#and a fear of 'settling' that leads to.... not just nothing getting done but an inability to appreciate the moment you're in

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ LABOUR ♡·˚

— [♡] ; souls tied by fate will inevitably cross paths again. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: endgame gojo satoru, afab!reader, slow burn, pregnancy, regret, hurt/comfort, angst, co-parenting, vulnerable gojo satoru, past suguru geto x reader, past rejection, longing, bittersweet, I'm dramatic so I write dramatic shit, chapter one of ten

wc. 2.7K

prologue | part 2

The decision settled in your heart like a stone—cold, hard, and undeniable. You couldn’t stay at Jujutsu High anymore, not after everything that had happened. There was nothing left for you here but the constant reminder of Gojo’s rejection, and the emptiness it left inside you. Suguru Geto had offered a new path, one that resonated with the bitter anger building in your chest. It was risky, dangerous even, but at this point, you didn’t care. What did you have to lose?

The world outside Jujutsu High seemed vast and unforgiving, but it was nothing compared to the loneliness you felt within its walls. Geto’s name was whispered among the students with fear and disdain, but you saw something different now. He had the strength to break away, to challenge the system that had let him down, and if anyone could understand the pain of rejection, it was him.

The first step was to find him, which was easier said than done. Geto was no longer a visible presence in the sorcerer world. He had gone underground, building his own network of cursed users and spirits. The whispers about his whereabouts were few and far between, but you clung to the faintest rumors like lifelines, searching for any clue that would lead you to him.

Your chance finally came one evening, as you overheard two upperclassmen talking in hushed tones about a recent sighting of Geto. They mentioned a remote area where cursed energy had been felt, a place known for being a hideout for rogue sorcerers. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

You left that night, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. You knew the consequences of what you were about to do—if anyone found out, you’d be labeled a traitor, just like Geto. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was getting away from the pain that had consumed you and finding a new purpose.

The journey was long and arduous, taking you through unfamiliar streets and rural roads. With each step, the doubt in your mind grew louder. What if he didn’t want you? What if he turned you away, just like Gojo had? The thought of facing yet another rejection made your stomach twist in knots, but you pushed forward. You had to know. You had to try.

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, you arrived at the rumored hideout—a dilapidated building on the outskirts of na abandoned village. The air around the area was thick with cursed energy, almost suffocating. You hesitated at the threshold, fear creeping up your spine, but you steeled yourself and stepped inside.

The interior was dark, lit only by the faint glow of cursed energy radiating from various objects strewn about. You could sense the presence of others, though you couldn’t see them. Shadows moved in the corners of the room, watching you, but you kept your focus straight ahead.

And then, you saw him.

Suguru Geto stood at the far end of the room, his back turned to you as he spoke quietly with one of his followers. Even from this distance, his presence was commanding, the air around him heavy with power. There was something about him that felt both intimidating and strangely familiar, as if you were looking at the reflection of everything you had been feeling—the bitterness, the anger, the sense of abandonment.

He turned around slowly, his gaze landing on you with a piercing intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. His dark eyes seemed to see right through you, reading every thought and emotion as if they were laid bare before him. For a moment, you wondered if you had made a mistake—if this had been a foolish, reckless decision.

But you had come too far to turn back now.

“What do we have here?” Geto’s voice was smooth and calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. He studied you, his expression unreadable. “You’re not one of mine.”

You swallowed, your throat dry, and forced yourself to speak. “I came to find you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I’ve been studying at Jujutsu High, but I can’t stay there anymore. I’ve seen… I’ve read about what you believe in. And I… I want to join you.”

There was a flicker of amusement in Geto’s eyes as he raised na eyebrow. “You want to join me?” he repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. “And what exactly do you think you have to offer?”

Your heart sank at his words. You knew you were nothing compared to the powerful sorcerers that surrounded him. You were just a student, someone who had been cast aside by the very person you had admired most. But you also knew that your desire to serve his cause, to belong somewhere, burned stronger than anything else.

“I don’t have much,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I’m not the strongest sorcerer, and I don’t have any followers. But I understand how it feels to be abandoned, to be rejected by the world. I’m ready to serve your purpose, whatever it takes.”

For a long moment, Geto said nothing, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence was suffocating, each second stretching into eternity. You stood there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for his judgment. In that moment, it felt as if your entire life hung in the balance. If he accepted you, you would have a new purpose, a new place to belong. But if he rejected you…

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, Geto’s expression softened, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re eager,” he said quietly. “That much is clear. But eagerness alone isn’t enough. My cause isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s dangerous, and it requires a level of conviction that few possess.”

You nodded quickly, desperation creeping into your voice. “I understand. I’ll prove myself, if you give me the chance.”

Geto regarded you for another long moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a slight nod, he turned away from you, signaling the conversation was over. “Very well,” he said. “If you want to join me, go back to Jujutsu High. Pack your things. Leave everything behind. Once you’ve done that, come back. If you’re serious, I’ll know.”

Your heart leapt in your chest at his words—he was giving you a chance. It wasn’t a full acceptance, not yet, but it was something. You bowed your head quickly in gratitude before turning to leave.

As you stepped out of the hideout and into the cool night air, your mind raced with a mixture of excitement and fear. You had taken the first step toward a new life, toward leaving behind everything that had hurt you.

Now all that was left was to return to Jujutsu High, pack your things, and leave for good. There was no turning back now.

The night was unnervingly quiet as you made your way back to Jujutsu High, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound accompanying you. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows across the ground. Your mind buzzed with the events that had just unfolded—Geto had accepted you, even if it was only tentative. The prospect of belonging to something, of having a purpose again, gave you a strange sense of comfort, but it was wrapped in na unsettling realization.

To fully embrace this new path, you had to leave everything behind.

As you approached the school grounds, a wave of nostalgia hit you. The familiar hallways, the training grounds, even the library where you had spent so many hours—all of it felt like a distant memory, as if you were already na outsider looking in. These places had once held significance, but now they were nothing more than relics of a past life. You had made up your mind; you would abandon all of it for a chance at something more—something that could give meaning to the ache you carried inside.

The dormitory was dark and still when you returned to your room. Your belongings were strewn about, a quiet reminder of the life you had lived here. You hesitated for a moment, standing in the doorway and letting your gaze drift over the small space that had been your home for so long. It was strange how quickly it all felt irrelevant.

With a deep breath, you began packing your things. You moved with mechanical precision, folding clothes and stuffing them into your bag, taking only what you absolutely needed. As your hands grazed over small personal items, you realized how little they meant now. There was no point in holding onto these things—mementos of a life you no longer wanted to be part of. A gift from a classmate, a framed photo of your team during a mission, a charm you had once carried for protection—they all seemed to mock you now.

Your hand hovered over the chocolates you had made for Gojo, the same ones he had so casually rejected weeks ago. They had been sitting untouched for so long, the once carefully crafted gift now rotting and forgotten. A bitter taste filled your mouth as you stared at the box, the last remnant of your foolish hopes - now laying in your trashcan.

As you zipped up your bag, you felt a strange sense of liberation. You were finally doing it—leaving behind the person you had been, the person who had been too afraid to act, too afraid to take control of her own fate. You were stepping into a new future, one where you could be strong, where your pain had a purpose. Suguru Geto had shown you that.

You slung the bag over your shoulder, taking one last look at the room. It felt distant already, like a ghost of a life you once knew. Without hesitation, you turned and left, walking silently through the darkened halls of Jujutsu High. Every step away from the dorms felt like shedding na old skin, leaving behind the memories and emotions that had weighed you down for so long.

Your feet moved automatically, each step taking you further from Jujutsu High and further from Gojo, you didn’t dare look back, afraid that if you did, you might falter, might hesitate. You had made your choice. You had committed to this path, and there was no turning back now.

The night air was cold against your skin, and with every step, the familiar halls and grounds of Jujutsu High faded into the distance. There was na ache in your chest, a deep, gnawing pain that threatened to overwhelm you, but you forced it down, telling yourself that this was the right choice. That Geto would understand, that his ideals would give you the strength you needed to find purpose.

By the time you reached the outskirts of the town, the sky had started to lighten, a soft glow spreading across the horizon as dawn approached. You kept your head down, avoiding the few early risers who were beginning their day. No one paid you any attention. To them, you were just another traveler, just another person passing through.

Your destination was clear—the same dilapidated building you had found before, where Geto’s presence had been strongest. The cursed energy in the area was unmistakable, and the faint pulse of it called to you like a beacon, guiding you back to him.

As you walked, the reality of what you were about to do began to settle in. You were leaving everything—your friends, your teachers, your life as a jujutsu sorcerer behind. The people you had trained with, the ones who had fought alongside you, they would all consider you a traitor. But for some reason, that didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. You were tired of being invisible, of feeling like na outsider in your own life. With Geto, maybe you would finally belong somewhere.

After hours of walking, you finally reached the hideout once again. The building loomed before you, dark and foreboding, just as it had before. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there the first time, as if the entire area was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside.

This time, the space felt different. The shadows seemed heavier, and the cursed energy more oppressive. You could sense other presences here—Geto’s followers, cursed spirits lurking just out of sight, their eyes on you, watching, waiting. But you didn’t waver. You had already made your decision.

As you ventured deeper into the building, you found him in the same spot as before, standing with his back to you, his long dark hair spilling over his shoulders. He was speaking with one of his followers in a low voice, but the moment you entered the room, his attention shifted. Without turning around, he acknowledged your presence with a quiet, “You came back.”

His voice sent a shiver down your spine—not out of fear, but because of the power it carried, the certainty in his words. It was so unlike the doubt you had felt at Jujutsu High. Here, in Geto’s world, there was no room for second-guessing. Everything he said, everything he believed, had a purpose. You wanted to be part of that.

“I did,” you replied, your voice steady despite the nervousness you felt. “I left everything behind, just like you said.”

Geto finally turned to face you, his eyes sharp and assessing. He looked you over, taking in the sight of you with your bag slung over your shoulder, your expression determined despite the fear you tried to hide. A slow, almost approving smile curled at the corner of his lips.

“And why, exactly, should I take you in?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with a challenge. “What can you offer me that my other followers can’t?”

You had expected this question, but it didn’t make answering it any easier. You had thought about this moment the entire way back, rehearsing what you would say, but now that you stood in front of him, words failed you. What could you offer? You weren’t the strongest sorcerer, you weren’t experienced in battle. All you had was your conviction, your desire to follow him.

“I—I’m not the strongest,” you admitted, your voice faltering for just a moment before you regained your composure. “But I’m ready to dedicate myself to your cause. I’ve seen how the world works, how it doesn’t care about people like us. I want to change that, to be part of something greater.”

Geto’s eyes remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He studied you for what felt like na eternity, and you could feel the weight of his judgment pressing down on you. Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice softer, but no less commanding.

“Conviction is important,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “But dedication without strength is a liability.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, Geto raised a hand to silence you. “Still, you’ve come this far, and I can see that you’re serious. I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself.”

Relief flooded through you, though it was quickly tempered by the realization of what that might entail. Geto wasn’t someone who handed out second chances easily. Whatever he asked of you, it wouldn’t be simple.

“You’ll stay here, for now,” he continued, gesturing to the room around you. “Train with my followers, learn from them. When the time comes, we’ll see if you’re truly ready to stand by my side.”

You nodded, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. This was what you had wanted—a chance, a purpose, something to fight for. And now, Geto had given it to you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, bowing your head in gratitude.

Before you could fully process it, a voice rang out from the entrance of the hideout, sharp and commanding.

“So, this is where you ran off to.”

Your heart froze in your chest.

Satoru Gojo stood at the threshold, his blindfold gone, revealing his piercing blue eyes that glowed with a mixture of anger and something else—something deeper, more intense.

He had found you.

notes: thank you for reading the first chapter! if you wanna be tagged just let me know!

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[redmyeyes]

The perfect life, the perfect lie, is one which prevents you from doing that which you would ideally have done, painted, say, or written unpublishable poetry, but which, in fact, you've no wish to do.

- a meditation on the nature of not doing things from Geoff Dyer, from his book, Out of Sheer Rage.

read below, or listen on This American Life

For years, I wanted to write a book about D.H. Lawrence, a homage to the writer who'd made me want to become a writer. It was a cherished ambition. And as part of my preparation for realizing this cherished ambition, I'd avoided reading anything by Lawrence so that at some point in the future, I could go back to him, if not afresh, then at least not rock-stale. Then after years of avoiding Lawrence, I moved into the phase of what might be termed "pre-preparation."

I visited Eastwood, his birthplace. I read biographies. I amassed a horde of photographs, which I kept in a once-new document wallet, blue, on which I had written "D.H.L. Photos" in determined, black ink. I even built up an impressive stack of notes with Lawrence vaguely in mind.

But these notes, it's obvious to me now, actually served not to prepare for and facilitate the writing of a book about Lawrence, but to defer and postpone doing so. There's nothing unusual about this. All over the world, people are taking notes as a way of postponing, putting off, and standing in for. My case was more extreme. For not only was taking notes about Lawrence a way of putting off writing a study of and homage to the writer who'd made me want to become a writer, but this study I was putting off writing was itself a way of putting off and postponing another book.

Although I'd made up my mind to write a book about Lawrence, I'd also made up my mind to write a novel. Writing them both at the same time was inconceivable. And so these two equally overwhelming ambitions first wore each other down and then wiped each other out. As soon as I thought about working on the novel, I fell to thinking that it would be much more enjoyable to write my study of Lawrence. As soon as I started making notes on Lawrence, I realized I was probably sabotaging forever any chance of writing my novel, which, more than any other book I'd written, had to be written immediately before another protracted bout of labor came between me and the idea for what I perceived as a rambling, sub-Bernhardtian rant of a novel.

It was now or never. So I went from making notes on Lawrence to making notes for my novel, by which I mean I went from not working on my book about Lawrence to not working on the novel. Because all of this to-ing, and fro-ing, and note taking actually meant that I never did any work on either book. All I did was switch between two empty files on my computer, one conveniently called C:\DHL, the other C:\NOVEL, and sent myself pinging back and forth between them until, after an hour and a half of this, I would turn off the computer.

Because the worst thing of all, I knew, was to wear myself out in this way. The best thing was to do nothing, to sit calmly. But there was no calm of course. Instead, I felt totally desolate because I realized that I was going to write neither my study of D.H. Lawrence nor my novel.

One of the reasons that it was impossible to get started on either the Lawrence book or the novel was because I was so preoccupied with where to live. I could live anywhere. There were no constraints on me. And because of this, it was impossible to choose. It's easy to make choices when you have things hampering you. A job, kid's schools. But when all you have to go on is your own desires, then life becomes considerably more difficult, not to say intolerable.

Even money wasn't an issue since, at this stage, I was living in Paris. And nowhere could have been more expensive than Paris. The exchange rate got worse by the month, and Paris became more expensive by the month. What the money situation in Paris did was to emphasize that although I had settled in Paris, really, I'd just been passing through extremely slowly.

That is all anyone English or American can do in Paris, pass through. You may spend 10 years passing through, but essentially you're still a sightseer, a tourist. You come and go. The waiters remain.

The longer I stayed, the more powerful it became, this feeling that I was just passing through. I'd thought about subscribing to the cable channel, Canal Plus, as a way of making myself feel more settled. But what was the point in subscribing to Canal Plus when, in all probability, I would be moving on in a few months? Obviously, the way to make myself more settled was to acquire some of the trappings of permanence. But there never seemed any point acquiring the aptly-named trappings of permanence when, in a couple of months, I might be moving on, might well be moving on, would almost certainly be moving on?

Because there was nothing to keep me where I was. Had I acquired some of the trappings of permanence, I might have stayed put. But I never acquired any of the trappings of permanence because I knew that the moment these trappings had been acquired, I would seized with the desire to leave, to move on. And I would then have to free myself from these trappings. And so, lacking any of the trappings of permanence, I was perpetually on the brink of potential departure. That was the only way I could remain anywhere, to be constantly on the brink, not of actual, but of potential departure.

These were all issues I intended to address in different ways, either in mediated form in my study of Lawrence, or directly in my novel, or vice versa. But there was an additional practical complication too. Since I was obliged to spend a certain amount of time away from wherever I lived, and since the rent on my Paris apartment was so high, and because of the exchange rate was becoming higher every month, I was frequently obliged to sublet it. Strictly speaking, to sub-sublet it since I was subletting it myself. And since if you are subletting your apartment, you do not want to acquire too many valuable or personal items, which might get destroyed, it then comes about that you, yourself, are living in conditions arranged primarily for those subletting from you.

Effectively, you are subletting from yourself. That's what I was doing, subletting from myself. Strictly speaking, sub-subletting, living in an apartment devoid of anything that might have made it my apartment in the sense of "my home." I'd conspired to arrange for myself the worst of all possible worlds. And my days were spent in this unbreakable circle of anxiety, always going over the same ground again and again, always with some new variable, but never with any change.

I had to do something to break this circle. And so I decided to sign a contract that would make me the official tenant, as opposed to the illegal subtenant. I wasn't even sure that I wanted to stay in an apartment where I'd actually been extremely unhappy for 90% of my stay, where 90% of my stay had been dominated by anxiety about, A, whether I was going to stay, and B, whether I was going to start a novel or start my study of Lawrence. But as soon as the managing agent said that they were unwilling to let the place to me, a foreigner with no job and no steady income, I became convinced that I had to stay in this apartment where I'd actually been sublimely happy. That there was, in fact, nowhere else on earth where I could hope to be as content. Eventually, my rich friend, Herve Landry, "Money Landry," as I like to call him, agreed to stand as guarantor.

The managing agents relented, and I signed the lease that made me the official locataire. I was ecstatic for about five minutes. Then I realized I'd taken on an awesome, not to say, crippling responsibility. And far from solving the problem of where to live, I'd actually put a lid on it, so that now my uncertainty was boiling away under pressure, threatening to blow me apart. The one thing I could be sure of was that I had to leave this apartment where I'd never known a moment's peace of mind as soon as possible. If I stayed here, I saw now, I would fail to write both my novel and my study of Lawrence. That much was obvious.

Round and round I went, making no progress, resolving one thing one moment and another the next. I wrote to the agents and officially renounced the flat, claiming that "professional reasons" had obliged me to return to England. The agents wrote back, acknowledging my decision to leave the apartment. I wrote back, saying that, "Professional reasons now oblige me to remain in Paris. Could I, therefore, unrenounce my apartment?" Relieved to be free of the trouble of re-letting it, the agents agreed to let me remain in the apartment, which I had just renounced.

