. he is objectively awful to you, and you’re still so sweet. so sweet. you look at the hickeys on his neck and you don’t scream, don’t yell. all you do is cover it for him before you have to go to gala. you cover it! how can you be so forgiving? how can you not care? he fucks tashi 3 times a week. he’s being awful. and you still smile when he comes home. take his coat, kiss his cheek. any time he’s tried to have sex, tried to do the proper thing and produced another heir to the family fortune, you graciously turn him down, like you’re doing him some kind of grand favour. when sometimes, he just actually does want to fuck you. it’s hard. it’s weird. he kind of wants you?? but you’re so distant. he strangely feels a longing for you, missing something he never had. what did you look like, sound like when you laughed uncontrollably? what did you want to be when you were a little girl? who are you?

patrick knew hating you wasn't fair. it didn't stop him from treating you likes shit, though. didn't stop him from barely putting in effort during your wedding, from looking bored during the vows, from planting a stiff kiss on your lips, and then proceeding to treat you like you didn't exist.

it wasn't your fault, and yet it was. he couldn't exactly up and tell his parents to fuck off - though god knows he desired nothing else than to do just that. in the end, he was a conduit. a vessel to carry on a legacy he didn't give two shits about.

he knew it was coming.

he just wish he had more time.

more time to be reckless. more time to get drunk at parties. more time to be a general stain on society. more time with tashi duncan.

but destiny waited for no one or whatever the fuck, and now here he was, shackled to you and resenting every fucking thing about you.

at least you knew how to keep your mouth shut.

it would have been a bitch to deal with you running and tattling to his mother about how he hadn't fucked you yet - how he was still seeing tashi. as much as he appreciated your discretion, he also hated you for it.

you had no fucking backbone. you were nothing like tashi. she was bold and rash and clawed her way from nothing and took none of patricks shit. you took it all. mouth properly suctioned to his asshole just like every other spineless dipshit in his family.

he knew you saw the hickeys she left on his neck. knew you smelled the sex on his skin when he stumbled home at 4am and slid into bed, finally. he saw you register these things, the scratch marks down his back - saw your dainty little chin wobble and then still. saw your eyes dart away. and he felt something nasty claw at his chest - at your lack of self respect.

your husband was sticking his dick in a pussy that wasn't yours and you didn't have anything to fucking say about it? he saw the hurt in your eyes in the mirror. grinned at it. hoped today would be the day you'd snap and fight back, but you never did.

he found himself leaving tashis arms angry - angry about coming home to a brick wall and a wife who didn't seem to care what he did.

one night - he found himself drunk after a night out with tashi. sprawled out on his chair as he lazily watched you get dressed for bed.

he found himself hardening in his slacks. dick twitching with interest.

you weren't ugly, was the thing.

you were actually fucking hot. you had a plump sweet little body. you hid it under atrocious modest wear, but he could see it now in the outline of your fat tits outlining your nightgown. the curve of your waist. child bearing hips. he could laugh, if any of this was funny.

he tongued the inside of his cheek as he straightened, watching you.

“you dress like a 1950s housewife.” cutting. meant to embarass you, which he can see it does. he feels a thrill in his chest to get a reaction out of you at all. “it's fucking weird.”

your lips press together - you don't look at him as you uncap your lotion and spread it onto your fingers. “I am a wife.” you tell him softly.

“what was that?” he heard you. he's just annoyed by your mously little voice.

you flick a glance at him, and he sees a flash of irritation on your doll like features. it makes you look pretty, he resents to realize.

“I said I am a wife.” you say, more firmly this time. “just because you don't want to act like a husband doesn't negate what we are - what I am.”

you say it with a sense of pride. a lifting of your chin. and patrick - he has to fucking laugh then. licks his lips and downright giggles with it. his cheeks are flushed with alcohol and he drags himself to his feet, shaking his head.

“you're fucking unreal.” he approaches you, you've turned your back to him - slathering lotion onto your legs, the sweet vanilla scent hits his nostrils as he gets close, and he sways a little. “I mean. are you even real? or are you made out of plastic? did mommy and daddy make you at a factory? the perfect wife factory.” he stops behind you, touches the end strands of your hair, rubs them between his fingers. your hair is fine and soft like silk. it runs like water through his fingers when you tug your head forward.

“of course I'm real.” your voice trembles a little. he's gotten to you, he thinks. and he likes that he has. feels his cock twitch again. “why would you even say that?”

you're finished putting on the lotion but you stay with your back turned to him. he wonders if this is a small act of defiance on your part. he wonders if you were raised to be this fucking submissive and subservient and if any part of you resents it. wishes you could turn around and claw at his face and call him a bastard. but no. that'd actually make the evening interesting. and you were set on being as dull as fucking drywall.

“she's nothing like you, you know.”

he sees your spine stiffens. feels a cruel twist in his stomach that hearing about his mistress upset you.

you don't answer him so he continues, leaning in closer so his breath blows the wisps of your fine hair across your shoulders - “she's firey and confident. she lights up a room when she walks in it, grabs everyone's attention by their throat because she demands it. it's fucking sexy as hell.” he inhales your scent, warm vanilla, sweet and soft. he wants to crush that softness under his foot. crush it to dust. “and god -” he lets his voice get low and seductive, that scratchy quality “- her fucking pussy. it's the best thing I've ever felt. like sliding right into nirvana. I could fuck her for hours -”

your spin around - your eyes are burning. not with tears, though. with fury. they blaze with more life in them than he's ever seen before and it cuts his sentence right off - sucks any further words out of his chest -

“go to her then.” you hiss, venom from your lips. he thinks if it were possible, steam would be seeping from your pores. your cheeks are flushed and your lips are bee stung plump, the indents of your teeth marking the soft flesh. he realizes you'd been literally nawing on your bottom lip to stay quiet. “you think I want to deal with you like this? that I want to deal with a husband like you at all? go to your mistress and bury all your problems in here and leave me alone to run the house and do your job for you. like I've been doing. I don't need you here.”

you turn back around, your hair swishing and smacking him in the face.

he glares at your back. his fingers twitch as an anger worse than he's ever felt boils his blood.

“you can't talk to me like that.” he says, cold and deadly despite the liquid fire running through his veins. “im your fucking husband.”

you laugh - and despite everything - it sounds like bells tinkling. pretty and lyrical. he inhales again. steadies himself with a hand on your vanity.

“you haven't earned that title.” you shake your head as you walk to your side of the bed. you're dismissing him. ending the conversation. “I doubt you even know what the word means - if asked to define it.”

something about the condescending tone - one he'd grown up hearing from his parents lips, from everyone around him who told him he'd fail before he even began. how tashi talked to him sometimes, dismissing him as a privileged kid instead of a person with feelings whenever they disagreed - something about it - he finds himself suddenly in your space - gripping your arm and yanking you back against him -

“you want me to define it?” he asks, sounded half crazed. he rucks your nightgown up, and despite himself, he groans at the feeling of your soft and supple skin - never touched before and new and so fucking good under his hand - “you want me to act like a husband to you?”

he presses himself against your ass, hard and throbbing. he's been hard since he first stood behind you and inhaled your scent. his cock has a goddamn pulse - he can feel the head beating like a drum - fluid bubbling at his slit -

your breath rattles in your chest in a wheeze as you freeze under his touch, you're stiff under his palm and he feels a spark of anger at that - he fucking knows his way around a woman's body - knows how to make someone melt and cry and beg for it -

he shoves you face down on the bed with a hand at your back, comes down over you to straddle your ass on his knees, hands coming down to his belt.

“you want me to be a husband -” he yanks his belt through the loops I'm his jeans harshly, rips his zipper down and reaches in to grip himself where he's hard and hot and thick. “- want me to do my due dillengence and fuck you with my hard cock? fill you with the cum that'll give us an heir and make your life worth living? I can do that for you - pussy's pussy.”

he yanks your nightgown over your ass - grips your bare cheeks and spreads the flesh - bites his tongue till it bleeds at the sight of your small twitching asshole - and under it the wet lips of your cunt.

to combat the way the sight makes him feel, the sudden breathlessness in his chest - he tells you, “my dicks still lubed from fucking her earlier - should slide right in -” and he slots the fat leaking tip of himself at your folds, is just beginning to part that heavenly slick flesh when you curl your hands into the sheets and whisper -

“stop.”

and patrick is alot of things. alot of bad things, he can admit.

but he's not a rapist.

he pauses - hand wrapped around his hard dick - “what -” but you're shoving up suddenly, bucking under him, scrambling and wiggling until you're out from under him and yanking your gown back down over your ass, covering yourself.

he blinks at you, suprised. dick still in his hand.