And so it went on. I wrote again to renounce the apartment definitively. They sent a somewhat curt acknowledgement of my decision. I wrote back, changing my definitive decision to leave to a definitive decision to stay. But it was too late. I had to leave.

Now that I did have to leave, I was faced with the terrible prospect of having nowhere to live, of having to decide where to live without delay. And only then did I realize how much this apartment meant to me, how it had actually become my home. Although I believed that I'd hardly any of my things in this apartment, there were actually many of my own things that I now had to find a place for.

Over the years, I'd actually acquired quite a few of the trappings of permanence. I even owned a surprising amount of furniture, some of it rather nice. Where was I going to store it? And what about me? Where was I going to store myself?

Rome was a possibility. Laura, my almost-wife, had a lovely apartment in Rome and was always arguing in favor of our settling there. I fretted and wondered. Why was I even prevaricating like this? I was mad not to go to Rome. Rome was in Italy, the country where the Lawrences had spent more time than any other. If I was to stand any chance of making any progress with my study of Lawrence, it was probably the very best place I could be.

As soon as I arrived, I knew I'd made the right decision. My mind was made up. I was ready to begin my study of D.H. Lawrence. The only trouble was the heat. The heat was tremendous. And nowhere in Rome was hotter than Laura's apartment.

Even the light was hot. We tried to keep the light at bay, but it drilled through the keyhole, squeezed under the door, levered open the smallest of cracks in the shutters. My mind was made up. I was ready to work. But it was too hot to work. It was so hot, we spent our waking hours dozing and our sleeping hours lying awake, trying to sleep. We were in a kind of trance.

The perfect life, the perfect lie, is one which prevents you from doing that which you would ideally have done, painted, say, or written unpublishable poetry, but which, in fact, you've no wish to do. People need to feel that they've been thwarted by circumstances from pursuing the life which, had they led it, they would not have wanted. Whereas the life they really want is precisely a compound of all those thwarting circumstances. It's a very elaborate, extremely simple procedure, arranging this web of self-deceit, contriving to convince yourself that you were prevented from doing what you wanted.

Most people don't want what they want. People want to be prevented, restricted. The hamster not only loves his cage, he'd be lost without it.

That's why children are so convenient. You have children because you're struggling to get by as an artist or failing to get on with your career. Then you can persuade yourself that your children prevented you from having this career that never looked like working out. And so it goes on. Things are always forsaken in the name of an obligation to someone else, never as a failing, a falling short of yourself.

I've devoted more of my life to thoughts of giving up than anyone else I can think of. Nietzsche wrote that the thought of suicide had got him through many a bad night. And thinking of giving up is probably the one thing that's kept me going. I think about it on a daily basis, but always come up against the problem of what to do when I've given up. Give up one thing, and you're immediately obliged to do something else.

Let's suppose, for example, that I decided to call it a day, to give up, to abandon any attempt not just at earning a living, but having a life. But what then? What would happen next? Within five minutes, I'd be thinking about listening to music and would put a CD on the stereo. Five minutes after that, I'd be up again because I would have grown fed up with that piece of music and would be scanning the shelves and shelves of CDs, searching in vain for a piece of music that I was not heartily sick of, thinking to myself that if I had more CDs, there would surely be one that I would like to listen to. And before I knew it, I'd be out of the house and on my way to the megastore, looking for a new CD.

Should anyone flatter us by asking what we're looking for, what we are searching for, then we think immediately, almost instinctively in vast terms. God, fulfillment, love. But our lives are actually made up of lots of tiny searches for things like a CD we are not sick of, an out-of-print edition of Phoenix, a picture of Lawrence that I saw when I was 17, another identical pair of suede shoes to the ones that I'm wearing now. Add them together, and these little things make up an epic quest, more than enough for one lifetime.

Thinking specifically of the search for CDs, let's assume that after deciding to give up, after sitting around listening to CDs and going out to buy a new CD, I found a CD I liked the idea of listening to. Still, at some point, I would not simply grow tired of listening to this new CD, but would actually become heartily sick of the idea of listening to CDs and would think to myself that sitting around listening to CDs is a much more enjoyable activity, a much more enjoyable inactivity if it is a relief from something else, anything else. And so I would resign myself to picking up my pen and trying once again if for no other reason than to render listening to my CDs a little less dispiriting, to make some progress with my study of D.H. Lawrence.

And there you have it. One way or another, we all have to write our studies of D.H. Lawrence even if they will never be published, even if we will never complete them, even if all we are left with after years and years of effort is an unfinished, unfinishable record of how we failed to live up to our own earlier ambitions. Still, we all have to try to make some progress with our books about D.H. Lawrence. The world over, from Taos to Taormina, from the places we have visited to countries we will never set foot in, the best we can do is to try to make some progress with our studies of D.H. Lawrence.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Better Together

Summary: Spencer knows he messed up, he wants to prove to you that it was a mistake. His words, not you. You would never be anything but his person.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: aftermath of taking a break, reinforcing love and commitment, mild groveling, happy ending

Word count: 2.9k

a/n: i would just like to say that i do not think engagement equals love and i also don't think it's necessary to get engaged to "prove" your devotion -- this is fiction and mama wanted a ring lmao

main masterlist part one

As Spencer stepped into the quiet of the apartment, the absence of your presence was palpable, a silent echo of the space growing between you both. His gaze drifted across the familiar surroundings until it settled on the note affixed to the fridge. The sight of it—a stark, solitary piece of paper in the place usually bustling with the warmth of shared meals and conversations—felt oddly jarring.

The note was simple, void of excess detail, stating only that you had gone to stay with a friend. It didn’t say who, nor did it need to. The message was clear: you needed space. Spencer’s heart sank a little more with the understanding, yet there was also a part of him that acknowledged the necessity of this distance for both of you.

He stood there for a long moment, the weight of the empty apartment pressing down on him, reminding him of the gravity of your last conversation. It was time to use this space effectively, to reflect on everything you had said, on the emotions that had driven you to seek solace away from him. Spencer realized this was not just a moment to passively wait for your return, but an active opportunity to address his own fears, to understand his hesitations about the future, and to think critically about how he could make you feel more cherished and included in his life.

With a heavy sigh, he moved away from the note and sank down onto the couch, the silence enveloping him. He knew the coming days would be challenging, filled with introspection and perhaps painful realizations. But there was also a glimmer of hope—the hope that this time apart could lead to healing and a stronger foundation for whatever lay ahead. Spencer pulled out a notebook and began to write, outlining his thoughts and feelings, the fears he rarely voiced, and the steps he might take to bridge the gap between you. This was his chance to transform understanding into action, to show not just through words but through meaningful changes that you truly were his world.

—

Spencer was acutely aware that healing the rift between you would require more than just time; it demanded meaningful, heartfelt efforts. The damage done was not something he could fix overnight, but he was committed to doing everything in his power to mend your heart.

He started with texts. Spencer wasn't one to rely heavily on technology for emotional communication, but he knew you cherished seeing his name light up your screen. Each message he sent was carefully crafted, infused with warmth and affection, designed to remind you of his presence and his regret. Despite the sweetness of his words, you found yourself wrestling with the urge to respond. You appreciated his efforts—they tugged at your heartstrings, yes—but they weren't enough to sweep away the hurt that had built up.

Recognizing the limitations of digital words, Spencer transitioned to something more personal: handwritten letters. Since he didn’t know where you were staying, he sent them to your workplace, hoping the surprise of receiving mail would bring a smile to your face. Each letter was filled with his unmistakable handwriting, his words oscillating between heartfelt confessions, sweet nothings, and the occasional goofy remark that was so quintessentially Spencer. You couldn't help but smile sadly with each letter you opened, touched by his efforts yet still guarded, the emotions each letter evoked a mix of nostalgia and melancholy.

As days turned into weeks without a reply from you, Spencer realized he needed to do more, yet he was mindful of your dislike for public displays or grand gestures. He knew whatever he did next had to respect your boundaries and preferences.

So, he kept it simple. One evening, he showed up outside your workplace with nothing but a small bouquet of your favorite flowers and a hopeful smile. He waited for you, not as a grand gesture, but as a quiet statement of his willingness to do whatever it took to begin mending the gaps between you.

When you saw him standing there, something inside you stirred. It was a testament to his understanding of you, a reflection of his desire to make things right in a way that felt safe and respectful. The sight of him, so hopeful and earnest, cracked the protective wall you had built around your heart just a bit more.

His approach was soft, his voice tentative when he spoke. "I didn't come to pressure you, just to give you these," he said, extending the flowers towards you. "I just want you to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, not unless you want me to."

The simplicity of the gesture, the sincerity in his eyes—it all resonated with you, reaching deep into the places in your heart that still ached for him. This was the Spencer you loved, the one who understood you sometimes better than you understood yourself.

—

Your stay with Penelope provided a comforting pause, a needed respite that allowed you to sift through the whirlwind of emotions and considerations that clouded your thoughts. Despite the necessary distance and time for reflection, your draw to Spencer persistently tugged at your heart, a constant reminder of what might be at stake. After all, he remained the love of your life, despite everything.

Motivated mostly by yearning and somewhat by determination, you felt it was time to go back home. It was a Saturday, a day Spencer typically reserved for introspection and journaling—a practice you respected for its purpose, though lately, it seemed to fall short in facilitating effective communication between you two.

You entered the apartment quietly, the familiar setting wrapping around you like a well-worn comfort. You navigated through the silent spaces until you reached his office door. There he was, ensconced in his usual spot, pen in hand and deeply absorbed in his journal. For a moment, you just stood there, watching him, taking in the sight of your handsome boyfriend, so focused and earnest in his contemplation.

With a heart full of mixed emotions—hope, love, and a tinge of residual apprehension—you approached him quietly from behind. As you wrapped your arms around him in a gentle embrace, you could feel him tense briefly, startled by the unexpected contact. However, as soon as he recognized your scent, the one so intrinsically linked to home and comfort, his body relaxed under your touch.

“Hi, darling,” Spencer greeted, his voice a soft murmur of relief and warmth, the endearment lingering between you.

As you nestled closer into Spencer, the warmth of his neck against your cheek, you felt the familiarity of your bond slowly rekindling the embers of connection that had seemed so threatened recently.

"Hi, Spence," you mumbled softly, your words barely audible, filled with the comfort and sadness of everything that had passed between you.

"You came home," Spencer responded, his tone tinged with a mix of sadness and hopeful surprise, as if he hadn't fully believed he'd hear those words or feel your presence like this again.

You nodded against him, the gesture simple but loaded with emotion. "I missed you," you admitted, letting the truth of your feelings spill out in the quiet sanctity of his embrace. It was a confession, an olive branch extended in the hope of mending the fractures that had formed.

Spencer's hand came up to gently rest on one of yours, securing it against him, a physical affirmation of his gratitude for your return. He turned slightly within the circle of your arms, attempting to catch a glimpse of your face, needing to see the sincerity in your eyes that matched the words you just spoke.

"I missed you too," he confessed, his voice a whisper of relief mingled with lingering apprehension. "A lot more than I thought possible," he added, giving voice to the depth of his feelings during your absence.

There was a pause, a breath of silence as both of you allowed the honesty of the moment to sink in. Then Spencer ventured further, his words cautious but necessary, "Are we okay? I mean, can we... talk about everything?"

You felt a flutter of nerves at the question—it was the one you both needed to address, yet feared. Taking a deep breath, you stepped back just enough to look into his eyes, searching for and finding the earnest worry reflected there.

"We need to talk, yes," you agreed, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions. "But first, let me just say this... I came back not just because I missed you, but because I believe we can fix this."

His eyes searched yours, looking for the reassurance they so desperately needed, and he found it in your steady gaze. "I want that too," he said, the vulnerability in his voice striking. "I want us to work through this, no matter what it takes."

Encouraged by his words, you suggested, "Let's start by really listening to each other. No interruptions, just us, trying to understand where the other is coming from."

Spencer nodded in agreement, the gesture firm. "I’d like that. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and there are things I need to apologize for and areas where I need to do better."

"And I have things to admit too," you added, acknowledging your part in the strains that had tested your relationship. "Let's make a pact, here and now, to move forward together, with honesty and open hearts."

"Agreed," Spencer said, a soft smile finally breaking through the earlier tension. He extended his hand, a symbolic offering for you to shake. "Partners?"

"Partners," you affirmed, placing your hand in his, feeling a renewed sense of commitment enveloping the space between you.

—

"My parents' marriage... it wasn't something I ever wanted to emulate," Spencer confessed, the weight of his past evident in his tone. "And my father... he wasn't around. That left a mark on me, more than I usually admit."

Listening, you could see the struggle in his expression, the conflict of a man torn between his desires for a future with you and the scars of his past. His next words came slowly, each one a careful step forward. "I've been scared, really scared of turning into him, of failing as a husband... as a father."

"But," he continued, looking directly into your eyes, seeking the connection that had always grounded him, "knowing you, seeing how strong and committed you are, it gives me hope. When you came back... it meant everything. It told me that you're here, really here, even when things get tough."

You reached out, taking his hands in yours, squeezing them gently to offer reassurance and support. "Spencer, your past doesn't define your future. We can create something different, something better together. And I know you, you could never be like him. You're too caring, too thoughtful."

He nodded, a tentative smile beginning to form as the weight seemed to lift slightly off his shoulders. "Hearing you say that... it helps more than you know. I want to face these fears, not just for me, but for us. I want us to build a life together, free from the shadows of what was."

The conversation stretched on, each of you taking turns to lay bare fears and dreams, weaving a tapestry of shared hopes and commitments for the future. It was a pivotal moment, one that felt like a new beginning, as if you were both stepping out from under the heavy curtains of the past into a clearer, brighter day together.

—

One lazy Sunday, you were curled up on the couch, grateful for Spencer’s thoughtfulness as he had volunteered to run to the store to pick up the products you needed for your period. He had been so sweet and doting, eager to make you as comfortable as possible. In his rush to take care of you, however, he had left his phone behind on the kitchen counter.

When it started ringing, you instinctively picked it up, not even glancing at the screen, assuming it was your own phone. "Hello?" you answered casually.

"Spencer," Diana's familiar voice greeted you without skipping a beat. Before you could say anything, she continued. "I have your grandma’s ring. Would you rather I send it in the mail or do you want to come pick it up?"

You blinked in confusion, processing her words, especially the mention of a ring. "Um, hi, Diana," you replied awkwardly, realizing far too late that you were answering Spencer's phone, not your own.

"Oh, Y/N!" Diana's surprise was evident as she corrected herself. "I didn’t realize it was you."

You forced a small laugh, your mind already swirling with what Diana had just said. "Yeah, Spencer’s out running errands. I, um… picked up his phone by mistake."

"Well, no harm done," Diana chuckled lightly, though there was a warmth in her voice. "It’s good to hear your voice."

"Likewise," you replied, though your thoughts kept drifting back to the mention of the ring. "So, about that ring...?"

"Oh!" Diana said, realizing she might have let something slip before Spencer had a chance to talk to you. "It’s your grandmother’s engagement ring. Spencer and I were talking, and, well, he thought it might be nice to have it... for the future."

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of her words settling in. Spencer was thinking about marriage, about proposing to you. Suddenly, the reality of your relationship felt larger, heavier in the best possible way.

"That’s... really sweet," you managed to say, though your voice wavered slightly, emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Diana���s tone softened, sensing what this meant for you. "He loves you so much, Y/N. I can see it every time he talks about you. I’m sure when he’s ready, it’ll be perfect."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Thank you, Diana. I appreciate that."

After a few more moments of polite conversation, you hung up the phone, still clutching it in your hand as you stared off into the distance. When Spencer came back a little while later, arms full of bags, completely unaware of what had transpired, you gave him a warm, knowing smile, your heart swelling with even more love for the man who had just picked up your favorite snacks.

"Everything okay?" he asked, noticing your slightly different demeanor.

"Yeah," you replied softly, still holding onto that secret knowledge. "Everything’s alright."

—

When Spencer finally brought the ring home, he did so with a heart full of intentions and a mind made up to bridge any distance that had crept between you two. The apartment you shared was softly lit, the ambiance calm and intimate—an environment that felt right for what he planned to do.

It was just an ordinary evening by all appearances, but for Spencer, it carried the weight of every moment that led up to this, every trial and misunderstanding, and every reaffirmation of his love for you.

You noticed he was a bit more fidgety than usual, pacing slightly before stopping in front of you, taking a deep breath as if to steady himself. You watched, curiosity piqued by his nervous demeanor, a soft smile playing on your lips, encouraging him silently.

"Y/N," he began, his voice stronger than his trembling hands. "I know there have been times when I haven't communicated well, when I've let my fears and past dictate how I handle our future." He paused, searching your eyes for understanding. "For every moment you felt you weren't enough, I am profoundly sorry. It was never about you not being enough; it was about me being too scared to admit how much I needed you."

You felt a rush of emotions at his words, warmth spreading through your chest, your eyes welling up with tears that mirrored the sincerity and vulnerability in his voice.

He took another deep breath, then knelt before you, the little box in his hand now open to reveal a ring—his grandmother's ring, rich with history and sentiment. "I can't imagine my life without you, and I don't ever want to try," he continued, his voice steady despite the tears that started to form in his eyes. "Will you marry me, Y/N? Will you be the joy in my every day and the peace in every night? Will you let me spend the rest of my life proving that you are, and always will be, more than enough for me?"

The room seemed to hold its breath as you took in the depth of his proposal, every word infused with his love and regret for any pain he had caused. Smiling through your tears, you nodded, words momentarily failing you as emotions took over.

"Yes, Spencer," you managed, voice choked with emotion. "Yes, I will marry you."

As he slipped the ring onto your finger, a symbol of promise and continuity, you both embraced, a long, tight hug that spoke volumes. It was a new beginning, a recommitment not just to each other but to always striving to be the best for each other.

In that moment, the past's shadows seemed to dissolve, replaced by the clarity of a shared future, one built on mutual love, respect, and the unwavering commitment to see each other through not just the easy moments, but especially through the challenging ones.

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

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[persicipen]

afternoon red ノ kamisato ayato

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 1.4k ノ fem reader — explicitly being called a wife and a girl ノ your first attempted assassination after getting married yay ノ going through shock . hurt comfort . lowkey fear of pda ノ sappy bonding with your new husband ノ i was fueled by @euthymiya and @tetsuskei and their ayato thoughts (i hope you don’t mind being tagged) <3

The commotion sprawling down the stairs of Ritou was not usual at this hour. Just as unexpected in its intensity. It couldn’t relate to any festivals (there were none happening at this time of the year), nor could it be a new batch shipped from across the seas (the earliest arrival scheduled for the next week).