“I thought you wanted -”

you squeeze your eyes shut and shuffle off the bed, wrap your arms around your body like you want to curl in on yourself.

“not like that.” you tell him. voice a fragile thing. you won't look at him. he softens in his hand, desire sapped from his body at the sight of your distress. “not - not when.” you shake your head. “things are fine how they are. I'm sorry for snapping at you, it was unbecoming. I'll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

and you're gone before he can even tuck himself back into his jeans and think of something to say.

he falls back against the bed and stares at the canopy above him. his throat feels dry. he thinks he should feel victorious. he'd intimidated you. humiliated you. made you feel as small as he feels all the fucking time.

but he doesn't feel satisfied.

he just feels like a dick and a shit husband. he scrubs a hand down his face.

fuck.

[katethetank]

Ok I’ve never written anything before, and I’m obsessed with Steddie content. So without further adieu, here’s a modern day Steddie story where Eddie comes to terms with the hard truth that his husband’s snuggles might be more popular than his world famous band. This kind of got away from me and ended up way longer than I thought it would. Oops.

Content warnings: idk, TikTok I guess?! It’s fluffy and sweet, illusions to smut at the end

Eddie Munson was a notoriously private person. Corroded Coffin was the biggest metal/alt band in the world, and despite the fame, he managed to keep his personal life just that - personal.

There of course had been rumors over the last few years of who he was married to. Among the chunky metal rings that always adorned his fingers, fans couldn’t help but notice the simple silver band on his left ring finger. Paparazzi would occasionally catch him out in public with various women, leading his fans to speculate wildly who his mystery wife was.

But as soon as the rumors got started, they were quickly shut down. He was photographed once stumbling out of a club in New York with SNL star Robin Buckley on his arm. Social media went absolutely rabid and Robin made sure to clear things up the following Saturday on Weekend Update, announcing that she was in fact, a raging lesbian.

Not too long after that, Eddie was photographed clinking wine glasses with accomplished journalist Nancy Wheeler at a romantic rooftop restaurant in LA. When rumors started swirling around them of a secret affair, Nancy’s husband (and Rolling Stone photographer) Jonathan Byers put a stop to it by posting a picture of all three of them on his socials explaining that they were long time friends and out celebrating Nancy’s nomination for a Pulitzer.

Again the rumor mill started churning when Eddie was spotted giving a piggyback ride to pro skateboarder Max Mayfield after one of her competitions. Accusations of him “robbing the cradle” had her immediately posting a video on TikTok telling everyone off, fake gagging, and saying that Eddie was like her big brother. She then pulled Eddie into the frame asking, “Would you losers seriously believe I’d be into this ugly mug?” before promptly shoving his face away. Eddie was only a little offended.

Max’s video kind of blew up though, with everyone demanding more of Eddie’s presence on the app. Reluctantly he started his own account, his first video of him backstage at his sold out Madison Square Garden show, simply flashing the devil horns, sticking out his tongue, and greeting, “Hey assholes!”

It effectively broke the internet.

He was verified within a matter of hours, and had millions of followers within the first day.

Now all he had to do was figure out what the hell he was going to post. He didn’t want to share too much of his private life, but scrolling through the comments, he could see how much his fans truly loved seeing just that brief candid moment from him. So he started sharing bits and pieces behind the scenes at his shows, shots of the guys hanging out on the tour bus, and one lazy morning, a glimpse of his sleep-rumpled self in bed and his birds nest of bed head.

The comments on that last one exploded.

Everyone wanted to know who he was sharing that bed with, asking for a peek at his wife, if she was also famous. Who was he married to for god’s sake?!

He refused to take the bait.

One afternoon he set up his living room for a TikTok live, planning on just strumming his guitar, answering questions about the new album that was coming out, maybe taking some requests for songs to play. While he was glancing at the comments and plucking away at his acoustic, he didn’t hear the front door open, or the footsteps coming towards the room. He startled when he heard, “Babe, I’m home! I got you some more Honeycombs!”

Eddie froze. And the comments went absolutely fucking wild.

“Wait, was that a dude?!”

“Did some guy just call him babe???”

“SPOUSE REVEAL?!?!”

“OMG IS HE GAY???? I LOVE THIS FOR US!!”

“Oh I am so invested in this! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈”

“Honeycombs?! Really?!”

Eddie scrambled to set his guitar down, quickly thanked everyone for tuning in, and cut off the live stream.

Steve stepped into the room with a questioning look on his face. “Babe?… what’s wrong?”

Eddie glanced at him sheepishly mumbling, “We may have just spilled the beans on a live stream.”

“You were doing a live stream? What happened? And wait, what beans?”

Sighing heavily and running a hand through his hair, Eddie stood up and walked over to Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I was doing a TikTok live, playing some songs and talking about the new record. I didn’t hear you come in, and when you shouted that you were home, it was apparently loud enough for everyone to hear. So I shut it down fast before the comments got even more out of control. I didn’t know what to say!”

Steve leaned in and gave Eddie a peck on the nose, hugged him tight, and asked, “Well… how bad were the comments? Do you think people are gonna freak out?”

“Freak out? In a good way, maybe. They all seemed pretty surprised to hear a guy’s voice and were asking for a spouse reveal.”

Steve furrowed his brows and thought about it for a few moments. “What if we did?”

“Did what?”

“A spouse reveal. I gotta admit, it’s been pretty annoying having everyone assume you’re sleeping with our friends! I don’t really like the idea of being in the public eye, but what if we just did a quick video or something to put the rumors to bed for good?”

Admittedly it was a pretty good idea. Eddie liked being able to share parts of his life with his fans, and Steve was the biggest part of his life. It would be nice to show him off for a moment and finally tell the world who put that ring on his finger.

“Yeah. Yeah, ok! Let’s do it!”

Eddie grabbed his phone, opened TikTok, and got comfy on the couch. Steve sat down next to him, cuddled into his side. He started the video with the camera just on himself, took a deep breath, and hit record.

“Hey guys! Sorry to dip out of my live stream so suddenly. I was a little thrown off with that interruption, but thought it would be best to come on here and clear the air. Yes, I’m married. Yes, my spouse is a man. Yes, my favorite cereal is Honeycombs, don’t come at me for that! And this is Steve.”

He tilted his phone so both his and Steve’s faces were in the frame. Steve smiled brightly and did a little finger wave. “Hey everybody!”

Eddie giggled and turned to kiss Steve on the cheek. Even after years of being together, Eddie’s affections still made him blush. Steve turned at looked at Eddie with stars in his eyes and whispered, “I love you babe.”

“I love you too sweetheart.”

They shared a brief kiss before Eddie ended the video and immediately posted it.

He effectively broke the internet again.

Millions of likes and comments flooded in, a huge wave of love and support from his fans. And of course, more questions.

“Shut up, they are so fucking cute I’m gonna puke”

“I’m so sad that the married rumors are true, but omg his husband is crazy hot! Good for him!”

“His name is Steve?! Why is that so adorable?!”

“Find yourself a man who looks at you like Steve looks at Eddie!”

“Who is this Steve?! TELL! ME! EVERYTHING!”

“We demand more Steve!”

“Ok I need more details immediately”

The demand for more Steve content did not stop. Eddie still wanted to keep his private life as private as possible, but Steve had no problem with popping up in a few videos here and there. Rolling his eyes in the background at Eddie’s antics, hands on his hips while scolding the band for being late to an interview, painting Eddie’s nails backstage before a show. Just little glimpses of Steve being Steve. His fans ate that shit up.

One night Eddie was left to his own devices while Steve was out having a “girls night” with Robin, Nancy, Max, and El. Why he wasn’t invited too he will never know. Not that he was jealous or anything. Totally not jealous. He decided to set up another TikTok live while he screwed around on his guitar. About an hour in, the front door flew open and in stumbled a very flushed, very giggly, very drunk Steve.

“BABE! I SAW ARIANA GRANDE TONIGHT!”

Eddie started laughing as Steve made his way into the living room, glancing at how the comments went absolutely apeshit again.

“Stevie, sweetheart, sit down before you hurt yourself.”

Steve took the guitar out of Eddie’s hands and plopped down in his lap. “Babe, seriously! I saw Ariana Grande! Me and the girls went to some club and Nancy got us into the VIP section, and there she was! Just! Sitting there looking all cool and famous! Babe, it was awesome!”

Chuckling, Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve, kissed him on his temple, and pointed at his phone set up on a tripod. “Stevie, you interrupted my live stream again. Say hi to everyone!”

Steve turned his head towards the phone, eyebrows raising up, and smiled dopily. “Oh! Hi guys! Did you hear?? I saw Ariana Grande!” He then quickly snapped his drunken gaze back towards Eddie. “OH MY GOD! Babe! Do you think she’s on here?! Can you message her?!” He turned back to the phone shouting, “Ariana! I’m Steve! We should hang out! Eddie, tell her we should hang out!”

Eddie started cackling and patted Steve’s head like a puppy. “Ok big boy, you’ve clearly had enough. Sorry guys, I’m gonna have to cut the stream short and put this one to bed. And uh, yeah. Ariana Grande, if you’re into hanging out with preppy former jocks who like to snuggle while they’re wasted, let me know I guess. Goodnight!”

Eddie looked down at Steve, who had tucked himself into Eddie’s chest while he was talking, and gave a little kiss on his head before ending the live stream.

“Hmmm… sleepy.”

“I know you’re sleepy sweetheart, let’s get you into jammies and tuck you in.”

The next morning Eddie awoke to a hungover Steve groaning into his neck, and a message on TikTok from none other than Ariana Grande.

“What the fuck?!”

“Hng… too loud.”

“Sweetheart. Stevie. Wake up!”

“No.” Steve pulled the covers over his face.

“Honey, seriously, you need to wake up. You’ve gotta see this.”

“Eds, I don’t wanna see shit, I wanna sleep.”

“Stevie, do you remember coming home last night and telling everyone on TikTok that you want to hang out with Ariana Grande?”

Steve flipped the covers back off and gave him an incredulous look. “I did not.”

“Yeah princess, you did. You stumbled in talking about how you saw her at a club and wanted to hang out with her. And guess the fuck what.”

“…….what?”

Eddie turned his phone for Steve to see the message.

“What the?… ‘Hey Eddie! I caught your livestream last night and my answer is yes! Steve seems like an absolute doll, I’d love to hang out with him’”

Steve looked at him with wide eyes and just stared for few beats.

“SHE WANTS TO HANG OUT WITH ME?!”

His volume made both men wince, Steve immediately grabbing his throbbing head and groaning.

“Yes, sweetheart, apparently babbling drunk gay men are her thing. So, when should I tell her you’re free?”

The following Wednesday, Steve was a nervous wreck. He had cleaned the house from top to bottom, prepped a gorgeous charcuterie board, had wine chilling in the fridge, and checked his hair about 30 times.

“Stevie, darling, sweetheart. You’ve got to calm down.”

“Calm down? CALM DOWN?! Eddie, Ariana fucking Grande is coming to our house! How is this even happening? What if we don’t have anything in common? What if she thinks I’m an awkward idiot? I don’t wanna screw this up!”

Eddie wrapped Steve up in his arms and gave him a tight squeeze. “You won’t screw anything up. Everyone loves you Stevie. Just be you, and she’ll love you too. And if you’re freaking out, I’m a phone call away, alright? I should only be at the studio for a few hours and then I’ll be home before you know it. You two will have a great time! Ok?!”

Steve let out a long suffering sigh. “Ok.”

The doorbell rang and Eddie took his hand, walking with Steve to go greet their guest of honor. As soon as the door opened, Ariana Grande herself was standing there with a huge smile on her face. “Steve! Oh my god, it’s so nice to meet you!” She immediately gave Steve a hug and barley even acknowledged Eddie standing there.

“Ok. Well. I guess I’m not needed here. Have fun you two! Don’t do anything I would do!” Steve laughed and gave him a quick peck before leading his guest into the house.

After a few hours of polishing some tracks on the new album, Eddie headed back home. He hadn’t heard from Steve the whole time he was out, and hoped that everything went smoothly with his new friend. Or whatever the hell this was.

Opening his front door, he was greeted with the sounds of giggles, clinking glass, and… are they watching Twilight?!

He pulled out his phone and started recording as he walked into the living room. “Here I am, coming home after hours of slaving away on our new album to find THIS.” He flipped the camera around to a view of Steve and apparently his new best friend, snuggled under a blanket, wine glasses in hand, a few empty bottles on the table, surrounded by a mess of crumbs, giggling at blue-tinted vampires playing baseball.

He flipped the camera back to himself, sulking “I think I’ve been replaced.”

Internet: broken.

“Did they just become best friends?!”

“Awwwww I want Steve Snuggles!”

“Living for this!!!!”

“#stevesnuggles”

“Wait, did he make her a charcuterie board??”

In the weeks that followed, #stevesnuggles took over social media. Everyone and their mother was gushing about Eddie’s adorable husband, wanting to see more of him, and his snuggles. Eddie couldn’t blame them, really. The man is adorable. But he still wanted to keep sort of a lid on their private life, so he limited most of his posts to just Corroded Coffin content. Anticipation for the new album was amping up, a tour was being planned, and the buzz was buzzing.

Unfortunately with all of the work leading up to the release, Eddie wasn’t getting enough of his daily allotment of Steve Time. He was looking forward to the weekend when his schedule was clear so he could finally have some quality time with his husband and soak up all of those famous snuggles.

Life had other plans, though. Friday afternoon he got a text from Steve saying that it was his turn to host girls night. Again, why was Eddie not invited to these things?? Not that he was jealous. Of course not. That would be crazy. He resigned himself to the fact that tonight, he’d have to share his husband.

When he stepped into their home, he immediately recognized the honking laughter of a tipsy Robin, Nancy’s adorable giggle, but there were several other voices he couldn’t decipher. Thinking ahead, he once again pulled out his phone and started recording.

“HONEY, I’M HO- the fuck?!”

It took him a moment to register what he was seeing. He flipped the camera around to focus on the absurd cuddle puddle on the floor. In a pile of what must have been every blanket and pillow in the house, was the obvious collection of Steve, Nancy, Robin, and apparently now Ariana. But then…

“Sweetheart, why are Rhianna and Taylor Swift on our living room floor?”

Steve just looked up at him pie-eyed and sweetly stated, “Girls night!” to which the bizzare collection of women shouted, “Hi Eddie!”

How many times can you break the internet before it stays broken?

“WHAT. THE FUCK.”

“Ummmmm best girls night ever?”

“How do I get an invite??”

“So Steve is just a magnet for powerful women then. Got it.”

“#STEVESNUGGLES OMG!!!”

Steve snuggles indeed. Eddie was so used to being in the limelight, it was a strange adjustment to have his once under the radar husband be in such high demand. Every time he posted a TikTok of the band, the comments were flooded with requests for more Steve. He did sometimes cave and give the people what they wanted. Quick videos of Steve cooking them dinner while dancing to his god forsaken pop music, sneak peeks of some of their new songs with Steve singing along, and ok, one thirst trap of him working out in their home gym. Eddie was a just a man after all, and his husband was hot.

The album was finally released and sales were through the roof. Corroded Coffin had never sold so many copies before and someone from the label insisted that their TikTok presence had everything to do with it. Was it actually them, or the love for Steve? Who’s to say. Either way, their concerts across the country were sold out in a matter of minutes and the band couldn’t wait to kick off their next tour.

The first show was in LA and Eddie had planned to do a quick TikTok before they took the stage. He started in the hallway backstage, welcoming everyone to the start of the tour, and made his way into the green room. “Alright everyone, let’s check in quick with the band and make sure these dickheads are ready to go! BOYS! ARE WE - Steve?! What the hell?”