As if interested, red maple trees lean and let their crimson leaves whisper gossips with each other, circling in the warm wind that seems to stop its natural journey in favour of entertainment.

You’re in the middle of all this — a centre of attention, pairs and pairs of wide-open eyes blinking at you and too many hands touching, grabbing you to straighten you up as if not caring that your legs feel like wet cotton or that you still try to look around in shock. It’s hard to focus your vision and everyone looks like vague iridescence of colours. You cling to the image of your newlywed husband as if it’s the only thing keeping you afloat among the hustling crowd, being the raging sea. How long have you two been together? But a short while, no more.

Him. Just him. With furrowed brows, with eyes narrowed, that only enhanced the wrinkles in their corners. A flash of temper escaping the façade of forever calm commissioner. The inside of his arms was safe, but whoever remained outside should face the imminent consequences of endangering your life and angering the lord. This kind of protection, devotion, was unknown to you. It felt almost just as invading and you wanted to push it away.

This sudden emotion sways into your veins, it numbs your tongue and mind — so heavy, it feels almost tangible.

You merely escaped death.

It all happened so quickly you didn’t even get to register the attacker’s face before the city’s patrols dragged them away — unsure if for your sake or to save their life for the interrogation before the commissioner could weigh himself with a crime of murder. And he was more than ready, steeled like a tight string, with his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

“The police officials and the medic should arrive soon, Lord Kamisato.” Someone informs, but you can’t even get a glimpse of their face, tucked snugly against the side of your husband. “Is there anything we can do for you in the meantime?”

“You’ve captured the perpetrator. You’ve done enough, and I thank you for that. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I wish to take my wife somewhere less busy. It’s not a… an expected occurrence for her… yet,” he responds in his usual fashion. Someone else mutters out an order about informing his sister and the rest of the estate too, but all words sound like they come from underwater.

Besides that, there are only his hands roaming up and down your arms, hoping to chase away the chill settling deep inside your bones. Even with the light breeze around and the crowd gathering to see what happened, sweat breaks on your forehead.

As you go down the stairs to the quiet corner, holding onto the safest arm in the world, the air finally clears up for you to catch a breath. Yet it does nothing to stop your head from spinning. Or your stomach churning in an attempt to leave your body. Your eyelids flutter but can’t force themselves shut, vision filled with small black dots that block out pieces of scenery, slowly replacing everything.

“Beloved, I’m here.” You hear his voice, steady and barely above a whisper, securing you in place before you dissociate.

Two hands cup your face. They’re cold without the delicate leather gloves, but they hold you with much care.

“Breathe with me. Slowly.” Your husband closes his eyes, leading you. He inhales and exhales and it doesn’t take long for you to feel at ease, matching your breathing to his.

He only opens his eyes after you exhale deeply, no longer hiccuping for air like a fish out of water. What a tragedy it would be to lose such a pretty koi, so young and not yet held long enough for him to accept being separated from you.

The sun illuminates his features, highlights the contours of his cheekbones and draws sharp shadows along the edge of his jaw.

Even now, in an hour as grey as this, he shines like silver. The most precious being you could ask for.

His thumb grazes your lips in a soothing motion, scooping the tears that gathered in the corners of your mouth.

“You’re safe. And for that, I am so glad. My dear wife is well, merely shaken.”

It becomes difficult to not touch him when the breeze that always blows towards the harbour makes his hair fly back and tangles up strands on the right side of his face. It also screams improper in public, even if it’s just patrols turned their back to your side, probably giving you two some time to calm down before a medic arrives to check for any possible damage.

Your hand, ever so naturally, lifts up to do what you wish to — pulling away the wayward locks, brushing them back behind his ear, locking them between your fingers and admiring how soft they are. The gesture, mayhaps not unexpected, but still devastating in its tenderness, causes him to break the perfectly even breathing, a small hitch of his inhale as he leans just an inch towards your touch.

He presses his lips to your palm, taking his time to place a kiss on each knuckle, relishing in how soft your skin is, the uniqueness of your taste, a bitter tint of fear now cutting through the usual sweetness, and the smallest twitch of muscles wherever his mouth ghosts over them.

He watches as a couple of tears slide down your cheeks and that beautiful shudder he knows so well, bringing about a mellow smile that can only be seen as adoring.

“I’m so sorry, my lord. Please, do not worry any longer. It’s— like you said, I’m merely shaken.” You snivel, trying to get a hold of yourself for it’s shameful to cry again, especially after he had the courtesy of wiping your previously shed tears. You lower your gaze, away from him, in hopes he will let this pathetic side of yours be ignored.

And so he does the exact opposite.

He cups your face again and his slender fingers push your chin up just slightly, leaving no room for hesitation and making it impossible to deny his presence, even if your eyes stay glued to everywhere but him.

“Look at me.”

You follow instinctively, unable to ignore your husband’s command.

In the afternoon light, there are so many details of his appearance that you only catch during rare moments like this — how ethereal he seems when the crimson sunset paints the world in gentle golds and coppers, intertwined yet never merging with the pastel colours of his robes and features.

He hums, satisfied that he got your attention.

You wonder if this act of impropriety, still going on between you two in the secluded corner between the buildings instead of performed behind the closed doors of the bedrooms, is exactly what made his skin burn under your touch, too.

Again, he guides you in deep breaths, lulling you into the security of being together, whole. It’s obvious behind his touches how his resolve stays iron, yet the desperation crawls in each of his movements, denying himself the pleasure of just fondling your face like the most adorable baby animal. He allows you to relish in his gestures until he comes back to his senses, that buzz inside his head louder than the bells at the temple — that this is not what you two should be doing now.

“You’re a brave girl. I wouldn’t expect any less from my sweet wife. Come, let’s meet the medic and talk with the officials. The sooner we’ll be done with formalities, the sooner we can return to the estate.”

He gently leads you away, not breaking the contact as much as possible — holding your hand, supporting your lower back with his free one.

How hard it is for him to control the mere touches. If he could, he would never let you go, for once he let you go run in front of him and one unfortunate accident almost took you away forever. He saw how your pretty robes fluttered in the late summer wind, but instead of being the light, flowy fabric it could have ended stained with dark blood.

And this he will never allow.

[wileys-russo]

off limits (4) II a.putellas x león!reader

part one part two part three

lengthy one! but there is another part in the works off limits (4) II a.putellas x león!reader

"what is going on in here?"

your head snapped to the door where a confused looking ingrid stood, patri and alba stumbling in after right her and promptly smacking into one another as they skidded to a halt.

“can you take me home please?” you sent the norwegian a pleading look as her own eyes fell to the grip alexia had on your wrist and hardened.

despite only being just under a year older than you ever since she’d started seeing your sister and grew to know how close the bond the two of you shared was, ingrid had adopted that same protective older sister mentality. to the point you even sometimes went to her for advice over mapi.

“of course. let her go alexia.” ingrid warned, calmly but firmly . everything seemed to come crashing down for the older girl as she saw the fearful look in your eyes and immediately let go of your wrist.

you practically flew into ingrid who wrapped her arms around you, mumbling she’d get you out of here and with one last disappointed look in alexia’s direction she’d pulled you out of the bathroom.

suddenly the room seemed to grow smaller and smaller for the captain. she found herself clutching at her chest struggling to breathe as the weight of how she had treated you lately all came crashing down on top of her.

as did the reality that she had walked away from you, from you.

you. the girl who she would have done just about anything for, the girl she was still head over heels in love with and the girl she had treated like she was nothing as she walked away without a look back.

and so the facade alexia had built up, broke.

alba and patri were by her side in an instant, trying to calm the blonde down as she pushed them away with a frantic shake of her head.

she stumbled to her feet, shoving past the younger girls needing to be out of the rapidly shrinking room where all she could hear ringing in her ears were your desperate and broken pleas for her to stay with you.

of course you were angry with her, you had every single right to be and she had no power at all to say you didn’t.

alexia glanced up as she finally caught her breath again, the dance floor now a little less crowded as people had started to drunkenly stumble away home together, the same thing she had just tried to protect you from.

but now it was beginning to dawn on her just how that would have looked to you, and how with the way she'd treated you she was the last person who had any sort of say on what you did with your life anymore, she'd kissed that right goodbye the night she'd left you.

it was through the throng of people grinding and pushing into one another on the dance floor that she found you, stood with your arms wrapped around yourself tightly next to ingrid as ona and irene were trying their best to help a very drunk mapi up to her feet so you could all leave.

“alexia no.” she moved to go to you, to comfort you, to apologise and try her best to fix this ungodly mess she'd made, but instead she ran into a body which put themselves in her way.

“she’s drunk and upset ale, and you’re thinking with your emotions and not your head. let her go.” lucy remanded gently, hands falling to her friend and captains shoulders who hesitated before nodding in agreement, allowing herself to be lead away from the group by her english team mate.

eventually she watched from a stool at the bar as you left, taking a piece of her heart with you as alexia sighed deeply, feeling a hand touch her shoulder. glancing to her left she saw the familiar eyes of her younger sister, alba's gaze a mixture of confusion, concern and frustration.

“i think you have some explaining to do hermana.”

~

you groaned as you felt a weight settle on your chest, eyes half opening as they locked with a familiar pair of bright green ones peering down at you curiously.

“buenos bagheera.” you sighed tiredly, moving your hand to scratch behind the cars left ear as he purred and pushed his head into your hand happily.

blinking a few times as your sight adjusted you realised you were in the guest bedroom of your sisters apartment, a room not unfamiliar to you though how you ended up here was a little more foggy.

you remembered bits and pieces of the night, probably in thanks to the many many shots alba had practically poured down your throat.

you remembered the brunette stranger whose face was a blur and how her hands felt all over your body, a sort of intimate touch you couldn’t help but wish was coming from your ex girlfriend despite how much she had hurt you.

then of course that had started the fight with said ex girlfriend in the bathroom, you remembered that, and how alexia's hand gripped your wrist, slender fingers digging desperately into your tanned skin.

you remembered clinging tightly onto ingrid as she pleaded for her girlfriend to get up and leave the club, then all you could recall was that you fell asleep in the car and now you’d woken up here.

the searing throbbing behind your eyes lead you to believe at some point of the night you must have cried, your makeup at somehow removed though you could feel the uncomfortable thickness of dried tears coat the corner of your eyelids.

your head pounding you gently moved the feline off of you who mewed and stretched out, flopping down on his side to lay in a sun soaked corner of the bed.

with much struggle you managed to get up and on your feet. glancing down you were clothed in a large shirt, noticing your dress from last night nearly folded on the plush navy blue armchair by the door.

withholding a groan at the way your skull pounded you opened the door and padded out into the kitchen, neither of the other two women awake or up as you were alone in your endeavor. your throat was dry and screaming for some sort of reprise where you'd likely snored and slept with your mouth open as you always did after you drank, something your sister and friends had far too many videos of.

chugging a few glasses of water and eventually finding something for your growing headache you noticed the door to the other bedroom was left open.

rinsing your glass and grabbing two clean ones you filled them up and grabbed the girls two pills each.

standing in the doorway you would have laughed at the sight before you had you been in a better mood.

ingrid was fast asleep on her stomach, face pressed into her pillow as your sister lay with her legs hanging half out of the covers, a pair of sunglasses covering her eyes and one heavily tattooed arm draped lazily over her face to further block out any sort of light.

you made your way round the bed, leaving the waters and advil on either one of their side tables. as you placed them down beside your sister you heard movement, the older girl lifting back the covers and opening her arms.

you hesitated for a moment thinking things over before that became far too much work given your hangover and you collapsed beside her with a sigh, pressing your face into her shoulder as her arms wound tightly around you.

“don’t get it confused, i’m still really mad at you.” you mumbled as she hummed, knowing you needed this right now maybe even more than she did.

at the rustling beside her ingrid lifted her head up with a tired frown, though seeing the two of you a smile grew on her lips and her head thudded down on the pillow, one hand pushing up the back of her girlfriends shirt to scratch her back.

despite currently wanting nothing more than to punch mapi square in the mouth at the absolute mess she’d caused of your life, you had missed the familiar comfort of a simple hug from her, especially given that the two of you were normally as close as close could be.

with there being four years between you growing up you’d had your bumps in the road as puberty hit and hormones and attitudes shifted between both of you, either one going through the 'i hate everyone get away from me' phase in turn.

and you both of course had many the fist fight and screaming match over the normal stupid things sister argued about like clothes and hairbrushes, having to share a room until you were eleven and she was fifteen.

but your bond had always been undeniably strong, and no matter how much you might anger or frustrate her sometimes if anyone even dared to look at you the wrong way she was in their face within an instant.

your first day at the same school she’d kept a wary eye on you despite strictly warning you to stay away from her and her friends. but the moment she noticed you pushed over by a boy you’d rejected she’d had him up against a wall by the collar of his uniform with a black eye and suddenly she was being suspended for three days.

which was part of the reason you felt so hurt and betrayed by the way your sister had lashed out at you without a second thought. her words and opinion had always meant the world to you, you looked up to her more than you would ever dare to let her know.

and though when it came to falling in love you’d had your fair share of partners scared off by her overbearing nature, there was still a slight glimmer of hope that maybe once she realised it was her best friend that you’d fallen for she would ease off. maybe she would realise alexia wouldn’t dare to hurt you.

how were you to know that you couldn’t have been more wrong about any of that.

alexia had now more than proven now her ability to hurt you seemingly without a second thought and mapi's rushed nonacceptance of the two of you had been the root catalyst of it all.

with that swirling around in your mind you pulled away from your sisters hold, shuffling to sit on the end of the bed rubbing your eyes tiredly, bagheera jumping onto the bed and settling himself in your previous position.

"my head hurts." mapi groaned quietly, again covering her face with her hands as her partner chuckled beside her, rolling onto her back and pushing herself to sit up, sending you a smile which you returned tiredly.

"that is called tequila mi corazón." ingrid patted the spaniards head who only groaned louder at the words. you left them to it, making your way back to the kitchen and starting to brew some coffee, hearing footsteps follow you.

a glance over your shoulder showed it was ingrid who had followed you, squeezing your shoulder gently before she began to rummage through the fridge, intending to start cooking something for breakfast.

"hey, you doing okay?" you pulled yourself to sit up on the counter beside the coffee machine as it slowly hummed to life. "i'm fine." you sent her a small smile as she only hummed, the stove top flickering to life.

"what did i walk in on last night?" she questioned somewhat hesitantly, not wanting to overstep as you let out a long sigh. "it's a little blurry, but i think she got jealous i wanted to go home with that girl from the club and decided she was going to take me home instead." you explained.

"none of us would have let you leave with that girl, you were far too drunk. i only came in because i thought she followed you and patri was worried since she couldn't see her on the dance floor anymore." ingrid elaborated as you nodded, wincing a little.

"it's not her responsibility to worry about me like that anymore though. thats why i got upset, she hasn't made any sort of move to apologise since she left me. why should she get to suddenly play hero and take me home because i'm too drunk?" you scowled, sipping at your coffee.

"i get it, i understand your anger. but even if she has been awful at showing it and i am not excusing her actions at all, alexia still cares for you." ingrid sent you an apologetic smile as you scoffed and shook your head. "what are we talking about?" you turned to glance at your sister who took a seat at the island, sunglasses dropped down to her nose.

"nothing." you answered quickly, sending ingrid a look as the taller girl turned back to her cooking, mapi thankfully too hungover to pick up on any of it.

"mami just called, checking what time we're meeting her for lunch." you let out a long and exhausted groan at the older girls words. "i'm not going."

"yes you are. i already told her we would be there by one, all of us." mapi sighed, rubbing her temples tiredly. "why!" you complained in annoyance, tucking one knee to your chest and resting your chin on it.

"because we said we'd be there and if we cancel now she'll be upset. she hasn't seen us in a month!" your sister reminded as you groaned yet again, hating that you really couldn't come up with any excuse to get out of it and nurse your growing hangover.

"she's been on a holiday, that's her choice." you huffed again, ingrid pinching your leg lightly with a look as you sighed.

"well then someone needs to drive me home or i'm going to need to borrow some clothes."

~

"oh you have to be kidding me. joder!" you swore under your breath, stopping abruptly as the two girls in front of you paused, glancing back at you with confused looks at your quiet outburst.

"why is she here! did you set this up maría?" you hissed glaring daggers at your sister, nodding to the large table across the courtyard where your mother sat, alexia, alba and eli also sat beside her.

"no? i promise hermana. i really really don't know why she's there- oh they've seen us now." your sister bit her lip guiltily as your mother furiously waved in her direction, ingrid rubbing your back as you withheld the urge to scream and pull your hair out.

surely this was some sort of twisted joke the universe had out for you.

"come on, you don't need to speak with her." the taller girl assured, nudging you to follow as she took mapi's outstretched hand, the three of you making your way toward the table.

met with a chorus of excited greetings you made your way around saying hi, kissing cheeks and being pulled into tight hugs, your mother quickly explaining how she'd seen eli sitting by herself when she arrived and invited her and the girls to join you all.

again, a horrifically cruel coincidence. there was easily hundreds of restaurants in barcelona so someone upstairs had to have it out for you for all of you to have made lunch plans here.

well aware of lingering eyes and not wishing any questions to arise you pressed a quick kiss to alexia's cheek and mumbled a soft hola, really more quickly pressing your cheek against hers and darting away.

once everyone had exchanged greetings and sat down you were at one end of the table beside alba who sat beside eli and your mother, across from ingrid and mapi who sat next to alexia, the two of you at least having as much space between one another as possible.

though not nearly enough for you to be comfortable.

your food ordered and drinks in hand conversation flowed easily, neither of your mothers thankfully picking up on the fact that you and alexia hadn't exchanged so much as a single word the last hour you'd all been sat down.

"ay! you have your own." you bumped your shoulder into the brunette beside you who stole your drink, alba tilting her head away from you as she rasied it to her lips.

"give it, alba!" you laughed, punching her arm and reaching out for the drink, mouth dropping as she finished it off and handed you back the empty glass with a wink and a kiss to your cheek.

"puta." you swore with a shake of your head, reaching for her drink as she grabbed your hand with a grin and a shake of her own, the two of you too busy messing around to notice the withering glare sent your way by the older putellas at the other end of the table, the jealous fury in her eyes hidden away behind a pair of prada sunglasses.