He flipped the camera around to the view of Steve happily scrolling on his phone on one of the couches. With Dua Lipa cuddled up on one side of him and Lady goddamn Gaga on the other. What the fuck is his life?

“Babe! Hi! The girls were in town and came by to check out the show!”

“I’m sorry… THE GIRLS?! How do you even know them?!”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him like he was an idiot and said, “Lipa was on SNL and she had Robin get us connected. And Jon did a photo shoot with Stef and…basically the same thing.”

Stef?! Who the fuck is Stef? Wait right… Lada Gaga is a stage name.

Eddie flipped the camera back on himself and just. Stared. “I…I don’t know what the fuck is happening.”

Queue the comments.

“Ok is he like best friends with EVERY icon?!”

“Steve IS the icon! 💅”

“What’s a girl gotta do to get some #stevesnuggles in here?!”

“Omfg Eddie’s never gonna get his own #stevesnuggles now is he?”

“SHARE THE WEALTH”

“I can’t believe this app is free”

From there on the tour went off without a hitch and fans in every city were rabid for the new album. And of course Steve. Goddamnit. He’d occasionally see people in the crowd with “#stevesnuggles” t-shirts, or hear chants of “We want Steve!” Yeah, Eddie gets it. He wants Steve too. For himself.

Eddie took to posting a lot of videos from backstage with the band, sound checks, screwing around with the crew. And of course to appease the masses, some of Steve in his element. Putting on Gareth’s eyeliner, helping Jeff pick out his stage clothes, and rubbing Eddie’s shoulders after a grueling show. Just Steve mother henning everyone.

When they made it to New York, they had an appearance on SNL a few days before their concert. They got to catch up with Robin, meet the cast, and get a feel for what went into producing the show. Eddie hadn’t heard who the host was, not that it probably mattered much since they’d only see them at the end-of-show sign off.

He was in the middle of doing a livestream behind the scenes, walking the legendary halls of Studio 8H when he popped into his dressing room to show off the digs. “And here we have my office for the night…. Uh. Stevie? What? The fuck?” He turned the camera around to see Steve snuggled up with… goddamn Beyoncé.

“Hey babe! Did you meet Bee yet? She’s hosting tonight!”

No the fuck he didn’t meet “Bee!” And sorry, his husband is already on a nickname basis with this Queen?! Who the hell did he marry??

Goodbye internet.

“HOLY. SHIT.”

“Seriously, gay men have all the luck.”

“Two absolute queens, omg”

“BEYONCÉ GETS #STEVESNUGGLES OMG!!!”

“Eddie, your husband belongs to Bee now, my condolences”

“Don’t tell Jay Z”

The show went well even though Eddie was visibly shook by his husband’s new friend. Seriously, what is his life?! How much further was this going to go? He was relieved when the tour finally ended and they could go back to their bubble of domestic bliss. That is, until the next girls night probably!

Once they were back home and settled into their routine, he realized he needed to make some more content now that things have calmed down. Privacy was always important to him, but after a night of taking his husband apart over and over, he smirked and had an idea.

Quietly grabbing his phone off the nightstand, he started recording. Steve with his chaotic sex hair, neck covered in hickies, and curled up sound asleep on Eddie’s chest. A chest that was decorated in tattoos and nipple piercings, as well as fresh scratch marks. Eddie smirked at the camera, winked and whispered “hashtag Steve snuggles.”

RIP internet.

[fictionalmenobsessor]

RULES ─ MASTERLIST ─ REQ BOX

CW: !!!NSFW MDNI!!!, afab reader, cowgirl, bulge kink, breeding kink, baby trapping.

this is part 2, to part one 😘

song for the chapter: Leave Me Lonely - Ariana Grande

ex-husband?!Simon, who eventually convinces you to let him come inside to talk once he finds out that your daughter isn’t home, and is actually at her grandparents for the night.

ex-husband?!Simon, who listens to all of your concerns when you are on the couch together; holding your hand in his with devoted eyes, thinking to himself that you were as beautiful as the day he lost you, possibly even more so.

ex-husband?!Simon, who rubs his thumb up and down the back of your palm trying to soothe you as you choke up into tears.

ex-husband?!Simon, who brings you into his lap, engulfing you in a hug with his big burly arms. stroking your hair as you sobbed into his shoulder, letting all of the pain you’ve accumulated wash over you in one fell swoop.

ex-husband?!Simon, who brings your head back so you can see him after you’ve calmed down. wiping away the tears and snot on your face, before giving you a kiss on the forehead.

ex-husband?!Simon, who presses back when you suddenly kiss him, cupping both sides of your face with his calloused hands; tugging down on your lip with his teeth to force his tongue through.

ex-husband?!Simon, who ran his hands up and down your body, before landing on your hips. gently squeezing the soft, plush fat surrounding them as he brought you higher up on his lap.

ex-husband?!Simon, who lets out a string of groans as you start to rock your hips over the growing bulge beneath your thinly clothed cunt; slick and throbbing, you try to soothe the increasingly hot ache between your thighs.

ex-husband?!Simon, who hikes up the lacy hem of your nightdress, and roughly tugs aside your panties, like they shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

ex-husband?!Simon, who glides the pad of his thumb over the pearly nub on your clit, going in motions that has you writhing and begging for him to at least use one finger against your velvet walls.

ex-husband?!Simon, who eventually gives in, gliding his ring finger into your sopping cunt, watching the way your juices collected on the silver band.

ex-husband?!Simon, who pulled out his digit before you reached your impending orgasm, because according to him:

“The only thing that you’re going to be coming on is my cock. Okay, sweetheart?”

You fumbled with his belt buckle, your mind still fogged from the rejection of what you desperately craved. No needed.

He lifted his hips so you could tug down his jeans and boxers. His strained cock hit his lower abdomen, angry red tip leaking with beads of pre-cum.

With your panties still pushed to the side haphazardly, you grab ahold of Simon’s broad shoulders for stability; watching as he grabs his thick, leaky cock and align himself with your entrance.

Slowly sinking down, you fold your bottom lip into your mouth to force back a moan, teeth digging into the flesh severely. As much as you loved. Love? No. Loved, Simon, you couldn’t let him know that he still had an effect on you after all this time.

After a few moments of adjusting to his size, pussy fluttering around him to accommodate his size you started to roll your hips, gathering a rhythm that left you both short for air.

Gaining a bit more confidence, you bounce up and down on his cock. Simon’s dick hitting the gummy bundle of nerves tucked away inside you that made your toes curl; thighs trembling as your orgasm attempts to wash over you.

A deep, desperate groan echoed through your ears, “Fuck." He panted, pawing at your ass, "I've missed this pretty pussy so much. And I bet she's missed me too, yeah?"

Nodding your head feverously, you tried to focus on the euphoria you were about to experience in the horizon. Just as you were teetering on the edge, he must've felt a change; grabbing your hips, he flipped you over, denying your orgasm once more.

"You fucking asshole!" You seethed, hitting him on the chest.

"Don't." He snatched your wrists, flashing you a harsh glare. "Now you're going to behave and come on my cock when I tell you to, because I can stop all of this in a heartbeat."

In all honesty, you would’ve done anything for him. With a small nod of your head, he hoisted your legs over his shoulders, burying his throbbing cock deeper into your velvet walls; desperate with the need to come, he clenched his jaw and started his onslaught. He wasn't done with you; not yet.

Pursuing fuller strokes, he looked down at your lower abdomen, waiting to see the bump of his tip on the outside of your precious, fertile, vacant womb.

Your jaw slacked from being stuffed full of his cock. A distorted whine clawed up your throat as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“Good girl, you’re takin’ my cock s’well.” He smirked, now looking back up at you, and driving his hips faster. Your heels dug into his shoulders, pussy clenching him like a vice.

“Please, Si.” You whispered, clinging onto his chest like you clung onto your destined euphoria.

“Please wha’?” He mocked, looking down at you condescendingly; mixing his strokes with either quick and short jabs, or long and heavy thrusts. Only because he wanted to be an asshole and make you choke on your words as you tried to answer him.

You tried to form sentences, you really did, but it only came out as incomprehensible garble.

Pulling yourself together, you forced out, “Please let me cum, Si.”

“It’s cute y’think y’had a choice.” He teased. His pelvis snapped up faster, turning the coil in your stomach faster in doing so.

"Please, Si. I-" You cut yourself by an annoyed whine; not wanting to hold on any longer, and release the overstimulation consuming your body, "-I can't anymore."

"S’okay." He mumbled, stroking a piece of hair out of your face, looking into your teary, glistening cockdrunk eyes. “Cum aroun’ my cock jus’ like that. I’ve got you.”

ex-husband?!Simon, who promises to pump your pussy full of his milky seed; fucking it inside your womb over, and over again, to ensure you’re round with all of his future kids.

please don’t be too harsh this is my first time writing smut which is why it took so long to post 😔

[readychilledwine]

Mister Grumpy Pantseses

Summary - All you wanted was a day in the vegetable garden with your husbands. Your husbands just wanted to spend the day at each other's throats.

Warnings - a bit of a communication issue trope, grumpy sunshine, reader is Tamlin's sister and uses one of his tactics, jealousy, name calling, Fluff, reader is a literal ray of joy

Prompt - Day 5 - Favorite Tropes

A/N - Happy @polyacotarweek day 5! I am running a little behind, so my other fave trope will be up later, but enjoy a little grumpy azris with their sunshine reader with a bit of miscommunication

💕Poly+ACOTAR Week Masterlist💕

 “Fucking asshole.”

“Azriel!”

“Bastard.”

“Eris!” You pouted at your mates, sighing as they glared at each other. "Can we please have a nice breakfast? We have so much work to do in the garden if we want the vegetables ready in time to take to the hungry. We need to have energy."

Azriel grumbled an agreement while Eris rolled his eyes. “I am more than happy to spend time with you, foxling. It is that one I can't stand the sight of right now.”

"Eris!"

“Eris, our mate is asking you to stop being an entitled, self righteous, snake for one day. Surely you can handle that.”

“Azriel!”

“You're the one who set me off this morning, Azriel. Must you always run around brooding?” You felt yourself slowly sinking into your chair. The males you love most were both tired, so very tired. They were stressed from their duties and all you wanted was to love and help them.

They had not spent time with just each other in a few weeks. Eris had been too heavily scented on their last night together. It had been Azriel's way of telling you hello, but it lingered, dancing into the air during breakfast at the Forest House the next day. You had glamored it well enough from everyone but his mother. She seemed to see through you and Eris. Almost like she knew you two were hiding something or someone. Eris had caved, telling her everything about Azriel. Her advice had been simple, protect him. 

And Eris had taken that as, “Avoid him.” 

You looked between your two glaring mates, heartbroken at how their sadness was turning to grumpiness. “I'm going to go to the garden. Maybe you two should talk.” You left before one of them could respond then smiled, warding them in the cabin. If they wouldn't talk willingly, you'd force them to!

Azriel glared at Eris, and the heir returned it fully. “Our mate, our beautiful, selfless, and kind mate is outside by herself. Working in that damned garden. Because you want to be a grumpy asshole.”

Eris looked shocked, eyes wide as his jaw dropped. “I haven't done anything! I tried to greet you last night, and you ignored me in favor of y/n. Then this morning you wouldnt even kiss me good morning!”

“Can you blame me? She at least answers when I write.” Azriel watched the hit land, watched as Eris seemed to deflate. 

“I missed you. Regardless of how you feel, I missed you.” Eris stood to go out the door and jumped back as he was shocked. “Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

Azriel felt his face fall as well, walking to the after he did and jumping back as he was shocked as well. “Took that straight out of her brother's book, didn't she?” 

Eris couldn't help but laugh. “She doesn't even know he did that. I keep her here and away from him and Rhysand lately. It would break her heart all over again."

Azriel then began to laugh too, “She hates when we are mean to each other.”

“Because the world should be sunshine and rainbows.”

“And we are grumpy.” 

The ward seemed to lessen as the two males laughed before moving to the large sliding door that overlooked your garden. You were laughing, the rays of light seeming to want to follow and dance with you. You were such a breath of air. Untouched by the cruelty of the world and sheltered. It had turned you into the happiest female the two of them had ever met. The glass was always half full in your mind if you didn't decide that it was already running over and just a teeny tiny cup. 

Being paired with them, two grumpy and brooding males, seemed unfair to you most days. You were always laughing, always making jokes, and for 300 years, Eris had protected you from it being any other way. When he had taken you to a diplomatic meeting pre-Amarantha though, that had all changed. 

The bond snapping between you and Azriel had been difficult, life changing, and rewarding. He pursued you, regardless of your known status as Eris's wife and mate, and his pursuit paid off. It had kept you safe from Amarantha, and once they all had been freed, the bond between him and Eris snapped. 

That had been a different journey. The two of them were constantly butting heads, constantly arguing, constantly making you cry. It all ended though when Eris had been brave enough to bluntly address the situation. He had pulled Azriel to him, crashing his lips down on his, and the rest became history. Where everyone else saw a fight during the High Lord's meeting, you saw foreplay. 

Azriel sighed, watching you, and then turned back to Eris. “Why did you avoid me? I worried I had hurt you.” 

“You scented me too heavily. She could hardly hide it.”

Azriel nodded, a scarred hand then taking the other male's calloused one. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. She focused on hiding it from him.”

“I am sorry.”

Eris whispered the words back before leaning his head on Azriel's shoulder. “She's so beautiful and happy.”

“You are also beautiful,” Azriel looked him over. “Though, you are as she says, a grumpy pants.”

Eris huffed. “Odd. She says the same of you.” The ward seemed to drop fully. Allowing Azriel to reach his hands out to door and slide it open. “Brat.” He muttered.

“You'll take care of that later.”

“And you will help?”

You smiled as your mates walked out before jumping with glee. “Eris! There's a bunny!”

“Yeah? I'm sure we have many bunnies, my love.”

You glared at him before turning to Azriel. “Azriel!” You paused dramatically. “There's a bunny!”

The shadowsinger looked to the heir, a small smirk on his face as you stuck your tongue out at him. “Show me, starlight.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria

Poly+ACOTAR Week Taglist

@amara-moonlight @toporecall @littlestw01f @prettylittlewrites @anuttellaa @nayaniasworld @123345566

Ps- I had to fix the tags! I apologize!

[flickering-chandelier]

The Sweetest Con

Pairing: Modern! Rhysand x Reader

Summary: You and Rhys are rival lawyers, but when a case stumps him, you find yourself in a situation you never thought you would be in.

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: Sorry to any lawyers out there, I do not know what I’m talking about lol.

Word Count: 3.2k

All morning you had been steeling yourself, trying to mentally prepare for the meeting that was about to take place, the lawyer that you were about to see. 

Rhysand.

Honestly, you figured you would rather go up against pretty much anyone else in the world. It wasn’t just that he was conceited and obnoxious, which he definitely was. It wasn’t even the smugness that was a constant feature of his face.

No, the real problem was that he was good. Really good. 

And he knew it.

You had been the city’s top lawyer until he showed up nearly a year ago. Suddenly he was giving you a run for your money and competing with you for the clients with the biggest names. 

It was maddening. You hated him. You really, truly hated him. 

Which, of course, he loved.

This case was pretty minor in the grand scheme of things. An ex husband and wife land dispute. Your client, Amelia, was suing Rhysand’s client, trying to get the house. The four of you, the plaintiff, the defendant, and the lawyers, were holding a meeting to see if this could be worked out amicably. You always liked to take an opportunity to avoid playing dirty if you could help it.

Rhysand, of course, was just the opposite. It had taken many phone calls and a lot of pleading on your end to get him to even show up with his client. 

He stared across the table at you now, his eyes dark, unwavering. He was trying to intimidate you, you knew, but you were holding strong. You had never been someone who scared easily. And you were determined. You would not lose this case.

---

You lost the case. 

Amelia folded, giving in, letting her asshole ex-husband keep the house that she had helped him buy nearly a decade ago.