"hey, stop it." it wasn't missed however by your sister who knocked her knee into the captain, alexia looking away and resting her chin on her hand, mapi rolling her eyes and returning to her conversation with the women across from her, having been trying to include her best friend who only seemed content to sit silently and stoically.

"we need to talk later mi amiga, you've been holding out on me about something and it's not appreciated." alba warned you playfully though the look in her eyes let you know she wasn't joking and it didn't take much for you to know what she wanted to talk about.

"later." she assured as your food arrived, everyone calling out whose was whose as plates began to fill the table. "albs! again you have your own." you laughed, shoving away the catalan whose fork knocked against your plate before she placed a sloppy kiss to your cheek and you gagged jokingly, wiping your cheek on her shoulder as she stole a forkful of your food.

alexias hands balled into fists where they sat dormant on her knees, the blondes jaw clenching which again didn't go unnoticed by the older león beside her. "okay no, come." mapi sighed, standing and nodding for alexia to follow, fixing her with a firm stare as she tried to refuse.

you glanced over for a second at the two as your sister excused them to use the bathroom before she tugged alexia away and your attention turned back to your conversation with ingrid who shrugged when you raised an eyebrow silently.

"what are you doing?" mapi asked quietly as the two girls sat down in a secluded corner away from the main dining area, away from prying eyes or ears. "what?" alexia replied bluntly, pushing her sunglasses on top of her head with a raised eyebrow.

"you know what, ingrid told me what happened last night. ale-" the tattooed spaniard started with a sigh before alexia cut her off with a scoff and a shake of her head. "do not dare to lecture me. this is your fault in the first place!" alexia snapped, mapi at first taken aback by the aggression.

"i should not have reacted the way i did ale, i know that and i have apologized to both of you about it. but you should not have left her! we are both to blame, and i'm trying to work things out with her. so if she doesn't want to speak with you, leave her be." mapi warned, alexia shaking her head furiously with a laugh that was anything but humorous.

"you have to be joking mapi. i left her because you told me to! because you told me we were done and she and i were done. what was i supposed to do? tell me what would you have wanted me to do in that moment hm? when you were yelling at us both and pushing her around huh?" alexia shot up to her feet, pushing at the girls chest with a glare.

"i didn't see you standing up for her! or apologizing and trying to work anything out with her after she ignored us both for weeks. maybe i was right alexia and you aren't good for her, maybe you did her a favour by leaving!" mapi snapped back, shoving the blonde with the same intensity she'd just received.

"hey!" both girls heads swivelled toward the new voice, ingrid standing there with her arms crossed and fixing the two of them with a harsh glare.

"neither of you are even thinking about her, or her feelings, or her choices and how she has been heavily affected by everything, how much she is hurting and angry. idiotas!" the norweign snarled, both taken by surprise at the strict tone of the taller girl.

"i watched her cry her eyes out for an hour and a half last night after we left ale, over you." ingrid warned, pointing to the captain whose anger melted away and was immediately replaced with guilt.

"and i had to hear her heart break as she told me the horrible things you said to her, and how much it killed her to think her own sister saw her that way." her finger switched to point at her girlfriend whose once tense body language crumbled, both girls sitting back down.

"you have both been nothing but selfish, arrogant and stubborn about this entire situation. first you overstep and overreact and cause this whole mess by asserting your opinion where it wasn't needed. and then you leave her when she needed you the most to stay and to comfort her and prove that it didn't matter, that you would be there for her still. she was clearly not okay and her actions screamed that but neither of you bothered to check on her, or apologise, or even try at all to fix anything!" ingrid's frustrations had now boiled over as she berated the two women in front of her like naughty children, both of them with their heads hung low agreeing with every word.

"she is the collateral of all of this, she is the one who both of you claim to care about so deeply but you made up with one another before her. after it was the issues between the two of you that even made all of this happen! how do you think that made her feel?" ingrid spoke more calmly this time, words still sharp as knives as they cut through the air.

"you both need to put in the work if you want to save any sort of relationship with her. not that either of you probably deserve it! you-" she switched her eyes toward her girlfriend who cowered. "-you need to show her you're sorry and that you regret your actions, actions which were the cause of all of this. show her that you want to fix things and you have learned from your mistakes. not just say sorry and hope that things just slip back as they were." she warned, mapi nodding.

"and you, ale you need to do a lot more than try to take her home when she is drunk. have you even said sorry? spoken to her about that night? acknowledged anything? because that is the first step in a very long road to try and mend things. and if she does not want to mend things then you have lost the right to argue that, and you need to respect her wishes. both of you!" with that and one last firm look ingrid turned on heel and returned to the table, leaving both girls with their heads in their hands.

~

"did you drive here chica?" alba asked, arm slung around you as you shook your head. "good. stay for another drink with me and i will drive you home." the younger putellas all but demanded as she patted your cheek with her hand, recounting the plan to the group before you could even say a word.

you missed the look sent alba's way by her sister, the younger of the two rolling her eyes at the obvious jealousy and blanking her when the two of you said the rest of your goodbyes to your families.

though she wasn't going to let it go that easily. "what are you doing?" alexia tugged on the back of her younger sisters top, earning her attention as yours was stolen by a lingering goodbye with your mother.

"spending time with a close friend. back off alexia!" alba warned, having had just about enough of the dirty looks being sent her way all afternoon. "so i tell you we were seeing one another and your response is to try and make a move on her? dios mio alba whats wrong with you?" alexia growled quietly causing the younger girl to let out a sarcastic bark of laughter.

"you think im making a move on her hermana? seriously? you forget i have known her the same amount of time you have known mapi. just because the two of you kept this from me does not mean i do not care about her or already see her as a close friend, we have been close for years! of course i a, not making a move on her! asshole." with that the younger putellas scoffed and shoved alexia away, making her way to your side and dragging you away, blowing your mothers a kiss as she did so.

moving down the road to a different bar the two of you sat together at a table in the back corner on stools, a water in your hand and a tequila in alba's as she fixed you with a look and you already knew what was coming.

"okay amiga now we are alone i want to hear all about it. vamos!" the brunette clapped, waving for you to speak as you sighed, wishing the water in your hand could magically turn into vodka but you knew you had training tomorrow.

"albs. you obviously know what happened so why do i need to tell you? we aren't together anymore and it is still raw, por favour amiga." you groaned with a pleading stare.

"no, i only know a little. only enough to know that my sister did something wrong and you are no longer together. but she did say you were seeing one another for months which both of you kept from me. so i need to know everything from the beginning, vamos!" she repeated with another wave, and you knew one putellas well enough to see that the unwavering stubbornness was clearly a genetic trait.

"fine. well-"

it had all started on a tuesday night. you had offered to host a few of the girls you were closest with for a dinner after training, but with a particularly nasty stomach flu making its way through the team, it ended up only being you and alexia.

"the two survivors ay chica?" alexia grinned cheekily, clinking her glass against yours making you laugh. "don't you jinx it!" you warned playfully, taking a mouthful of water and turning back to the stove top.

"are you sure i can't help with anything? you know i am an excellent chef." alexia asked for the tenth time, knee bouncing restlessly as she sat feeling useless.

"you might be, but you are a terrible listener and an even worse assistant." you teased, grinning at the older girl over her shoulder who scoffed in offence. "you are far too bossy, capitana." you grinned at her obvious disagreement.

"no i am not! who assists most of your goals bonita hm?" alexia questioned with a hum and a raised eyebrow, you turned and stayed facing away from her to avoid the midfielder seeing the way your cheeks flushed crimson at the term of endearment.

that had seemed to be happening a lot lately.

you and alexia had always been close through her friendship with your sister and playing alongside her at a national level, then when you transferred over to barca she was quick to take you under a watchful eye.

that had been fine, you'd always looked up to her as a footballer and a human being. the catalan's passion for the sport was undying and the way she held herself as a public figure, a team mate, a captain and a friend was beyond admirable.

though lately, and you couldn't pin point exactly when or why things had shifted, you found yourself unable to hold her gaze, becoming flustered when she was near by and finding terms of endearment she had always used with you to send your cheeks the same colour as your national jersey.

and you hated yourself for it, because despite not knowing when it started you weren't stupid, you knew what it meant.

you had a crush, a stupidly infuriatingly mind melting crush. on a girl who was not only your captain, friend, and team mate.

but your sisters best friend, a person who not only would never share your feelings but was well off limits because of the sheer fact you feared if anything was to happen your sister might strangle you or her with her bare hands.

you'd finished dinner, sat at the table discussing anything and everything which inevitably lead to alexia's favourite subject, football.

you'd half zoned out as the girl droned on, walking you through play by play of the drill you'd been practicing in training, captain mode kicking in as she went over different ways the ball could be delivered.

you found your eyesight continued to slip down to her lips, watching her mouth move more than you focused on the actual words coming out of them, hating how you couldn't help but wonder what they felt like, what they tasted like.

you blinked several times as alexia leant forward and sharply flicked your ear, noticing that you weren't listening to her and not missing just where your attention had shifted to.

unknown to you, you weren't the only one who had a crush. not that alexia would ever be caught dead saying that horribly juvenile word, she preferred to think of it as an attraction, an interest, one she'd harbored silently for awhile now, holding her cards close to her chest.

seeing the amusement on her face at the fact you'd very clearly ignored most of what she said you grabbed her plate and yours, excusing yourself to clean up and again dismissing any help from her.

"go find something to watch! unless you want to head home?" you offered as you stacked the dishwasher, alexia shaking her head and settling herself on your lounge. "and not football ale!" you warned, the brunette rolling her eyes at your stern words.

settling on something light, some reality show where strangers were matched together and married, you shortly joined her, throwing your body back into the cushions with a sigh.

"you watch this?" you perked up with a grin, alexia scoffed and shook her head, but you saw through it. "fine! sometimes." she admitted quietly making you laugh.

"wait till the team hears big bad la reina watches married at first sight!" you teased. "don't you dare!" alexia warned seriously, kicking you with a glare. "or what?" you mocked with a grin, kicking her back as the girl grabbed your legs, tugging you closer to her.

"i'll make you run extra laps, extra drills, maybe some sprints and push ups for good measure." she smirked, pulling the captain rank and making you roll your eyes. "oh sorry capitana! forgot you aren't human and allowed to enjoy lifes simple pleasure. all bow down to la reina!" your voice dripped with sarcasm as you mocked a bow, alexia shoving your head playfully.

"don't call me that please, i hate it." she groaned, your head now falling to her shoulder as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the closeness of your bodies not lost on either of you.

after a while alexia was beginning to grow restless, long bored of the trashy reality show you seemed glued to, your body now leaning into her side.

shifting lightly, you tensed a little as you felt her arm move to settle across your shoulders, her thumb and pointer finger gently massaging a knot in the base of your neck.

"is this okay?" she asked softly and you nodded, terrified to look up at her as your heart hammered in your chest. eventually, nerves began to settle as you realised she had initiated the close contact, having moved her hand away from your neck and settling it in your hair, absentmindedly playing with the loose strands.

without looking at her you moved your left hand to rest on her bare thigh, thumb tracing small circles on the bare skin as alexia held her breath at the contact, the gentle but consistent touch driving her mad.

"is this okay?" you echoed her previous words, alexia humming as the two of you sat in a silence, a strange tension building around you both which only grew the longer it was left unaddressed.

a new episode started and alexia decided she could no longer deal with the now suffocating silence which had begun to tighten around her throat, leaving her struggling to even have a cohesive thought.

you felt the weight of her arm disappear and a small frown knitted its way to your eyebrows, though before you could remove your hand fearing you'd made her uncomfortable, fingers grabbed at your chin, tilting your head upwards.

no words were said as your eyes locked with the soft pools of hazel that shone down at you, a curiosity lit up within them that you'd not seen before. alexia's gaze dropped to your lips, thoughts cloudy as the pad of her thumb tenderly grazed the curvature of your jaw.

slowly your free hand moved upwards, settling on her cheek as her head tilted into your touch, your chest tightening as she turned and placed a gentle kiss to your palm.

a few more beats of silence passed, the taller girl struggling to get out the words which jammed in her throat, so desperate to escape but stifled by her fear that she was misreading this whole situation.

"alexia." you'd whispered her name so quietly, as if it were made of glass and the moment it dropped from your lips it could smash into a thousand pieces.

"can i kiss you?" those next four words fell from her mouth and for a moment your world shattered, struggling to ground yourself into reality, too sure this had to be some sort of fever dream.

not trusting your voice you only nodded, using the hand which rested on her cheek to guide her mouth down towards yours, alexias own hand nudging your chin up as she stopped, lips ghosting yours.

it was like a game of cat and mouse, both awaiting to see who would crack first, who was going to make that closing move and put the final nail in the coffin of what was once a seemingly healthy friendship.

unable to wait any longer, driven positively mad by the way her breath fanned your face and you drowned in her familiar and ever alluring scent which invaded all your senses, you closed the gap.

your mouths slotted together perfectly, your head tilting a little more to the right as her rosy pink pillow soft lips pressed oh so heavenly against yours.

her hand moved from your chin to gently grab the back of your neck, flushing your bodies closer as her tongue swiped your bottom lip, your mouth opening just enough for it to dart inside.

your other hand flew to cup her face, deepening the kiss further as your tongues battled for dominance, though lost in a pleasure drunk haze you allowed her to take control, not before nipping at her bottom lip causing her to inhale sharply in surprise.

a few more moments of bliss passed before oxygen became an issue and your hand moved to interlock with hers, moving it to your shoulder as you pulled away, chest heaving and mind reeling.

"I-" you started, words unable to form as your head spun and your lips tingled like you'd just eaten something sour. "we should-" alexia also struggled to get the words out, her head foggy from the addictively intoxicating feeling of kissing you.

"wait." your body ran cold as you leaned back in to kiss her once more, her hands on your shoulders holding you still as your eyes widened. "no no no, por favor." she reassured as you tried to move away and she held you firmly in place, assuming you'd made a mistake.

"i want to do this amor, but properly." the older girl started softly, a slight blush coming to her cheeks at the unfamiliar request, your eyes widened in surprisingly as her thumb gently traced your swollen bottom lip.

"could i please take you on a date?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

part five

[hyper-fixates]

low honour!arthur morgan x virgin!reader

this is really just one long-winded fic idea that i need to speak into existence.

tags: literally save a horse ride a cowboy, afab!reader (feminine pronouns, descriptions, and names used), religious topics/imagery, obsessive!arthur, virginity kink, age gap relationship, loss of virginity, corruption kink

Reader is in her early 20s, privileged to come from a family with wealth from their heritage and inheritance in the oil industry.

The era of cowboys and outlaws has started to become a thing of the past from the shifts in climate and industry throughout the country. Reader has resided in Saint Denis her whole life, never needing to worry about gangs, outlaws, or even cowboys.

She has never even seen a cowboy before, but she’s heard stories; none of them particularly pretty. The presence of law enforcement throughout the streets and the sheer distance of Saint Denis from other towns is enough to deter most of them from causing trouble.

Functionally, she should never be compatible with a cowboy.

Her father has always preached about her waiting for a “good, proper man” that can marry her into another family with obscene wealth. And so, she protects her chastity and innocence just as she is expected to—just as her father expects her to.

Hell, she doesn’t even know how to ride a horse! Her father believes that riding horses is beneath them, so anywhere she wants to go is accommodated by a stagecoach.

Cut to: reader is accompanying her father on a trip to Annesburg to discuss potential investments in the mining industry. He hates leaving her alone. She knows he worries that she’ll get “up to no good”.

Her father has chosen one of their more comfortable, flashy stagecoaches for the longer ride, giving him more storage for his financial documents and whatnot. A perfect target for gangs.

And, inevitably, they get robbed.

The robbers’ faces are all concealed by hats and bandanas, and one of them ties her arms behind her back with careful hands before guiding her to her knees on the wet grass.

The man who tied her up stays close by her side, and she can see her father pleading for his life to another man who’s not listening.

“Are you a cowboy?” Are the first words she says to him, not a note of fear in her doll-like eyes that make her look so fuckable in this position with her on her knees next to him, dress billowing out around her form.

He looks down at her confused. “Uh, once, I suppose.” His voice is a little muffled by the black bandana hanging over his nose and mouth.

She can see that his hair is so long that it starts to curl up and out at the ends under his hat.

“Well, you got the hat. And the horse,” she reasons, wondering if she’s truly meeting a cowboy under circumstances she thought she’d never be in.

He looks to her again, left hand causally hooked in the leather of his belt as he waits for the rest of his gang to finish up. “I guess you’re right.” He tips his head to her in agreement.

“Leave them! These people are leeches. Let the wolves decide their fate.” A man with a deep, booming voice announces atop his white horse.

Now she starts to panic.

She pulls against the rope around her wrists, looking up to the man who tied her as he begins to walk toward his horse. “Wait! Mister, please! Please don’t. Please,” she yells to him.

He looks back to her, then his horse, then back to her again. “Hold on.” He signals to the man on the white horse before walking back over to her.

“Take me home. Please just take me home, mister. I won’t say nothing, I promise, but just take me home and I’ll give you anything you want,” she begs to him.

He sighs, but not out of annoyance or hesitation for her request. He sighs because he has no idea what she has just done to herself.

He places his bandana over her eyes and leads her to his horse. He unties her hands and lets her blindly climb into the saddle, legs shaking from unfamiliarity.

When she settles, she blindly grips onto the saddle horn for dear life, wishing her father let her ride at least once in her life so she wouldn’t appear so delicate in this situation. The man chuckles off to the side before mounting up behind her. She notices the saddle is not quite meant for two as he pushes in tightly against her ass, seemingly not even concerned about it.

This is probably the closest she’s ever been to a man.

“Where to, miss?” The man leans forward against her back to grab the reigns, caging her in with his arms.

She tells him in a quiet voice, and he kicks against his horse, setting them into motion.

When they arrive at her French two-story home on the outskirts of Saint Denis, the man dismounts swiftly, hand circling her wrist before saying, “Swing your right leg over and I’ll help you down.”

She slowly brings herself around, feeling the man lock his hands around her waist to guide her to the ground.

He tugs at the knot holding the bandana around her eyes, and she doesn’t let herself turn around until she feels he’s had enough time to tie it back around his face.

“Thank you, mister,” she whispers.

He tips his hat and leaves without another word.

In the following week, the man watches her after the sun sets. He watches her pray before bed and change into her silk nightgown, waiting for the night he can maybe finally see the more explicit side of her. But it never comes.