You were furious. Not at her, not at anybody but Rhysand, who had somehow been able to persuade your client that he knew what was best. 

The clients had left, and you had packed up your things, partway out the door when Rhysand purred after you, “Hey, Killer?”

Your shoulders tensed and you turned back to glare at him. “Don’t call me that.”

Rhysand smirked, his eyes dancing with delight. “Better luck next time.”

As you walked to your car, you were absolutely sure. You hated that man.

---

Weeks later, you were combing through files in your office for a case you were working on when your office phone rang. 

You let out a sigh when you recognized the number.

“What do you want?” you asked, your tone sharp. 

A deep chuckle on the other end. “That’s how you answer the phone?”

“When you’re the one calling.”

“Fair enough,” Rhysand said goodnaturedly. “I was hoping you could swing by my office sometime in the next few days. Whenever it’s convenient for you.”

You couldn’t help but pause for a beat in confusion, both at the request, and at his genial tone. “Why on earth would I do that?” 

Rhysand sighed quietly, seemingly resigned. “I need your help.”

His office was about what you had expected. A huge, deep mahogany desk, black armchairs, black drapes to block out the blinding afternoon sun from the window behind him. It was dark and imposing, just like the man himself. As always, he was wearing an all-black suit, and as always, he was looking at you with a twinkle in his eye, like he knew more than you did. 

In this case, you supposed it was true.

“I don’t understand,” you said finally. “What could I possibly help you with?”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair casually, placing his hands behind his head. It irritated you how nonchalant, how in control he always seemed. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, Killer, you’re smart. You pay attention to details, pick up on important pieces that a lot of lawyers would miss.”

You narrowed your eyes at the vexing nickname he had given you, but decided to let it pass. “So?” you asked. 

“So,” he said, drawing out the word, “this case I’ve been working on… it’s gotten complicated. And I could use a fresh pair of eyes to help untangle it.”

You crossed your arms, your eyes widening slightly, unable to hide your shock. “Me? I’m really the one you want help from?”

He blinked. “Yes. Did you not hear what I said?”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you said, “I heard it, but I still don’t understand. We work at separate firms. You and I, we compete for clients all the time. Working together under the circumstances… it’s unheard of.”

Rhysand leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him, his eyes sparking, his mouth curling up into a smirk. “Wouldn’t that make it all the more fun?”

“Fun?” You asked in disbelief. “Working with you?”

His smirk only grew. “Oh, I’m very fun. I promise.”

You bit your lip, your mind whirling. This man bothered you to no end. You would rather work with anyone else. 

And yet��� 

It had been months since you had a case you could really sink your teeth into, one that you felt really mattered. On top of that, once word got out that you two, longtime rivals, were actually working together on a case? This could be huge for your career. 

Resignedly, you said, “Tell me everything I need to know.”

Rhysand grinned. “Gladly.”

---

You could understand why someone might want help with a case like this.  It was intense, with contradicting witnesses, no clear evidence, and to top it all off, it was high profile. 

The two of you spent hours in Rhysand’s office, combing over files while Rhysand talked, catching you up to speed. 

By the time you felt like you had a solid grasp of the case, the sun had set. You looked up from the file in front of you, your mind spinning from all of the information. Rhysand looked exhausted, though infuriatingly, still completely put together. 

His eyes softened a bit as he looked back at you, his brows furrowing together slightly. “We can pick this back up tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” he said decisively, snapping the folder in front of him shut. “We're not going to get any more work done if we’re this exhausted anyway.”

You nodded, tidying up the many folders on your side of Rhysand’s desk before slinging your gigantic purse over your shoulder.

You had turned for the door, but stopped short at Rhysand’s smug voice behind you, “You want to grab dinner?”

Narrowing your eyes, you turned back to face him. “With you? Absolutely not.”

His eyes sparkled with delight, his mouth curling up into a smirk. “Why not?”

“I still hate you. Working one case together won’t change that.”

Rhysand laughed. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

For several days, you got through your to-do list at your own office as quickly as possible to give you and Rhysand ample time to pore over documents, make calls, and bicker about what steps to take next. 

It was exhausting working with him. Even though he had been the one to seek out your “fresh eyes,” he still always thought that he was right. 

“I’m telling you this guy’s a dead end. I’ve spoken with him twice already,” Rhysand said, clearly exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. 

“And I’m telling you that you’re wrong. We’re missing something here, I know it.”

Rhysand sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Fine. But it’s too late to talk to him tonight, so we’ll have to pick this back up tomorrow.”

“Fine,” you said begrudgingly. 

He looked at you with resignation as you gathered your things, like he was regretting ever getting you involved. Then, he said matter of factly, “Let’s get dinner.” 

You scowled. “I told you--”

“I know, I know. You hate me,” he said, shutting down his computer and standing up, stretching his arms over his head. “But we both need to eat.”

He just continued looking at you until you rolled your eyes and agreed.

After arguing for several minutes, you finally chose a restaurant that you both liked, and before long, you were settled into a comfy booth with Rhysand looking across the table at you. He always looked like he was scrutinizing every part of you, like he could see straight through to your soul.

You hated to admit it, but his eyes… they shone even in the dim lighting, so blue they were almost purple. You had never seen eyes like his in your life. 

His eyebrow lifted, his mouth curling into a smirk, and you realized you had been staring for too long. Hastily, you opened your menu, scanning its contents, though you could still feel his eyes on you.

Once you ordered, he cleared his throat, pinning you with his stare once again.

“What?” you lashed out. You felt like he was driving you insane.

Blinking in surprise, he asked, “What?”

“Why are you always staring at me?”

He laughed, his whole face lighting up. “I’m pretty sure you were staring at me.”

“I was not,” you countered, but even to your own ears, your voice sounded too high, too defensive.

Grinning, he said, “You were.”  

You just rolled your eyes, desperately trying to think of a topic change. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked suddenly.

That was not the topic change that you were expecting. You looked at him in surprise for a moment, then counted the reasons on your fingers, “You came into town and stole half my clients, you’re the most arrogant and smug man I’ve ever met in my life, you’ve beaten me in too many cases to count and then rubbed it in my face, you’ve given me a weird nickname that I don’t understand, and you clearly hate me.” 

You paused for a moment to look at him. He was gazing at you with the same smug, slightly amused expression he always wore. “Does that about cover it, or do you want me to keep going?” you asked. 

“I’ve never hated you,” he said simply, his eyes softening a little. 

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you tried to put the pieces together, to decipher this impossible man. He looked confident and calm as ever, but somehow, you believed him. It didn’t seem like he was lying. 

“Well. You could’ve fooled me,” you said finally, unable to tear your gaze from his.

“The rest is true, obviously,” he smirked, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “But I thought this was all friendly competition until you kept deciding to tell me that you couldn’t stand me.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say. You felt like your mind was completely blank and it didn’t help that he was still pinning you down with those ridiculously piercing eyes.

“Why do you call me Killer?” You eventually spat out.

His smirk turned into a real smile. “The same reason I wanted your help. You’ve got a killer instinct.”

You snorted in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?” he asked, laughing. “Yes, seriously.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, but you found yourself unable to resist a small smile.

He just smiled at you, and through the rest of dinner, somehow, you felt your hatred for Rhysand dimming. 

---

Things felt… different, after that dinner with Rhysand. You were both friendlier, less cordial. It seemed that you worked better together too, as you would bicker slightly less often. 

He still pissed you off sometimes, to be clear, but it didn’t feel as deep as it did before. The two of you would get dinner together a few times a week now, and you wouldn’t even talk about work for many of them. 

Rhysand and you were… friends.

You were still getting used to the idea. 

Rhysand seemed thrilled. You had never seen him in a better mood than he had been the last few weeks.

As the two of you sat at dinner that night though, you felt lost in thought. There was something about the case that you were missing, something that didn’t add up.

“What is it?” he asked, his eyebrow arching up.

You took a deep breath, tapping your fingers on the table. “We’re missing something.”

Rhysand looked at the table. “What, do you need more ketchup?”

Rolling your eyes good naturedly, you waved him off. “The case, Rhys. We’re missing something about the case.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and listened intently while you worked through your thoughts out loud, going over the notes and evidence you two had found the past several weeks, until it hit you. 