She’s perfect.

Eventually they cross paths again one day. The man purposefully chooses to ditch the bandana, too.

“I don’t think my daddy would appreciate me talking to someone like you,” she admits slyly as she continues her trek into Saint Denis.

The man follows beside her on his horse, left arm lazily hanging down by his side. “Someone like me? And who’s that?” he asks, a slight smile also on his lips.

“A cowboy. An outlaw,” she says, sneaking a glance up to him as his horse steps in time with her down the path.

“Well your daddy ain’t here.”

“No, mister.”

“Come for a ride then.”

And that’s how it’s starts for them. He introduces himself as they ride to his gangs camp, and she complains about how sore her legs are when they arrive.

“You don’t ride?” Arthur asks, intending for it to be a joke.

“That was my second time. Ever,” she laughs.

And that’s when he understands what type of lady he’s dealing with, so he goes for it.

“Maybe you should practice on me sometime,” he remarks, untacking his horse.

She wonders if she heard him right. “Uh, mister—”

“Arthur,” he corrects.

In that moment, she realizes he can teach her everything her father has kept from her, show her everything he had protected her from. Throw away the innocence and chastity and truly experience what life should be. But Arthur doesn’t know the entirety of her sheltered life. She needs someone like him.

“Arthur…I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for,” she admits. “I…I’ve never been with no one. Ever.”

“You’re untouched, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Just as my daddy said I should be. Until marriage.”

And Arthur makes it his mission to make her experience her own sexuality in its completeness, so he starts off slow.

He would always touch, never breaching her or letting her do anything to him. The focus was always on her.

Her virginity and pureness made him conflicted: he wanted to ruin her in all the ways she has never been, but he wants to tease and rile her up and watch her experience all the sexual frustrations for the first time.

It was cute. The more bold he got with his touches, the more bold she got in trying to take what she wanted. He would take her behind a tree and slowly lift up the dainty material of her summer dress, gathering it in his left hand as he used his right to rub her clit through her underwear while he licked and sucked along her neck, careful not to leave marks.

She would get weak so fast, Arthur could barely handle how virgin her body truly was. She would grip onto the leather straps of the rifles hanging down his back, trying to force his hand harder and faster.

However, the first time he made her cum was an accident.

He confidently placed a gentle kiss on her lips while they were alone in his tent—he just wanted to see how she would react.

She leaned in and returned it, snaking her hands around his neck and pulling him down to her. He pulled her into his lap, laying them down on his cot as they started making out like a long-distance high-school couple.

Arthur mindlessly starts grinding against her, ignoring the clothing separating them. She doesn’t realize what she’s feeling as Arthur’s hard cock slides against her clothed pussy.

Her orgasm just kind of happens.

Arthur watches her shake and twitch under him as he pulls away to see what happened. The wet spot on her underwear is all the evidence he needs.

Ever since, she’s been insatiable. She wants Arthur to show her everything. Teach her everything. She wants to feel everything if that means she can cum like that again.

Around the campfire she’d sit on his lap, tightly circling her hips against him until he’d grow hard before stopping. Then she’d do it again.

Arthur would mostly ignore her teasing. He didn’t want her to know how much she was driving him up the wall, so he’d retaliate in a way that was ten times worse then whatever she did just to prove a point about her innocence, how she knows so little compared to him.

The first time they fuck, he makes the horse riding joke again: “I’m sure this’ll be good practice for you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a laugh, rubbing his cock through her folds as she straddles him. He’s built up her confidence so much, it’s all been leading to this.

He’d guide her up and down, back and forth, testing her body to see what she likes. Seeing what spot makes her tremble.

He finds it. “Fuck, there it is,” Arthur groans.

She can’t even think. She doesn’t know what to think. She’s doing everything her father told her not to.

Premarital sex.

Premarital sex with a cowboy.

“Oh, Lord, forgive me,” she prays, her pussy sliding so perfectly along him as he grips her hips harder.

Eventually, he’d eat her out in her childhood bedroom. Her father sleeping in the room above her own, separated by the thin wood of the floor. She arches against the bed, and her eyes meet the iron cross hung above her bed frame.

She’d often ask him to leave the hat on, and he’d laugh, pleased that she is slowly adopting sexual preferences and interests.

She was his perfect, sophisticated woman that he was free to defile and poison with his desires.

[halfwayhearted]

Right Side Of My Neck — Pablo Gavi.

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend got a haircut without your knowledge and comes to surprise you.

Word Count: 520+

Disclaimer/s — No use of Y/N, OOC perhaps, haircut mention (…😭), literally nothing, just fluff.

A/N: Super short but! For my beautiful Bonk Bea… I hope you like this. ^_^

Curious, you were curious to say the least.

You were washing dishes when your phone buzzed with a text message from your boyfriend, letting you know he'd be arriving in about five minutes. The reason? You weren’t quite sure.

He’d been… mysterious as of lately, and in all honesty, you feared he was going to break up with you or confess something that would inevitably lead to your breakup. However, when he texted just two minutes later with a simple red heart emoji, a wave of relief washed over you, and you felt your shoulders slump.

So… what did he have to tell you?

Keeping your mind occupied with a seemingly endless stream of tasks, you were so engrossed that you didn’t even hear the soft creak of your apartment door opening or the gentle footsteps that slowly echoed throughout the room.

“Hello,” he called out, hoping for a response.

And you gave him one. “In here!”

Hearing him gradually enter the kitchen, you didn't bother turning around. When you felt his chin gently rest on your shoulder, a soft “Hi” escaped his lips.

“Hi,” you echoed, “Come on, what is it?”

“What, no ‘how was your day?’ Or, ‘what were you doing?’” He teased, feigning offense as his hand gently caressed your hip, giving a tender squeeze before settling there.

You laugh at his remark, grabbing the rag from its rack and meticulously drying your hands. Once they were completely dry, you turn in his warm embrace, poised to deliver a witty retort when something catches your eye.

His hair.

So, to rephrase your earlier question, it was what had he wanted to show you?

And wow.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you catch sight of it. His hair was practically gone—well, not entirely, but almost. “You didn't,” you drawl, your eyes flickering down to meet his gaze. It’s then that you realize he looks genuinely nervous.

Pablo Gavi was nervous of how you’d react to his new and… improved hair.

“Do you like it?” He questioned quietly.

A small laugh escapes your lips as you glance back up at it. “Like it?” A pause, noticing the way he gulps. “Gavi, I love it. When’d you get it done?”

He visibly relaxes at that, “I had it cut yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” You repeated, eyebrows raising, “Was it, like, free?”

“Free? No. Why would you think that?”

Tilting your head, you shrugged, “Just asking.”

“Does it not look good?” He asked, running a hand over his hair—or, head. “Honestly.”

Realizing that your playful teasing was going unnoticed, you decided to give in and offer the compliment he was hoping for. “It looks really good. It suits you. I like it a lot.”

“You like it a lot.”

“I like it a lot,” you confirm, leaning in and placing a delicate, tender kiss to his lips. Just as his hands grip your hips tighter, you pull back, “I’d have appreciated a little warning though.”

Gavi rolled his eyes with an annoyed (amused) scoff. He then leaned in to steal one more kiss, the playful gesture making you giggle softly.

Yeah, you guys would be alright.

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

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 12: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt. 3)

Summary: Soap thinks that taking a walk through the woods is just what you need to help you get over your new fear. Your walk isn’t as pleasant as you hope it’ll be.

Word Count: 5,176

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, strong language, panic attack, arguing

A/N: I didn’t know if this would be ready or not to be posted on time, but I managed to get it done! Please enjoy loves!!

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Bitter Allies • Part 12

This was such a bad idea. Why the hell did you agree to this? The hike was most certainly not helping you overcome your anxieties; it was making them worse. You thought being cornered in the outhouse and standing in the open field was bad, but try walking through thick foliage where you can’t see your surroundings. Your poor heart is doing double-time in your chest, pounding so hard it feels like it might burst.

Soap, oblivious to your mounting dread, is making so much noise as he plows through the brush that you can’t even listen for any potential threats. Every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs sends a jolt of panic through you. The fear in the pit of your stomach is growing stronger with each step. The oppressive canopy above blocks out most of the sunlight, not that it would help to ease your nerves if it didn’t. However, it does make it feel as though the forest is closing in on you, suffocating you with its dense undergrowth and unseen dangers.

About five to ten minutes into the hike, you desperately want to turn back. By now you’ve gone at least a mile, but the feeling is the same. Nothing has happened yet—you haven’t even run into any animals—but that doesn’t help to quell the anxiety flooding your system. It feels like you’re just waiting for something terrible to happen. Just waiting for another bear to catch your scent and come after you.

Like it had that morning you went out by yourself…

A shiver runs along your spine as you recall the feeling of being chased. The heavy, thudding footsteps behind you, the growl that sent you sprinting for your life. That had been your warning, your sign of the dangers waiting in the woods, and you hadn’t listened. Maybe the fear gripping you now was also a warning, screaming at you to head back before it was too late. Your hands tremble slightly, and you clench them into fists to stop them from shaking.

“Holding up back there States?”

You glance up, your teeth releasing their hold on your lip as you meet Soap’s eyes. He’s been walking ahead of you this entire time, leading the way and stomping down the brush for you. You’ve been mostly silent since you left the cabin. The only communication you’ve had since you left are moments like this where he’s just checking to make sure you’re still following him and not completely breaking down.

“Yep, just peachy.” You tell him, the answer seeming to be enough to satisfy him for the next few minutes. He turns forward again and keeps on going.

As you continue trudging through the forest, your mind races with what-ifs. What if a bear does come? What if you can’t handle it? What if this hike is just a terrible mistake? You should just go back now… give up and-

No.

You were not going to just give up and quit. That stubborn, won’t quit attitude had gotten you through a lot during your time in the military. It was the very thing that kept you in the Task Force despite how much of an ass Soap was.

You can do this… you can push through it.

“Hey Soap,” you start, hoping that talking might help distract you. The only problem is, you don’t know exactly what to talk about. “Uh… do you know where we’re going?” You settle on.

“Course.” Soap answers easily, not even so much as glancing over his shoulder at you. “I know of a few bear caves around here that we can-“

“Are you fucking serious?!” You shout at him, stopping immediately in your tracks. The thought of walking to the den of a bear, practically handing yourself over on a silver platter, is enough to make you want to ditch Soap and bolt. He can’t be serious.

At your outburst, Soap instantly turns around, his eyes locking onto yours. He sees the panic glazing over your eyes and immediately raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, his expression shifting from confusion to concern in a heartbeat.

“I’m kidding! Just joking! Fucking hell, States. I don’t know of any bear caves around here.” Soap's quickly says, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

“Don’t fucking do that! My God, you’re going to give me a fucking heart attack!” You shout, your voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger, fists clenched at your sides. You were stressed enough as it was, you didn’t need him saying shit that was only going to add to that stress.

Soap gives you an exasperated look, his mouth hanging open just a bit. “Fuck’s sake! It was a joke! Lighten up!” He snaps back, his initial confusion giving way to irritation.

“It’s not funny!” You retort, your own anger only growing the more defensive he gets.

“Oh come on. Anyone else would have taken that as a joke.” Soap's tone turns sharper, his frustration evident as he glares at you.

You’re steaming now, fists clenched at your sides. The fear that had been bubbling under the surface is now mixed with a growing anger. Your heart is pounding, not just from the anxiety of being out in the woods, but from the frustration of dealing with Soap’s insensitivity. You already felt vulnerable and on edge, you don’t want to have to deal with Soap being a total ass as well.

“Really? Forgive me for not wanting to laugh about walking into the home of the animal that almost took my life. I’m already freaking out about seeing one out here, so what makes you think I’d find that funny? This isn’t a joke to me, and I don’t want to joke about it.”

Soap rolls his eyes right back at you. “We haven’t even seen anything yet. You’re working yourself up over nothing.“

“Nothing?” You snap back. “It’s not nothing to me!”

“Well, it needs to be,” Soap retorts, his tone firm. “The 141 doesn’t get hung up over stuff like this.”

You feel another surge of anger rush through you at his words. “Easy for you to say! You weren’t the one with a bear practically on top of you, trying to claw and bite your face off.”

“And you think I haven’t faced things just as bad, if not worse?” Soap counters, stepping closer and invading your space. “I can tell you this, States. I have faced much worse than something like a bear! If you’re this freaked out over a little joke, maybe you should reconsider if you’re cut out for the military.”

His words cut deep, reopening old wounds. From the beginning, Soap has always been trying to get you kicked off the Task Force. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s told you that you should quit. Hell, he’d even told Price to get rid of you while you were in the room with him.

You stare at him for a long moment, disbelief mingling with hurt. “Is making me quit all you ever think about?”

Soap’s expression hardens. “Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t keep proving to me that you should.”

You bite your cheek harshly. “If my fear of a bear that nearly killed me is a reason enough that I should quit, then what about your fear of thunder? Shouldn’t freaking out over that mean you should quit too?”

Your words are met with a confused expression from Soap. It’s like he doesn’t remember having a full blown panic attack the day it stormed.

“What?” He finally says after a moment of not being able to figure out where you got that idea from. “The fuck you talking about? I don’t have a fear of thunder.”

You roll your eyes at him and cross your arms over your chest. “What do you mean? Yes you do. You don’t remember that big storm that rolled in like the first or second day we were here? It was thundering so loudly, and you had an episode. How can you not remember that?”

Soap is silent another moment while he thinks back. He opens his mouth to reply, but then shuts it, his face shifting as he figures out what you were referring to. However to you, it looks like he realized his argument was flawed and is now trying to come up with some kind of excuse. He couldn’t tell you to get over his irrational fear if he had an irrational fear himself.

“I-I’m not scared of thunder. That’s not what I was…” He trails off, further adding to your suspicion.

“Really? If you’re not scared of thunder, then why the hell were you freaking out like that?”

Soap is silent for a moment, his eyes distant. You think for a moment he’s trying really hard to come up with an excuse, but when you really look, his eyes look slightly glazed over and there’s a pinch of worry between his brow. It’s almost like he’s actively reliving something. His thoughts are racing, though with what, you aren’t sure. The silence stretches on and almost begins to get uncomfortable. You’re about to say something, but Soap finally speaks up.

“It wasn’t the thunder…” He finally says, his voice tight. “Just... let it go, alright?”

You scoff at him. “Let it go? So you can give me shit about being scared of a bear, but you can have some irrational fear yourself, and it’s just fine? You’re allowed to be scared and have stuff freak you out but I can’t?”

Soap instantly snaps back, his voice firm and defensive. You’ve hit a sore spot.

“What happened that night it stormed was different! Alright!? What happened to me is nothing like what happened to you and that bear. I actually got fucking hurt! All that bear did was fucking growl at you and threaten you, I took fucking glass to the face.”

He points at his face, specifically more towards his chin than any other area. Your glare dips down to where he’s pointing, naturally locking on to the now faded, but still visible scar that runs along his chin.

You follow the thick, long scar that runs in a jagged horizontal line below his lip. It was his most noticeable scar and one that you’d always been curious as to how he got it. Apparently there was quite the story to go along with it. You always imaged he’d got it from some kind of explosion to the face, though he didn’t sport any burn scars that would support that theory. It was far too complex to be from a knife, but a shard of glass made perfect sense.

He must have been tortured. Maybe at some point in his career, he’d been a POW and gotten tortured for information. You did not put it past the enemy to go to any means necessary to get information. Using broken glass off the ground to slice someone up for military secrets was quite a common tactic too. Soap’s files didn’t say anything about him ever being taken hostage though. Then again, it could have been something that had been redacted. A lot of the things in his files regarding missions were heavily redacted.

You don’t focus too heavily on his comment about the broken glass though. That was something you could table for a little later. Right now you’re far too upset that he’s completely dismissing your own fears just because he’s seen worse.

“So would my fear be more valid then if I had gotten hurt? Almost getting hurt isn’t enough to justify having a fear of something? Whatever the fuck happened to you, it would have been absolutely nothing if your precious face hadn’t gotten cut up?”

Soap tenses up, his voice dropping a few octaves and taking on a dangerous drawl. His entire body goes rigid, and his fists clench as his sides. “States, you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, so I suggest you shut the hell up.”

He’s probably right. You have no idea the kind of things he’s been through, so you shouldn’t be making assumptions without knowing the full story. But you’re so angry with him right now that you can’t bring yourself to care.

“And you have no idea how I feel, so you can shut up too!” You shout back at him, and his eyes ignite with anger. You can practically see the spark before it flares up, and you’re sure he can see the same thing happening in yours.

His inhales sharply through his mouth prepared to absolutely lay into you, but before he can, you notice his eyes flicker away from yours for a moment. They quickly snap back to you, but then look away once again, his mouth slowly closing. At first, you don't think much of it, but then the hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand up. Your body senses danger before your mind can process it.

The anger drains from you in an instant, replaced by a growing unease as you try to understand why Soap isn’t looking at you anymore and why you suddenly feel so on edge. Then Soap says the most panic inducing words, his voice dropping to an unnaturally calm level after the shouting he’d been doing not a second prior.

“States, listen to me, do not panic.“

You feel yourself instantly freeze. Usually when someone tells you not to panic it’s because there’s a reason you should be. The nagging feeling of danger intensifies, your hands almost feeling numb from the rush of sudden adrenaline.

“What? Why?” You ask softly, mouth quickly going dry.

“Don’t turn around, don’t freak out.” He tells you carefully, eyes staying mostly locked off somewhere behind you now. “Just walk over to me, lass.”

“Is it a bear?” You ask bluntly, feeling your whole back tense up. You want so so badly for him to say no. You wouldn’t care if he was joking. You wouldn’t even care if it was any other animal, just not a bear. Not right now.

“Yes, it is. Just stay calm.” He reaches out to grab your arm, but you move it away from him, hugging it to your chest instead.

“No… no please…” Tears start to blur your vision. “Tell me you’re joking. Please. This is a joke, right?” You feel yourself starting to shake. You so desperately want him to be kidding. “I swear to God if there isn’t a bear, I’m going to kill you.”

“I swear to you, I’m being serious, lass.” He insists.

You want to call his bluff, convinced for a moment that he's just being an asshole and there really isn't a bear. But then you hear it—the sound of something big moving slowly and deliberately. Each step is measured and heavy, rustling the foliage on the forest floor. You hear a snorting sound, similar to the one that the bear at the lake had made as it sniffed the air. Your heart skips a beat as the reality sinks in: there really is something behind you.