“The cameras,” you said hastily. “We’re missing footage.”

“How would you know that?” he asked. 

You explained your thought process, how you remember seeing a camera in a spot that you never saw in footage that the company handed over. 

“And if they didn’t give us that footage on purpose…” you trailed off.

“They’re hiding something from us,” Rhys finished.

You hadn’t felt like you had a real lead in ages. “We need to get back to the office.”

Rhys shook his head as he pulled cash out of his wallet and threw it onto the table. “We just need a computer. It would be faster to go to my place.”

You were too excited, too focused on the case to argue.

And so, that’s how you found yourself in Rhysand’s apartment.

The two of you were so engrossed in this revelation though, that you hardly noticed. You both sat at his dining room table, leaning in close over his laptop, focused on finding the missing piece that you so desperately needed. 

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed before you excitedly pointed to the screen, “There!”

Rhysand went completely still beside you as he saw what you were pointing to. The answer to all your questions. It was what you needed to solve the case, you were sure of it. 

You hadn’t realized how close you were sitting to him until you both looked at each other in disbelief, your faces only inches apart. 

“You did it,” he said quietly, his eyes shining. “This is exactly what we needed.”

It took all you had to maintain eye contact with him. You felt like you could fall right into his eyes and drown. 

When his eyes darted down to your lips for a moment, you felt your breath catch.

It didn’t seem real, somehow, when Rhysand leaned forward and met your lips with his, bringing his hand to cradle the back of your head comfortingly. Within a few moments, you were balling your fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. 

You gasped when he wrapped his hands around the backs of your thighs, picking you up in one fluid motion and carrying you to the couch, his lips trailing down your neck as he went.

Keeping his hold on you, he sat down on the couch, his hands trailing up to your hips as you straddled him, leaning in to kiss him again.

Rhysand. Your mind tried to make sense of it. You’re kissing Rhysand, of all people. And worse, there was fire flooding through your veins, your skin tingling with a need you hadn’t felt in a ridiculously long time. 

And it was Rhysand who was making you feel like this.

When his hips jerked up and met yours, when you could feel just how badly he wanted you too, all your thoughts went out the window, and you just needed him.

As if he could read your mind, his hands started to wander across your body, in all the places that you had suddenly become desperate for him to touch. 

After a moment though, reality began to set in again. Your mind began to wander. This had to be a bad idea.

Rhys felt the change in your body language and stopped what he was doing, leaning back to peer at your face. “What is it?” he asked softly.

“I…” you hesitated, unable to find the words. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” he said, gently guiding you off his lap so you sat next to him. “Are you okay?”

Your heart melted the slightest bit before you could stop it. “I’m fine. It’s just… this can’t be a good idea.”

“We hate each other,” you said, exasperated.

He blinked in confusion. “Why?”

Rhysand laughed incredulously. “You really still believe that?”

Your face heated. No. Obviously not. He had even told you himself that he never hated you. 

With a resigned sigh you said quietly, “No.”

“What’s really going on?” he asked softly. 

Biting your lip, you tried to think of a suitable answer, even when you finally recognized the truth in yourself. 

You had feelings for him. You had for weeks.

And if you let this happen, you would have to come to terms with that.

That, and the fact that he might not feel the same about you. That this could all just be a fun hookup for him. 

You couldn’t live with that. 

And you obviously couldn’t tell him that. 

“Nothing,” you said finally, quietly. “We just can’t.”

Rhysand shook his head. “I don’t believe you,” he said gently. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something?”

“No,” you said, your voice breaking. “You didn’t do anything.”

You hid your face in your hands and you felt him sit up straighter next to you.

“Then what is it?”

“Oh,” he said quietly after a moment. 

“Oh?” you asked, your voice muffled.

“Let me just make one thing clear,” he said, his voice still gentle but slightly more authoritative now. “This isn’t a one-time thing for me. I like you. I have since we met.”

You pulled your face from your hands and looked at him incredulously. “What?”

He nodded, the smallest smile gracing his expression, so different from his usual smirk. 

“Why were you such an asshole then?”

“I was just trying to get a rise out of you! I thought we were playing around, I didn’t know you actually hated me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. This whole time.

The two of you were quiet for a moment before Rhysand said, “This is the part where you say how you feel about me.”

You groaned, unable to form the words. 

So instead, you looked at him for a moment, at those gorgeous, purple eyes that you had become so accustomed to, and you kissed him.

--- 

A year later, you gave Rhysand a quick kiss before you both exited the car and walked into your very own law firm. 

Well, yours and Rhysand’s, of course. 

You got to work together on a fresh new case, one that you were both excited about. One that could really help people.

And you couldn't imagine being happier.

@loving-and-dreaming @birdsflyhome @hanuh @sheblogs @iambored24601 @thalia-as-blog @evergreenlark @ecliphttlunar @bookloverandalsocats @melmo567 @headacheseason @sillysillygoose444 @yourqueenlilith @mariamay02 @halibshepherd @azrielshadows1nger @cigvrette-dvydrevms @andreperez11 @lilah-asteria @marina468

[kentopedia]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ BY ANY OTHER NAME — dazai osamu

summary . . . dazai comes home after a week away, and you stay up late to surprise him with a gift.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader, pm boss dazai, dazai's pov, fluff, pet names, husband dazai <3, my unofficial valentine’s fic — 2.3k

notes . . . IM BACK !!!! he can stop whining about being neglected now (i missed him)

Dazai rubs his eyes as he walks in through the front doors of the Port Mafia headquarters, two of his men trailing behind him. The lights have been dimmed in the lobby, just bright enough to read through a sheet of paper without squinting. There are very few people loitering in the building, but that isn’t unusual for three o’clock in the morning. 

The sight of the lobby, as abysmal and dreary as it is, soothes the ache that’s been lingering in Dazai’s chest. It’s been a while since he’s been home; the past week was dedicated to doing business outside of the city. But it feels like it’s been even longer than that since he’s gotten to kiss you.

Dazai had called you every day when he was away — of course he did. His every thought revolves around you. It’s just that a few phone calls are nothing compared to being close enough to touch you.

“All set then, boss?” Chuuya asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looks every bit as tired as Dazai feels. None of them had gotten much sleep on the mission away, and the weariness is finally settling down on them.

Dazai nods and waves his hands, dismissing Chuuya. “Get some rest. But don’t think that you can miss out on the meeting tomorrow just because we got back late,” he hums, and though Chuuya’s face twists up in annoyance, a fraction of a grin lingers on Dazai’s own. “I expect you there bright and early.” 

“Asshole,” Chuuya mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes. And, in all honesty, Dazai is too tired to even quip back. 

He watches as Chuuya and the rest of his team disperse. Some of them head to the elevator, choosing to remain under the safety of the Mafia’s ownership. Some leave the building, heading to their private homes, outside of the city.

Dazai doesn’t really care where they choose to reside, as long as they remain loyalty to him and the Mafia. So far, he hasn’t had any issues.

With a quick scan around the room, he notices that there are still eyes on him. Dazai refrains from yawning, even as the sleepy feeling creeps up on him, an almost uncontrollable strain of the muscles. It’s a simple bodily reaction, but it feels too much like an emotion, a weakness that he could reveal. How tiring it is, to be the boss, with every eye scutinizing him, searching for a mistake. 

He’s a lot more relaxed around the members he’d been a child with; they disliked the previous bosses more than they dislike him, but some still miss when Mori was alive. Some, he worries, know they’ll never be able to land a finger on Dazai — you are the much easier target. 

It’s a fear that has never left him alone, not since the day he fell in love with you. 

When his eyes slide to the corner of the room, he notices that Higuchi and Gin are still downstairs, conversing in whispers in front of a corner table. 

His eyebrows wrinkle together. They’re supposed to be with you, still watching out in case anyone decides to make a move before you’re back in his arms. 

Dazai heads toward them, straightening his lips into a scowl. He knows that neither of them particularly like him; their feelings are nothing short of neutral. But they are fiercely loyal to you.

As much as he’d like to snap at someone in his weathered state, he knows neither of them would ever do anything to put you in danger. He also knows that if you’d begged them to be left alone, they would’ve complied. 