You feel the panic set in, your body simultaneously hot and cold. Adrenaline surges through your veins, making your hands both numb and hypersensitive. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can hear the blood as it rushes through your ears. Your breathing starts to quicken, shallow bursts as your mind races. Every muscle in your body tenses, poised for action, wanting to bolt and create distance between you and the thing behind you, but also frozen in fear.

“States…” Soap says, almost in warning. He’s trying to watch you while also trying to keep an eye on the animal behind you. “Please, just walk over to me.”

You want to do as he says, but first you just need to see for yourself. You need to know there really is something behind you.

“Don’t.” Soap warns, almost like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You don’t listen though. Gathering any remnants of courage you had left, you take a deep breath and start to slowly peak over your shoulder. And there, a few feet away, is a black bear. You don’t give yourself proper time to really look at it. The second your peripheral vision spots it, your terrified gaze snaps back to Soap.

Your eyes lock onto Soap's, breathing picking up now that it’s been confirmed. You want to scream and cry out, but you’re too scared to even do that. “Soap…” You sob, making him just reach out for you instead of continuing to wait for you to come to him.

He grabs ahold of your arm firmly, gently and slowly pulling you close to him. “Shh, it’s alright, come here.” He says as he moves an arm to wrap around you. It’s surprisingly comforting to feel him holding you. Your bickering, all the things that were said, are momentarily forgotten.

“Just stay clam, it’s gonna be ok.” He mutters to you, and you nod, more out of instinct than understanding. You’re a bit more focused on listening for the bear than you are to Soap’s words.

You try to sneak another look at the animal, only really wanting a quick glance, but Soap takes that opportunity to turn you fully so that you’re facing it. His hands settle on your hips to keep you in place, and your breath hitches as your eyes land on the bear. On instinct, you press back firmly into Soap, his chest acting as a solid wall to keep your from moving any further.

“I’m right here.” Soap reminds you, whispering softly into your ear. “Not gonna let anything happen to you.” He promises, thumbs brushing softly against your hips, though you can hardly focus on that right now. Still, his presence alone is grounding. Feeling him behind you, him holding you tightly, it reminds you that you’re not alone.

Facing the bear now, you can finally take in the scene before you. The bear is a few yards away, its black fur glistening in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. It’s a smaller bear, not as large as the one that attacked you, but the sight of it still sends a jolt of fear through you. Its eyes are fixed on you, nostrils flaring as it sniffs the air. The memory of the bear in the lake doing the same thing before it approached you flashes through your mind.

Your heart pounds faster, and you feel your breathing stutter. For a moment, you're back there, alone and vulnerable, with the bear bearing down on you. Stalking towards you, about to strike.

Then you feel Soap give your hips a squeeze, and his voice cuts through the haze of fear. “It’s okay, States. It’s just passing by. It’s more scared of us. It doesn’t want anything to do with us.”

His voice brings you back to the present, and you shake your head a bit to focus on what’s happening right now. “Look at it,” he whispers softly in your ear. “It’s just curious. It’s not here to hurt us. Not all bears are aggressive.”

The bear takes a tentative step forward, then pauses, its ears twitching. You tense the second it moves, and Soap’s arm around you tightens slightly, a subtle reassurance. “Stay calm. It’s going to move on. Just keep breathing.”

The bear snorts, shaking its head before taking another step. You can tell that its muscles are tense under its fur. It takes a few more steps, its eyes never leaving yours as it slowly moves. A deep growl rumbles in its chest, and you are tempted to take a step back, but you can’t with Soap standing directly behind you.

“Don’t back away.” He tells you gently, able to feel the muscles in your back twitch against his chest. “If it starts to come this way, wave your arms above your head and shout at it. Just like I showed you.”

“I don’t think I can.” You whisper back to him. Your mouth is so dry, and it feels like your throat has completely sealed itself off. Even talking was a challenge, and your voice already sounded weaker and slightly hoarse.

“You can, States. You can do this.” He encourages you.

The bear takes a few more steps, still just trying to move perpendicularly past you, but it stops once more to huff softly. When you don’t react to it, it takes a small steps towards you, its head lowered cautiously, but eyes still fixed on you.

“It’s not being aggressive, it’s just curious. Just tell it to go away. Nice and firm.” Soap whispers to you.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather any bit bravery you had. “Go away.” You say, voice a bit wobbly, but still managing to be firm.

The bear hesitates, lifting its head a bit as you speak to it. Its glossy eyes keep locked on you, and it starts to sniff the air once more. Speaking just seemed to make it more curious. It takes another step forward, and you feel Soap’s grip tighten again.

“Alright, it’s getting too curious now. Gotten show it you’re not something to mess with. Get loud now, wave your arms and yell. Make yourself big.” Soap instructs, his voice steady. He’s not panicked at all, or at least he’s not showing it. “Do it now, States. Nice and loud.”

You take a deep breath, trying your best to push down all the anxiety eating away at your courage. Drawing on every ounce of strength you can muster, you raise your arms above your head and yell.

“Ahh!! Go away! Get out of here!”

The bear stops, taken aback by your sudden outburst. It jolts back, retreating a few feet away before stopping and looking back at you. Its ears are standing straight up, its eyes widen in surprise. You can see its hesitation, its uncertainty.

“Good, again!” Soap encourages softly from behind you.

“Go! Get out of here! Go away!” You shout again, making it jump again. This time, it turns and bolts, clearly not wanting to mess with you.

You watch as it crashes through the foliage, moving quickly to get away from you and Soap. Your arms stay raised while you watch it run off, only becoming heavy and dropping once the sounds of the leaves rustling fade into the distance. Your eyes stayed locked on the path it took, froze in shock for few seconds.

When it finally registers that it’s gone, you can feel your entire body become suddenly exhausted. You let out all the air in your lungs and sink back. You probably would have fallen to the ground if Soap hadn’t been behind you. He instantly wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly to him.

“Oh fuck...” You curse, making Soap laugh. “It-It’s gone, right?” You ask hesitantly. It was like your brain hadn’t fully processed what happened yet.

“Yes, it’s gone. You did it, States! It’s not gonna be coming back, you scared it.” He chuckles, his tone becoming light and filled with genuine joy. It felt like he was proud of you, excited that you’d been able to scare the animal off.

“Holy shit...” You curse again, still trying to wrap your head around it. And when it finally sinks in, you feel a rush of relief wash over you. Your body starts to tremble, not from fear, but from the overwhelming realization that you did it. You managed to scare off a bear. It’s a mix of pride, disbelief, and a strange sense of empowerment. You did it. You really did it.

“I did it...” You mutter, smiling as your shoulders behind to feel lighter.

“Hell yeah you did!” Soap laughs from behind you, giving you a squeeze. “You did fucking great! You just stood your ground against a bear!”

“Yeah! I… I….”

The intensity of the moment finally catches up to you. All the fear, the tension, and the adrenaline suddenly give way to a flood of emotions. You feel a lump form in your throat, and your vision blurs as tears well up in your eyes. The relief is so overwhelming, it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and you can't hold back any longer.

You begin to cry, tears streaming down your face as you let out any remaining pent-up emotions. It’s relief, and stress, and joy, and shock, and pride. It feels good to let it all out, your body shaking as it releases everything through your tears.

Soap’s laughter quickly fades when he hears your sobs. He pauses for a second and then quickly turns you around to face him, concern etched across his face. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He asks, his voice soft and full of worry.

You try to speak, but it just comes out as a jumbled mess. The words catch in your throat, choked by the intensity of your emotions. You want to let him know you’re fine, but you just can’t get the words to come out. The more you struggle to speak, the more worried and confused he looks.

“Fucking hell, States, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Soap whispers, rubbing your arms soothingly. “You’re safe now. You did it. You faced your fear. The thing ran off.”

You nod at him, that being the only way you know how to communicate. Finally though, you manage to settle enough get a few words out. “I’m fin-e… j-just hap-py...” You choke out. “I-I feel b-better.”

Soap has to strain a bit to hear what you were saying, but he gathers just enough to make out what you said. It makes his shoulder relax and the worry lines in his face soften. He lets out a relieved sigh, hands dropping from your arms so they can run through his hair.

“Steaming Jesus. Thought you were going insane or something. Shite. I never know what it means when you start balling.”

You start to calm down, laughing a little at the poor man’s distress. Taking a few deep breaths, you steady your breathing and wipe at your eyes to dry them. “I mean I very well might be.” You giggle softly. “I’ve been hanging around you for five days, that would drive anyone insane.”

Soap scoffs at you, but there’s a smile on his face that he can’t hide. “You sound like Ghost.”

“Well, good to know it’s not just me who thinks that.”

“Oh shut your mouth.” Soap grumbles, giving you a light shove and making you laugh again. “That what I get for helping you? Should have just let the bear eat you if that’s the case.” He mutters, arms crossed over his chest as if he’s pouting at your teasing. “I am only kidding of course too, yeah?” He adds, making your laughter fade.

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh, feeling a little guilty now about earlier. Soap had always been the guy on the team to make jokes and lighten the mood when things got too serious. That’s all he’d been trying to do earlier, and you snapped at him for it.

In your defense, you had been horribly stressed out, but that didn’t give you permission to lash out at Soap. He’d only been trying to help you this whole time, both last night and this morning. Of course that didn’t excuse him from lashing out at you in return, but you could understand why he did. You would have done the same thing if you were him.

“Hey, I… I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. When you made the joke about the bear caves. I was just really stressed out, and I feel a little bad now. I know you’re just trying to help and… well I appreciate it.”

Soap blinks at you in surprise. He looks shocked that you’re apologizing, though to be fair, normally you didn’t go around saying sorry to each other. That was something that only started happening recently.

“Oh, you know it’s… it’s whatever, really.” He stammers, clearly taken aback. “I shouldn’t have said the things I said either. So I’m sorry too.”

You smile at him, watching as he rubs at the back of his neck. You can feel your heart softening just a bit for him. “Thank you for that, Soap.”

Soap gives you an awkward smile back, nodding his head a bit. Neither of you are great with apologies. It feels unnatural for both of you, and it’s quickly starting to get a bit awkward.

“Well… Should we head back? Or did you want to go explore a bear cave?” You try to joke, which earns a laugh from Soap.

“I think I’ve had enough of bears for a good while, so I think I’ll pass.” He smirks, able to look back at you now. “But hey, if you wanna go though, by all means don’t let me hold you back.”

You giggle softly, shaking your head. “Nah, I’m alright. I think I’d rather just go back to the boring ol’cabin. I’m getting hungry anyway.”

“You hungry now?” He questions. “I packed us both a lunch since I didn’t know how long we’d be out here. And I know this really nice spot where we can stop and eat.” He says, which surprises you. Not that he’d packed a lunch—you were aware of that. What surprises you is that he’s suggesting you both go out and eat instead of going back.

“Really?” Ask before you can stop yourself. It makes Soap pause, his expression shifting just a bit.

“I mean unless you don’t want to. We can just head back if you’d rather do that.”

“No! No, I think eating out here would be fun. I haven’t been able to do too much exploring, and I could use a break from just hanging around the cabin all day.” You quickly say before he can change his mind. “Lead the way.”

Soap watches you for a moment, almost like he’s trying to figure out if you really wanted to go or not. He makes up his mind in a second and starts back the way you came. “Alright, follow me. We’re only about five minutes away at most.” He says, and you quickly rush to fall into step beside him.

A comfortable silence falls between you like it had before, though this time as you follow him, the tension and fear from earlier are gone. All your anxiety has seemingly melted away. The natural sounds of the forest no longer bother you, and even the thought of running into another bear isn’t as terrifying as it was when you first left. It’s a relief to be able to walk around without feeling the need to constantly be on alert. You just hope it stays that way.

[robobarbie]

lmao seeklove ending except mc doesn't find his phone number before everything shuts down

Another afternoon. But this one is a bit exciting.

The countdown ends, and in the middle of the chat feverishly spamming their goodbyes, the server shuts down. Everything wipes from the screen. A familiar, dull hum behind Odxny dwindles into nothing, leaving the room eerily quiet. They can't remember the last time they heard this much silence. It's... a little unsettling.

Od's eyes dart to their cell, perched on the edge of the desk. The screen is dark, as it always is, but they know that'll soon change. The thought almost makes their heart skip -- out of fear or excitement. They aren't sure which.

You can find the number, right?

Od thrums their fingers on the desk as seconds tick by. Was it too hard? Surely you'd not struggle with this. By now, you've dealt with much harder queries than finding some simple contact information. Which you've done a million times.

More seconds tick by. Perhaps you've taken a break.

I shouldn't be impatient.

Od stands, stretches, and glances around the dark room. Time for a distraction.

Might as well start unpacking.

They slide their phone into their pocket and get to work.

----

With each box unpacked, a small lead marble settles into their chest. The phone remains silent in their pocket, a fact only emphasized by the still room.

Where are you?

I should have just given them the number.

Fuck. Why did they decide to make it so fucking complicated at the last moment?

The phone buzzes.

Od drops a box full of wiring and nearly rips the phone from their pocket. And the caller ID...

"...Spam."

Four more marbles added.

----

A day passes. Then another.

Od's nearly unpacked. And the weight in their chest is nauseating. Their appetite is nonexistant.

They lean forward in their chair, staring at their phone's empty screen. They endured two more spam calls after that. It had them considering turning the phone off completely and letting you go to voicemail (whenever you managed to make it there), but so desperately did Od want to talk to you.

It's not that bad. Not that bad.

The phone feels cold in their hands.

----

You aren't calling.

For a moment, they do wonder why. Was it really too hard? Or did you just not...

That thought always trails off, going somewhere Od doesn't have courage to brave. They don't know when they will. Each time they tip toe close to it, something starts to crack in their chest. It's not safe.

The stack of unpacked boxes near the door catches Od's eye. They haven't thrown them out yet.

Tossing the phone to the side, they sink deep into their cheap couch. They fold in around the familiar weight in their chest, now all-consuming. Something useless and mind-numbing is playing on the TV. It's loud enough to keep any terrible thoughts from sneaking in.

The hours pass, the show drags on, the phone stays quiet. Od dully remembers they haven't showered today, but doesn't get up.

Another afternoon.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Sorry for earlier.

Pls can you write about Logan ?

𝐚𝐛𝐜 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐯𝐞𝐫. || 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭

⋆ a/n: it's okay!! i'm going to be honest and say that near the end, i start to get a little silly, so it's safe to say i giggled at some of my headcanons while writing them. i hope you guys enjoy them too!!

masterlist | AO3 | nsfw ver.

A is for Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?):

Logan is very affectionate but behind closed doors, he does do subtle affection in front of others though. It’s nothing too crazy, just a large warm hand hovering over your lower back, or a sweet kiss to your forehead or temple if the time calls for it.

B is for Best Friend:

Unsurprisingly, Logan is your closest friend and confidant along with being your boyfriend! Even though he’ll gripe and groan when you drag him around to do things, or just stare at you in amusement when you tell him the latest drama, when shit hits the fan; he’s there holding you, whispering comforting reassurances in your ear.

C is for Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle):

Yeah, yeah, Logan’s weird about PDA, but this man is a major cuddler. He holds you, the warmth of your plush body against his skin helps to ground him. Barely ever or never the little spoon; it isn’t a masculinity thing, it’s more about putting himself between you and any potential dangers.

D is for Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?):

For right now, when it comes to settling down, I’m gonna say no. He’s still way too fearful because of the fact that he has lost so much. Logan’s domestic in his own right though, and it’s shown by the small things he does for you. He’ll iron a shirt you need for an interview, swap out body care products when they get low, do the laundry, take out the trash.

Basically anything he can do to make your life easier, he will.

E is for Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?):

It’ll always be hard.

Breaking up or getting broken up by Logan is always a somber affair if it’s done right. Logan’s hot-headed, but he would never personally try and hurt the people he cares about, so breaking up with you is hard, but he doesn’t want to risk hurting you in the long run by leading you on.

If it’s you breaking up with him, he goes a bit stoned faced, and honestly it’s quite scary, all the progress you have made with trust and vulnerability is completely broken. He isn’t sure he’ll ever get over it. 

F is for Fiance(e)(How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?):

Marriage is an overwhelming affair, at least to Logan.

He’s been to a few weddings, and he knows how these things tend to go. It’s not that he doesn’t want to marry you, it’s just… a lot. He’s more than willing to commit to you, he isn’t insatiable, just putting a ring on your finger isn’t a deal breaker for him. It’s all about safety with him, so marriage isn’t happening for a long time. But he’s open to the idea for the near future.

G is for Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?):

Logan is so gentle with you, it’s kind of sad. He knows you’re not breakable, but he’s seen – and been responsible – for so much mass destruction. He’s rough around the edges and a little broken inside, but he’s willing to mend himself because he wants to love you.

He’s gentle in the way he holds you, the way he brushes his against your cheek.

H is for Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?):

Logan is neutral when it comes to hugs; he’s okay with receiving them, but only from people that he trusts, or when he can tell someone really wants one. He’s surprisingly giving with his affections, but only with the right people.

I is for I Love You (How fast do they say the L-word?):

Phew (cue loud whistle sigh), the L-word. Logan has loved, and whenever he has loved, he’s loved hard. He’s had bad luck when it comes to luck, so he takes a lot longer to say the big word back. It’s highly probable that you were the one that had told him you loved him first.

J is for Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?):

I don’t really think Logan gets jealous all that often simply because he is so secure within himself and your relationship, that if he sees someone else with you, his mind doesn’t immediately raise red flags. He only intervenes when he can tell you’re uncomfortable or if he simply doesn’t like the way they’re looking at you.

K is for Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?):

Logan’s kisses are passionate. Sometimes communication is hard, there’s so much he can express by simply pressing his lips against yours. He loves to share light-hearted, soft pecks with you. He’s an everywhere kisser when he has the time, but he’s always placing kisses on your temple or forehead. 

Your affections often fluster Logan, so whenever you kiss him on his favorite spots – like his jaw or lips – he flushes red and grumbles in faux complaints.

L is for Little Ones (How are they around children?):

We all know that Logan is literally a lost kid magnet, this man wears the found-family au like a badge of honor. He doesn’t baby them, doesn’t pamper them from the harshness of the world, but he welcomes them softly, and he helps them. He wants his children to be independent and to be able to take care of themselves.