“Higuchi,” Dazai says, his voice flattened, serious, as he tries to hide both his exhaustion and his confusion. “Is something wrong?”

The blonde straightens, her expression changing quickly from an easy smile to something anxiously stoic. Her eyes shift from him to Gin, and though she always puts on a very brave face, Dazai knows how much he intimidates her — just as Mori did before him. 

“Sorry, sir,” Higuchi says, and she steps to the side, a space between her and the other woman revealing you asleep on the table. “We thought you’d be back earlier. She wanted to stay down here and surprise you, but it got late, and…” Higuchi trails off, noticing that Dazai is already distracted, his expression softening. 

It is, perhaps, the reason that so many in the Port Mafia choose to win you over. There is very little that Dazai forgives, very little that he lets slide. You, though, have a heart that is much softer, a gentleness that he has never once in his life possessed. The bleeding organ caged within his chest is made of blooming flowers when it comes to you, ones with petals he’d let you pluck off without a single protest. 

“Oh,” Dazai says, the syllable nothing more than a puff of air, parting his cold lips. His eyes soften, body relaxing, every ounce of tension draining from his shoulders. He feels lighter, those sickening thoughts of blood and misery evaporating from his mind like a cartoonish puff of smoke. “I see.”

One of your arms is stretched out across the table, the other tucked under your head, creating a right angle from your wrist to your elbow. There is a dark shade of lipstick on your mouth, that has now smeared to your cheeks. Only one of your eyes is visible, the other pressed into your bicep. 

You’re a mess, but you’re so human; angelically beautiful, but not without the faults of a mortal. He loves you so dearly that his chest squeezes, and though Gin and Higuchi are watching, he knows—and they know—that he’s never been good at hiding his feelings for you. 

“Thank you,” Dazai says, tapping Higuchi on the shoulder. She seems to flinch at the sudden contact, but relaxes, and nods. “For staying with her.”

Higuchi is surprised by the acknowledgement, but she just bows her head, laughs, almost awkwardly, and backs away from him. “I consider her a friend. I don’t need to be thanked.”

“It’s polite to thank people for the work they’ve done for you,” Dazai says, and though he’s, perhaps, being uncharacteristically nice, you’ve softened him like butter, making him sickeningly saccharine. “Is it not?”

Higuchi opens her mouth, then draws her eyebrows together before shutting it. Better to let it go than question Dazai’s newfound benevolence — something he will spare only so often.

But she surprises Dazai with a small grin, her bangs falling into her eyes as she tilts her head just to the side. “Your darling wife has trained you well,” Higuchi says, much braver than she’d been months ago, braver still, than she’d been under Mori’s regime. 

Dazai thinks he’s grown too soft in his years with you. Though, one scan of your darling, sleeping figure erases any regret he could ever feel. 

He’s surprised by Higuchi’s reaction, but he doesn’t let it show, a smile sliding smoothly on his face before a sharp laugh escapes from him. “I’ve just grown to trust you more, Higuchi. I know that you would never betray her.” 

Higuchi smiles; there’s a fresh understanding between them that wasn’t there before. 

Dazai loves you, he loves you dearly, but he is lucky that so many others do too. How many people has he won over in the Mafia, just by being associated with you? How many have sworn their loyalty to him, only because they’re forever loyal to you? 

He supposes it doesn’t matter. You’ve got a pretty ring on your finger to prove that you’re as much his as you are the Port Mafia’s, and he doesn’t intend on ever letting you go.

Gin and Higuchi bid him a good night, and his exhaustion finally starts to overcome him, the stickiness in the back of his throat giving way to pain, his eyelids thin and scratchy. 

Dazai runs his hands over your head softly, stirring you back awake. It must be painful, the position you’re in, and he can only imagine how stiff you are. When he touches your cheek, you make a soft little sound under your breath; Dazai nearly melts.

“Sweetheart,” he hums, dragging his fingertips across your arms. “Let’s go.” 

It takes a few seconds longer before you jolt a bit, eyes fluttering open softly. You’d been in a surprisingly deep sleep, despite the lights on in the room, the rustling sound that follows the people walking around.

“Osamu?” 

Dazai hums an affirmation, and then he kisses you, just the corner of your mouth, the only part of it that he can reach. “You fell asleep,” he says, just above a whisper, kneeling slightly as you make your way to a seated position. “Time to go upstairs.”  

But you’re still half-asleep, and you fall forward, into his arms, throwing them around his neck. You smell something of fresh soap and roses, overwhelmingly sweet. Dazai almost can’t believe he’d been able to leave you for so long.  

“You’re back!” you mutter, and though it’s full of excitement, its also said through a yawn.

Dazai smiles, and breathes you in. “I am.”

“I missed you,” you kiss his shoulder, the juncture between it and his neck. “Sorry I wasn’t awake when you got here.” 

He runs his fingers up your spine and laughs, shaking his head. “It’s the middle of the night, my love. I would’ve preferred you were asleep, anyway.” A pout forms against his neck; he quickly remedies his words, and kisses the top of your head. “But I’m happy to see you. I was certainly surprised.” 

You laugh, breathless. “Not much of a surprise with me passed out on the table.” 

Dazai starts to pull away, but notices the bouquet of bright red roses on the table. It’s large — dozens and dozens of flowers stuck into the paper. They’re your favorites, ones that he always gets you, the stamp on the packaging from the same florist he shops from. His eyebrows wrinkle together. 

“Who are the flowers from?” he says, and though he tries to keep his tone unassuming, he knows how it sounds… Irritated, and perhaps a little too much like a man willing to skin anyone alive. 

You pull your head away from his shoulder and glance behind you, to the bouquet that is laid carefully against the table. “Oh,” you say, your eyes darting back down to your hands, in a way that is almost bashful. “They’re from me, actually. For you.” 

Carefully, you pick them up and hand them to him, smiling sideways and awkwardly.  

Dazai’s eyes widen. He glances at the flowers being presented to him, stares at the golden and diamond ring upon your finger, the vulnerability in your irises as you reach out the bouquet. His doubt is only obvious for a second, but it is enough to have you questioning your surprise. 

You frown, withdraw, and begin to set the bouquet down. “Do you not like them? I know they’re more of something I would like, but I just thought… Well, I love when you buy me flowers, Osamu. And you just have so many things, I thought this would be more—”

Dazai smiles. He is sick with affection, devastatingly in love with you and everything that you have to offer. You could have given him nothing, and he still would have stared at you with stars in his eyes, because you are the universe that he revolves around. You could’ve given him the world, and it wouldn’t have mattered, because he wants you and you alone, and no gift can compare to the way that you love him. 

He kisses you, catches you in the middle of a sentence, steals the air right from your lungs. The taste of you is even sweeter after so much time apart, and he curls his fingers into your scalp, traces your cheeks with his thumb. “I love you,” he says against your mouth, whispers the words, even though everyone around them sees his feelings on a flickering sign about his head. “You’re so sweet to me, even though I probably don’t deserve it.” 

You’re taken aback, and then you shake your head, rolling your eyes. You must get tired of how often he says it, how often he questions why you love a man like him. But it’s true. You are everything that’s right with the world, and Dazai is the opposite. Fate must’ve been on his side to match him with a soulmate that is everything he truly needs. 

“You spoil me too much,” you say in return, yawning again in the middle of the sentence, your hand covering your mouth daintily. “I never get the chance to do the same.” 

Dazai thinks your love spoils him enough, but he won’t bother you with anymore of those thoughts. Your eyes are drooping closed once more, and if he doesn’t get you upstairs soon, you might just sleep on the table for the rest of the morning. 

He takes the bouquet in one hand, and drags you to your feet with the other. You sway a bit, then nestle into his side, curling your arms around his waist tightly. “I’m sleepy, Osamu.” 

“Me too, sweetheart.” The two of you walk to the elevator in silence, and he realizes that he never properly expressed his gratitude. “Thank you for the flowers, angel.” 

You don’t respond, but squeeze him a little tighter. He smiles, and the elevator chimes. 

⤷ thank you sm for reading! reblogs appreciated!