M is for Morning (How are mornings spent with them):

I literally have a headcanon about this already, but mornings with Logan are so sickeningly soft. Many mornings, you aren’t able to even escape the bed because he holds you down and cuddles into you. If you manage to pry yourself away from him, he hangs off of you as you make breakfast, and even as you eat. He’s a menace. Plain and simple.

N is for Night (How are nights spent with them?):

Yet another headcanon I’ve already written, but many nights spent with Logan are so playful. It’s just something about it being night time and when you’re supposed to be going to bed that makes him so energetic. He’s cracking jokes, tackling you onto the bed to shower you in his ticklish affection. You basically have to wrestle him with cuddles in order to get him to calm down.

O is for Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?):

Logan and vulnerability don’t mix, but I feel like being able to even get him to become your boyfriend is a huge step into getting him to open up to you. He drops vague explanations of his past here and there, but ultimately, one night a dam opens, and you know everything.

P is for Patience (How easily angered are they?):

Contrary to popular belief, Logan has patience for the right people. He’s very biased, if you were to pull something he would get angry at a stranger at, he’s willing to work it out. 

Q is for Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?):

Logan is the most observant and perspective motherfucker ever, and I stand by that. When you open up to him, he’ll file away every one of your likes and dislikes into a little folder in his brain for further use. Many of them don’t get used of course, because affection is hard for him to express, but he just knows you.

R is for Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?):

A quiet night shared between the two of you, twisted up in the sheets together when the insomnia gets bad. You’re both facing each other, laying on your sides and whispering a conversation, as if you’re afraid your voices will pierce the air.

S is for Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?):

So protective. Like, it’s actually insane. Logan would protect you in any way he can, even if that means he has to kill someone. Of course he doesn’t need to be physically protected, but a lot of people have taken shots at his character, so if you’re able to defend him that way, it’d warm him up.

T is for Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?):

Listen, Logan tries when it comes to dates/anniversaries – bless his heart. He’s not a total stick in the mud when it comes to romance, because in my eyes, he’s a little bit of a secret hopeless romantic. Effort comes easy to Logan when it comes to the small things like I mentioned in D (Domestic). He likes making your life easier, so everyday tasks are literally no sweat off his back. 

U is for Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?):

Logan has his moments where he gets extremely emotionally constipated. Like, it doesn’t matter with how reassuring you are, sometimes, his walls go back up around him, like an impenetrable force and you can’t reach him. 

V is for Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?):

Listen, I love Logan, but this man does not care about his appearance all that much. Sure, he’ll trim his beard when needed, and even get his haircut, but he prefers to be casual, so he doesn’t cause a big commotion about his appearance. He’s not very vain.

W is for Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?):

I feel like if you’ve been around him for a long time, before or after you guys had started dating, if anything were to happen to you, there’d be a you shaped hole inside his heart. 

X is for Xtra (A random headcanon for them.):

Okay, Logan likes to act like he’s above the drama, but whenever you come home cussing and ranting about your boss or your co-workers, he is sat. Yes he wants to hear about your married co-workers who are sleeping together. Yes, he wants to hear about how your boss had a stain on his shirt the whole day. He’s secretly messy and you love it.

Y is for Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?):

Logan fucking despises egotistical people; like how is your head so big? It genuinely baffles him. Sometimes really outgoing people – cough cough Wade cough cough.

Z is for Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?):

Sorry to shatter Logan’s charming bubble, but he snores. Really loud. He snores like an old man but absolutely refuses to get a sleep apnea machine. The fight he put up about it was laughable.

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[overlyspecific]

Part 12 of Merlin Hood

Previous parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Merlin wasn’t sure what time it was. His stomach growled and his body hurt. What was worse was he could feel the magic around him and surging under his skin, he just couldn’t reach for it. it was like being stranded on a boat and seeing land, but you have no oars and your arms cant reach the water.

Merlin sighed and tried to think about something else. As usual, his mind settled on a familiar subject: blonde hair, tired eyes and an easy smirk. Merlin smiled to himself and closed his eyes, brain playing images of his prince.

On the other side of the ruins, Merlin’s prince was wearing a different expression.

Gwaine: All I’m saying is you need to lighten up a little.

Arthur: We were somehow magically sealed into a tomb of hundreds of years old ruins and you want me to lighten up?

Gwaine: With that attitude, we are going to get nothing done.

Arthur: Look, let’s just find Merlin so we can get the hell out of here.

Gwaine: Lead the way, princess.

Arthur and Gwaine follow the tunnel by a faint light that gets brighter until they reach a torch hanging on the wall.

Arthur: At least the witchfinder was kind enough to leave something to light our way.

Gwaine: *patting Arthur on the back patronizingly* That’s the spirit! See the power of a positive attitude.

Arthur: *mumbling angrily* I’ll show you where you can put your positive attitu-

Arthur stops his thought when they round the next corner and see bars locked together with shiny new chains.

Arthur: Merlin.

Arthur brings down excalibur on the chains and they explode apart. Gwaine throws open the doors and they charge into the room.

Arthur and Gwaine: *shouting* Merlin!

Arthur uses the torch to sweep light across the room and he sees a figure chained to the wall at the far side of the cell. He rushes over, almost putting out the torch in the process.

Arthur: Merlin!

Merlin doesn’t move, causing Arthur’s heart to stop in his chest. Arthur brings a hand up to Merlin neck fearing the worst, but a light pressure beats into his fingers and he can breath again.

Arthur: When you get up, I’m going to make you promise to never scare me like that again, you clotpole.

Merlin: *faintly with a slight pained smile* my word…

Arthur looks up at Merlin’s face and is met with his soft blue eyes. The little bits of gold in them shine with the torch glow.

Arthur: *softly* Merlin.

Merlin: You keep repeating my name. Are you worried you’ll forget it.

Arthur: As if you’d let me forget you.

Merlin: Its my destiny.

Arthur: *smiling* Its your destiny to be a constant nuisance in my life?

Merlin: *smiles back* Something like that. The dragon wasn’t too specific.

Gwaine: *clears his throat* Not to interrupt, but we are trapped in this old dusty tomb of ruins with no way out.

Arthur: Right.

Arthur reaches his sword up to break the chains, but Merlin’s frantic face stops him.

Merlin: Wait!

Arthur: What?

Merlin: My magic. If you take the chains off now, I’m not going to have any control over it. I could hurt you.

Arthur: You’d could never hurt me.

Merlin: Arthur, I’m serious.

Arthur: Well, i’m not going to just leave you here in chains. If Gwaine wants to leave, he can but you are getting out of here.

Gwaine: I’m not going anywhere.

Gwaine gives a confident smile, showing no wavering.

Arthur: Guess its settled then.

Arthur looks at Merlin seriously. Merlin makes no other effort to argue, obviously too exhausted to put up much fight. His eyes slip closed and he nods his head. Arthur swings excalibur at the chains holding Merlin’s arms and Arthur catches Merlin before he can hit the ground.

Gwaine: *joking* so much for uncontrolled powerful raw magic…

Arthur looks down at the slumped Merlin in his arms. He is tense, shaking slightly and his eyes are shut tight.

Arthur: *whispering softly while running a hand through Merlin’s hair in a comforting gesture* its okay. You can let it out.

Merlin’s eyes shoot open, frantically. Arthur catches their line of sight and maintains eye contact. Merlin looks as scared as Arthur has ever seen him and it breaks his heart. He gives Merlin a soft smile and a nod then he pulls him closer into his chest.

Arthur: Its okay, love, im not going anywhere.

Merlin��s eyes go golden and the room explodes with magic.

[angry-geese]

Sea, Swallow Me

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Warnings: not OSHA compliant. hurt/comfort, light angst, ex-husband Gojo. angry/hate sex, unprotected sex, oral (cunnilingus), fingering.

Synopsis: some ex-husband Gojo smut except him and the reader are still totally in love with each other >:)

a/n: this has been rattling around in my drafts since like march and I finally got my thoughts gathered enough to write it out lol

Word Count: 4.7k

jjk masterlist

Outside, the sky grows dark, signaling an incoming storm. The weather report called for it yesterday; off and on thunderstorms all night, and well into this afternoon. Not uncommon for this time of year. This morning’s grocery trip was one made with the hope of being back before another downpour started, and from the looks of it, you were successful.

Typically, when you come home, the cat is the first thing to greet you. Today, even after she hears your keys hit the counter, she remains just out of view. You don't mind it so much, even if you do find it odd. It gives you time to put away groceries, and the treats you bought for her without her begging for anything. 

The foul weather makes it as good a day as any to spend inside. Plenty of chores need to be done around your apartment, as work has begun to consume much of your free time. That’s nothing new. Certain times of the year are busier than others at Jujutsu Tech. It certainly doesn't help that two people are out due to injuries, and another is on maternity leave, meaning you’re on call nearly 24/7. 

The cat makes herself known only after she hears a can of food open, chirping as she trots into the kitchen. She stays long enough to finish eating, and get some pets from you, before settling into her spot on the window sill, intently watching leaves being blown around outside. You settle on preparing dinner: thawing meat, and chopping veggies for a soup that’ll take nearly an hour to simmer. 

A noise from the other room draws your attention; in the living room, the TV is on—something you vividly remember shutting off. A drama was playing, but the lead was giving you such bad second-hand embarrassment that you just had to shut it off.

Maybe you really are starting to lose it. 

You’ve seen it happen to others. The stress of the job—this way of life—gets to some. You could chalk it up to forgetting; maybe the cat stepped on the remote, or maybe you really did just forget. Come to think of it, didn't you turn off the lights in the kitchen before leaving too?

The back of your neck prickles with fear. Did someone really break in? You know this isn't a particularly nice part of town, but the chance of that happening is unlikely. Besides, there is no sign of forced entry. It's just a feeling of being watched. Nothing is missing, just some lights are on, and the books on your coffee table have been moved around, as if someone looked through them. Why go through the trouble then?

Nothing in particular tips you off to the presence behind you. It comes suddenly, and without warning. Fight or flight kicks in. With your elbow and wrist parallel to your collarbone, you swing outwards.

Any normal person's elbow would have been shattered by that hit. Satoru blocks it with little effort. He uses the weight of your movement against you, allowing you to fall against him. It doesn't take much time for you to realize what he’s doing, and shove yourself away from him.

“You broke in?” You say, although your voice doesn't carry any surprise. “I gotta admit, Satoru, that's a new low.”

“Technically I didn't,” he says, “I explained to the guy up front that I was your husband and he let me in.”

Internally, you curse your landlord, a sweet old man by the name of Saito. He was one of the few people who would let you move in on such short notice. This was never meant to be a permanent placement, but you suppose you don't have much to complain about here. It's an older building, but maintenance is consistent, and the interior has been completely redone. Your neighbors are quiet, pleasant people, and this is a nice corner of the neighborhood. Not nearly as luxe as your previous home, but not bad either.

As he sits down on the couch, the cat jumps straight into his lap. You know it's not fair to project human emotions onto her. She's just a cat. But you swear you see a smug little look on her face. She chirps, and bumps her head against his hand, purring loud enough it's audible across the room. 

“I think I would have rather dealt with a house robber,” you say.

“I mean, if you're into that kind of thing,” he says, “I can put the mask back on. We'll roleplay…”

“Absolutely not,” you say, snatching the remote for the tv, switching it off, “what do you want?”

Even sitting, he’s nearly eye-level with you. His hand comes up to tug at the silver chain around his neck. You don't know whether to feel angry, or sorry for him. Gojo is almost pathetic enough that you feel bad for him. Almost. 

“What?” He asks, feigning hurt. “I can't drop in to say hello to my lovely wife?”

“Ex-wife,” you say. 

Despite your current irritation with him, the separation was about as amicable as it could be. Although it’s not official in the legal sense yet, the two of you have been living separately for months now. There was no great turning moment in your relationship, just a lifetime of little things that forced a wedge between you two. These things happen. You were young when you married, and so consumed with grief that perhaps there wasn't enough thought put into it. You don't blame yourself for it, or for anything that happened. At the age of eighteen, you had a skewed view of the world. Mistakes were common at that age. That’s just part of growing up. You were young, and every emotion felt so much more potent back then. It felt right at the time. Hell, it was right.

Maybe you still love him. It’s hard to spend so much time with someone—have so many memories with them—and not love them.

“Tsumiki has a game Saturday,” he says, “you coming?”

You're slightly offended at the suggestion you would miss it. She sent you a text about it nearly a week ago. You swore to her you'd make it, even going as far as to make arrangements to leave work early.

“Of course I am.” You say. “I’ll take her—I’m off work early anyway.”

It's better for the kids that you remain an active part in their life. Megumi and Tsumiki have already dealt with so much upheaval in their life. It's cruel enough that one caregiver left them, but two? 

You tell yourself you couldn't do that to them. That alone was enough to get you to stay in your old apartment for a few more months. By then, the kids knew something was up. They're smarter than people give them credit for, and there's only so many excuses you can make for sleeping in separate rooms.

It's been maybe a year since then. Six months since you moved out. You wouldn't call it easy, but you’ve settled into your new routine quite nicely.

“Great,” he says, “why not go together then? I’ll drive. We can get dinner together afterwards.”

Your mouth opens in protest. Although it’s phrased as a question, you know him better than that. Satoru will do everything to weasel his way into this situation. Your barely-pleasant expression sours entirely.

“No, thank you,” you say, gesturing to the door, “now get out of my house.”

“Don't be like that, baby,” he says. His arms stretch out towards you, and you immediately dart out of their path. 

“I hated you calling me that when we were married,” you say, “what makes you think I’ve changed?”

“You haven't.” He says. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Within the air here hangs a rift that time won't heal. This room—this space—is too emotionally charged for you to think straight. Your head spins, clouded with anger and spite.

“Don't tell me you left the kids alone to come bother me?” You say.

Tsumiki is nearly fifteen, and pretty independent, but you don't like leaving the kids alone any longer than you have to.

“Of course not,” he says, almost looking offended, “Tsumiki is off at a sleepover, and I got your mother to watch Megs for the weekend.”

“You what?!” 

A look of shock and betrayal crosses your face. You love your mother dearly, really, but sometimes she can be a bit… much. Early on into your marriage, she was asking when you were going to have children of your own. Being freshly twenty at the time, your answer to her was simple: never. Megumi and Tsumiki were enough. You wanted to be able to devote your time—and attention—to them, not a newborn. 

Satoru catches you in your moment of shock, his arms snaking around your waist. Your hands plant on his wrists to shove them away, yet you stop yourself. 

The sound of your phone ringing in the other room gives you a reason to escape. You free his arms from your waist, heading into the bedroom. You don't hear him get up to follow you, yet you know he does. Sitting on the table beside your bed, still charging, is your phone. It’s Tsumiki. You only glance at your phone long enough to see her name, not what she’s saying. 

The end of the bed dips under his weight as he sits. He tries his best to be covert about it, but you feel his gaze wandering around the room. From the photos on the wall, to the papers on your desk, to the stuffed animals on your bed. Oh, you can hear his snide comments now.

“Those earrings are new,” he says. And you swear you hear a slight tone of disappointment in his voice. “Pretty.”

Goosebumps rise along your arm as he reaches out to feel it, brushing across your shoulder in the process. Crystals, although they may be glass, cut to look like gems, dangling from your ears. They’re blue in color; not a light slate, but a deep cerulean. Subtle enough that they’re rather unnoticeable from a distance.

“Shoko gave them to me,” you say.

She took pity on you once she found out about the divorce. Maybe she felt partially responsible, seeing as she was the one who introduced you two.

Getting sent off to the religious boarding school known as Jujutsu Technical college was a major blow to your teenage social life. At fifteen, all you wanted was to go to a normal high school with your normal friends. Yet you weren't granted such a luxury, and instead were thrown into a world you knew nothing about. You quickly found solace, and a strange kind of companionship in the girl that smoked behind the school: Ieiri Shoko.

If you didn't end up marrying him, you probably would have married her. 

For you, it wasn't love at first sight. You could barely stand him in the beginning. It was a rivalry that slowly turned into friendship, ending in romance, albeit with much prodding from Suguru and Shoko. Teenage love consumed the two of you harshly, and entirely.

It wouldn't be until years later, after the wedding, when you would find out they bet on it.

You don't push him away when he kisses you. Just a peck, nothing more. Like you’re teenagers, exchanging affections in the stairwell between classes. When the higher ups would get upset at you, not him, because he was the strongest and could get away with just about everything.

Of course you still love him. How couldn't you?

You were one of the first to look at him as something other than the strongest. Even after the star plasma vessel, and Toji Zenin. Even after Suguru’s death. Even through your own grief, your presence was constant. To him, the concept of not having you around was strange.

The taste of coffee and lipstick lingers on your lips. Your thumb comes up to wipe away the smudge of red that’s transferred to his lips. And you, so pliable and eager, fall right into his lap.

His lips find your neck, hands wandering from your arms, to your chest, to your waist. He’s savoring your closeness—the scent of your shampoo: coconut. Little do you know, he keeps a bottle of the stuff in his own bathroom. If anyone asks, he claims it’s Tsumiki’s. Only you would know otherwise. She hates the stuff, and has been buying her own since the moment she was able to. Really, he keeps it around because he can't bring himself to throw it away.

“Satoru, we shouldn't do this.” You say. You don't really want him too, it’s only to preserve your pride.

Then why is your body responding so well to him? Your body knows this routine. Maybe the last several months of living alone has sped up the process considerably. Blood rushes where it needs to be, and perhaps most shamefully of all, you’re wet. Although you’re not quite prepared yet, it’s just in the early stages of gathering.

A line of saliva connects his lips and your neck as he pulls away. “If you really wanted me gone, I wouldn't still be here,” he says. 

You tell yourself that, if you really wanted him to stop, then you wouldn't have spent so many nights dreaming of this. You wouldn't reach out to the cold spot on the bed beside you. Your subconscious wouldn't long for him in nearly every way imaginable. 

His hands trace across your waist, coming to take yours. They’re warm, albeit a bit shaky. He’s just itching to undress you—to claim what’s his. It's a sick, possessive side of him that’s only fueled by your recent months apart. He comes to kneel before you like a man bowed in prayer. Satoru sits in worship, but not for the favor of a higher being. You might as well be one to him. Should you wish it, the strongest—wielder of the six eyes—would worship the very ground before you. That devotion would soon become suffocating. It was a bandaid on an already failing relationship.

“Still want me to stop?” He asks, squeezing your hands. Whether that’s on purpose, or an accident, you can't tell. “You say no and I’ll stop here. Just give me the word and we won't ever have to do this again.”

In this moment, your body betrays you: you shake your head. You don't truly want him to go; you know that, he knows that. He wouldn't be poking and prodding at every little unhealed wound if that wasn't the case.

“I need to hear you say it,” he says. That’s when you notice what’s on the chain around his neck: his wedding ring. 

It's like he’s mocking you. Of course he still has it. Of course he saw that yours was still sitting on the bathroom counter. 

Satoru has always been like this. He pokes and prods, finding out where you’re weak. What cracks or wounds he can press his fingers into. Pushing boundaries comes natural to him. 

Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe he hasn't changed at all.

“I just want to get off,” you say. 

“Poor baby,” he coos, “you haven't gotten off at all while I was gone, have you? You should have called me. I would have taken care of you.”

“I think I'd rather call Nanami for that.” You say.

The chuckle he lets out sounds nervous. “I know you're joking,” he says, “but judging by the way he looks at you? I think he'd take you up on the offer.”

You believe it. It was a thinly veiled secret that Nanami harbored a little crush for you. The man would never go as far as to pursue his coworker, let alone his coworker's ex wife. This entire time, he’s kept a respectful distance, only speaking about your marriage if you expressed a want to do so. You’ve considered it. Hell, you’ve given it a lot of thought. You think maybe… just maybe, if the two of you were drunk or desperate enough, something could happen. But fraternizing with coworkers in such a way is ill-advised. 

Satoru is going to give him hell tomorrow when he sees him at work. Nanami will be none the wiser, assuming Satoru is up to his usual antics.

“One last chance to back out of this,” he says, “if you don't want to do this…”

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” You ask.

His fingers trace down the curve of your spine, before coming to the hem of your sweater, pulling it up—and over—your head. From him comes an audible little gasp once he realizes you have no bra on underneath. That part wasn't intentional; you need to do laundry, and your shirt was baggy enough that a bra wasn't necessary. Your nipples stiffen once exposed to the open air. Although you know how this looks, it sends a pang of self-consciousness through you, causing you to cross your arms in front of your chest. It’s not like he hasn't seen this before. Maybe it's a last ditch attempt to preserve your pride. And he’s nearly tripping over himself to undress, pulling off his coat, then button-up, then trousers. Off comes your skirt, the silky fabric pooling around your feet. 

If you could stop for a moment and think, it would be endearing: the desperation that falls over you two like teenagers. He can hardly keep his hands off you, while you don't quite know what to do with yours. Eventually, you settle on wrapping your arms around his neck. 

You sit on the edge of the bed before him, still in your panties. Plain black. Nothing fancy, but cute. Maybe if you knew…

You almost scold yourself for thinking such things. It’s not like you had any way of knowing this would happen. You know part of it was to preserve your pride. Being able to move on without seeming like you needed him. He’s not your husband anymore; why go through the effort of getting dressed up?

Beside you, on the bed, he finds a spot to sit. He’s half hard already. His hands ghost up the outsides of your arms, before coming to cup your face. They soon fall to your waist as you move to straddle his lap.

Satoru leans in to kiss you, and it’s… uncharacteristically sweet. That almost makes things worse. If this were something over and done with quickly, that would be tolerable. You could chalk it up to raw emotions or hormones or something other than the fact you still have feelings for him and haven't come to terms with that.

Sex for the sake of mindless pleasure is one thing. It’s tolerable. You can explain it away easily. But the way he handles you—like you’re going to break—sends a pang of pain through your chest. It's too much. Should he act selfishly, that would be far more bearable than this. 

You almost want him to. It would be so much easier if he just took what he wanted, and left.

“Lay back,” he says, “like that. Good girl.”

You scoot back on the bed just far enough to fall against the pillows. Your thighs part just enough to accompany him. The body above yours is warm. His lips find yours, then your neck, then one of your stiffened nipples, softly biting down on it. That draws a sharp gasp from you, although the shock it sends down your spine is rather pleasurable. 

His fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs slowly. Achingly slowly. Shamelessly, his eyes linger on the way they stick to your already slick cunt. This moment is only dragging out because he wants it to. They’re tossed away alongside the rest of your clothes. Long, deft fingers come to trace along your slit; teasing motions done by a man who can barely contain himself. The patience of Satoru Gojo has limits, and you’re testing them.

He palms himself through his boxers. He's completely hard now. That doesn't stop him from trailing long, sloppy kisses down your stomach, and up your thigh. His thumb traces across the bundle of nerves. Slow and steady. Just enough to get you aching for him, but not enough to get you anywhere. You try to angle your hips towards him—to grind against him—but Satoru cruelty pulls his hand away. 

“Just… let me have my moment,” he says, chest heaving as he breathes in. 

So he admits it…

His thumb is soon replaced with his mouth, greedily licking and sucking at the bundle of nerves that is your clit. There's little rhyme or reason but it's just messy enough that it'll get you off. First, his index finger pushes into you, then another. Satoru must be moaning nearly as loud as you. The hand that isn't fucking out is wrapped around his cock, and he's bucking into it like it's a warm body. Judging by the noises he's making, he's going to cum, so he stops himself before he does so. You don't. Satoru guides you through your own orgasm, his mouth leaving your clit only after you've stopped trembling. It felt rushed. You're not quite satisfied.

Satoru makes a show of licking his fingers. When he kisses you, this taste only grows more prominent. He's making you taste yourself and you're not quite sure how to feel about it. It's not unpleasant, akin to unripe persimmons in taste.

“Is it how you remember?" You ask, a coy expression spreading across your face.

“Different,” he says, “better.”

There’s no time to grab a condom. Not that you have any in here anyway. Whatever consequences that result from this will be dealt with in the morning.

A small groan leaves him as he bottoms out. It's obvious that he tries to stifle it, and fails, resulting in a noise that certainly has your neighbors questioning things. You'll avoid their gazes in the hall tomorrow morning. This won't become a regular thing, you tell yourself. 

Hardly a few thrusts in and he knows he is going to cum too soon. You can see it all over his face. Pleasure turns to concentration, then thinly veiled stress. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your bedroom. Some small, sick little part of you is grateful for your thin walls.

You hate him. You still love him. You wish he would walk out of your apartment right now. But part of you can't bear to sleep another night alone.

“You don't know how much I've been thinking about this,” he says, making a noise between a grunt and a huff, “about the way you feel. Taste. I couldn't get it out of my head.”

His mouth finds yours again and the kiss he exchanges with you is dripping with desperation. Something small, and quiet leaves his lips once they part with yours. You soon recognize it as an “I love you.”

He cums sooner than either of you expected, and from him, your name spills past his lips like a prayer. Though, you suppose that this is the closest he'll ever get to praying.

Your own release is still just out of reach. It doesn't take much effort to get him on his back, and you on top, riding him. He’s still hard, despite having just cum inside you. The fruits of his effort can be seen streaming down your thighs. Your movements grow sloppier as you grow nearer to your release, grinding down against him and his softening cock. Within your stomach, it’s as if an invisible band is tightening. Your own orgasm comes out in the form of a noise that sounds like both a moan and a sob. It's anger and pain mixing with pleasure. Tears of frustration are brimming along your lower lash line. You hate him. You love him. You wish he would leave but you don't want to sleep alone. A rift exists between the two of you that time will not heal.

Instead, you lay beside him on the bed. From beside you, he grabs a blanket for you to cover yourself with. As much as he missed the sight of your naked body, he knows this room is cold, and you’ll be getting up to get dressed anyway. 

To him, there’s not a more beautiful sight: you, laying on the bed beside him, leaking of his cum. It would be better if it were his own bed, he thinks, but this'll do. 

“I take it we’re on speaking terms again?” He asks.

“I don't know yet,” you say, “depends on how this conversation goes.”

From beside you on the nightstand, you retrieve your glasses, putting them back on. Outside, the sky still appears dark, only lit up momentarily by a bolt of lightning. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, running down your window in streams.

“Seems like great weather to stay in bed,” he comments. 

An arm snakes around your waist. You debate with yourself on whether or not to shove it off.

“I think some time apart will do us good.” You say, and the arm around your waist stiffens. He seems to be deciding whether to pull away or not.

“And what? Couples therapy too?” His tone suggests he's making a joke, but not one in bad faith.

“Just in general, you need therapy,” you’re only half joking when you say it, despite it applying to you too, “but I don't think there's one that specializes in whatever you have going on.”

“Funny.” He says flatly.

He lays on his back on the bed, and you lay on your side, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

“I don't know what I want.” You say, finally. “I guess I could use something to eat.”

You had plans to make a nice, elaborate dinner tonight, although you’re no longer feeling like it. You went through the effort of buying the ingredients, and cleaning the kitchen, so you might as well. 

Satoru follows you as you make your way to the kitchen, stopping once to pull on a shirt. It used to be one of his, he notes. Maybe enough time has passed that you don't remember. Maybe you do. It’s just long enough to fall towards the middle of your thighs—you won't be giving the neighbors a show. He stops long enough to pull his boxers back on, leaving the rest of his clothes discarded on your bedroom floor.

From a cabinet, you retrieve two mugs. On goes the kettle to boil. He watches as you fill the french press with one… two… three scoops of coffee grounds. Just enough boiling water goes in to wet the grounds—they have to sit for a few minutes before the rest is poured in. 

Your taste in coffee hasn't changed much over the years. You still take it with cream and sugar. Satoru—when he does drink coffee—takes it with enough sugar to make your teeth hurt. 

“We must be on speaking terms,” he says, “otherwise I'd have been kicked out by now.”

“If I was going to kick you out, I would have done it before we had sex. Not after.” You say, taking a sip of your coffee. 

Something about the casualness of this moment makes your chest ache; like the last year hasn't happened, and the two of you are just sharing a moment over coffee. 

Neither of you notice the front door opening, nor the jingle of keys being inserted into the lock. Tsumiki, standing in the doorway, nearly drops what she’s holding: a book. Her eyes are wide with a mix of shock, before narrowing into anger. 

“‘Miki!” You say, almost as shocked as her, if not moreso. “What are you doing here?”

“Returning this,” she says, holding up the book in her hand, “I sent you a text about it like an hour ago. What are you doing?!”

Truly, you don't have anything to say for yourself. Your mouth opens, and a few, broken fragments of an excuse come out. Satoru, looking nearly as surprised as you, simply waves to her, before disappearing into another room. That won't help your case at all. 

“Having coffee,” you say, “we were just talking about your game on Saturday.”

She seems unconvinced. Tsumiki, like most teenagers, is a lot smarter than people give her credit for. Silently, she sets the book on the counter, before turning back towards the door.

“I’ll see you at dinner," she says, leaving.

[akutasoda]

helloo, i hope you’re doing well!

may i request kunikida, akutagawa, and atsushi who are just… a bunch of lovesick mess? T_T down bad for their co-worker but too shy and / or stubborn to admit it. i imagine they would have pent up feelings for months, until one day these men could barely behave properly being in the same room with said co-worker, even having trouble getting their paperwork / workload done (heavy on kunikida, poor man). thank you in advance 🫶🏻 (and ty for feeding us bsd fans w/ ur writings)

nothing but my love for you

synopsis - love makes people do crazy things and for some reason they can't function properly around you

includes - atsushi, kunikida, akutagawa

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst, denial, hinted confessions, down bad characters, wc - 921

a/n: hii!! im doing alright, hope you're doing well too? :D

atsushi nakajima ★↷

it was a correct assumption that atsushi had never fallen in love nor really knew what it meant or how it worked. afterall he never really had time to learn something like that and he definitely just overall never had the best education.

so working in the agency and more specifically working alongside you gave him loads of new feelings that he didn't know whta to do with. and soon he developed his crush on you but he had absolutely no idea what to do ot how to get across to you that he liked you.

and even if he did, he was way to shy to admit himself. when he figured out that he was indeed crushing on you he panicked and started overthinking. further deterring him from confessing as he feared you would reject him. so he settled for bottling up his feelings and awkwardly stumbling on his words around you.

you weren't blind to the signs but you knew that confrontation would make him feel more awkward and worse than he clearly was feeling. but what you hadn't really anticipated was the fact that because you tried to let him figure out his feelings, he carried on for months.

he was so deeply in love with you but for months was too shy to properly address it. and he got worse by the day. if you even were stood in the same room he would constantly get distracted and often lead to him messing up his reports or jumbling his words up and stuttering like crazy.

and even though you wanted him to figure it out on his own, you feared he may only get worse. so eventually you had to take matters into your own hands and tell him your feelings. validating his feelings and giving him the confidence to also confess.

doppo kunikida ★↷

kunikida's love life was in simple terms complicated. of course he had his oh so famous 'ideals' which quite frankly was absurb and sometimes he would realise that himself. but he also never had much dating experience because of that fact.

so when he noticed how distracted he became when you were on the area he became very confused. he didn't understand at first why he always found himself staring at you or how his heart would always beat that little bit much faster whenever you were nearer.

he began denying any signs that he formed a crush on you and instead always chalked it upon stupid reasons that he was eventually sure he had run out of excuses. and so even when he knew he had to come to terms with the fact that he did indeed have a crush on you, he denied it.

he denied and ignored everything. he denied how his face would heat up and he had to look away so you wouldn't see the blush forming, how if you were in the room he would constantly stare at you.

and the worst one for him was the fact that he simply couldn't focus anymore. he seemed to not be able to properly finsih his paperwork as his mind constantly drifted to you. so much so that even dazai started teasing him about how he was on his downfall.

for months he pushed it to the back of his mind. but eventually he started longing for you even more and the amount of mistakes he was making was starting to annoy him. so he got over his denial and told you point blank that he liked you. admittedly rather stuttery and with a face full of blush but he had finally got it out there.

ryunosuke akutagawa ★↷

it would be yet another correct assumption that akutagawa has never fallen in love or really been bothered to even know much about that. he saw it as unnecessary and especially growing up in the port mafia it wasn't really the biggest priority for him. if anything it was irrelevant.

and in honesty he barely knew what those types of feelings were or the signs of them. so when he finally started letting his wall down around you he started noticing these new feelings creep up on him.

he noticed how you made his heart beat slightly more and how he felt his face heat up. and yet he still kept that nareow faced mask so for a while you barely had a clue and it didn't really help that you always expected him to never gather feelings for you. but eventually you would notice because he didn't understand these feelings and therefore not be able to hide them well.

he hates how you made him so distracted. you didn't even have to be there and his mind would drag to you, why were you consuming his thoughts? he was so confused on why he was acting so uncharacteristically.

and this would continue for months until gin realised how much her brother was struggling all because of his feelings. she told him straight and he finally realised but immediately began being in denial as he never thought he would have such feelings for someone. gin quickly got rid of those ideas.

and then you started realising how weird he was acting around you. even weirder than before, like he had something to tell you but didn't want to. it became very awkward for you and you eventually just confronted him and that's when you managed to fully realise why. and while it may take him time to properly come to terms, you could wait.

[hyuganejiswife]

Why Do You Love Me? | Gaara X GNReader

Masterlist

| REQUESTED, Gaara cries, learning to accept not everyone uses him and that there are people who truly do love him

Word Count: 939

“Why do they love me?” That’s the first question that Gaara asked his brother when he’d entered the office. Kankuro had been so caught off guard that he didn’t know what to say.

“Why does… Y/N?” He tilts his head, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I dunno, man, you’re gonna have to ask them about that. It’s not something I can really answer for them.”

Gaara simply nods and turns back to the paperwork in front of him. He didn’t really know what truly pushed the question into his head. He was remembering his childhood, trying to single out the good times, the fun, the love…

He remembers the fear, though. The fear his siblings had for him, the people he now calls his friends, and how anyone in the Sand Village looked at him, he remembers that distinctly. He remembers children being told not to go near him, that he wasn’t safe to play with.

And then he thinks of you. From the Leaf Village. You’d given up everything to come to the Sand Village to be with him. When you’d first met you hadn’t shown him fear or anger like everyone else. You’d shown confusion and compassion, even curiosity. You were intrigued by him and you found him fascinating despite the fact that he’d almost killed one of your best friends in the preliminaries in the chunin exams.

He was wary of you up until around the time he took over as the Kazekage. You often paid him and his siblings visits, bringing gifts from your own missions. It wasn’t until Kankuro pushed him to confront you that you admitted your feelings to him and he struggled to wrap his head around it. Yet, he admitted to feeling quite fond of you and was willing to try a relationship if that was what you truly wanted.

So you did.

The two of you maintained a relationship through letters for a few months until you tired of it and opted to leave behind your life, friends and family in the Leaf Village just to be closer to Gaara. The act in itself confused him. No one had ever shown him as much love as you had by giving up everything you knew. And even still, he granted you permission to act as a jonin in the Sand Village.

What bothered him after was worrying for your safety in the various missions he sent you. Logically he knew you were strong and he had nothing to worry about, but the ache in his chest would not settle until he could see you for himself, often leading to him showing up at your doorstep when you should have been sleeping. A solution you proposed to him was that the two of you should move in together, taking the next step in your relationship while allowing him to keep an eye on you and make sure you were resting and healing after missions.

That’s what made waiting for you to come home again so hard. He needed an answer to the question he’d asked his brother. He needed to know you were safe and unharmed, yet he knew you wouldn’t be home until well after midnight if everything went according to plan.

So when you finally do arrive home, imagine your surprise seeing him sitting at the kitchen table, his head on his arms seemingly asleep. You set your bag down, walking over and crouching slightly to wake him up. Your hand finds his shoulder, squeezing while your other hand finds his knee. “Gaara, my love, come on. Let’s get you into bed…” You smile softly and stand as he stirs, sitting up in the chair.

When you turn away, his hand slips around your wrist and pulls you back. “Why do you love me?” That certainly wasn’t what you were expecting to hear. “I’m a monster. I have done…” He couldn’t finish that thought. He didn’t want to hear you agree with him.

But instead, you step forward as he looks up at you, pushing his legs apart and standing between them. Your arms go around his shoulders, pulling him into your chest. You tangle your fingers in his hair, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I love you because you make me happier than I have ever been in my whole life. What you have done while you were not yourself does not define who you are. Who you are now and what you do now, that is why I love you. When I think of being happy and my future, I do not see a future without you by my side, my love.”

At this point, you could feel his tears seeping through your shirt, your grip only tightening in realization. “When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I think of is you. I’m so happy that I get to wake up beside you, as well as go to sleep beside you. My chest feels… full when I’m with you, when I simply think of you. I love you for you. And I love you for who I am when I’m with you. I’m the best I can be because of you and because I want to make you happy.”

As he sobs quietly in your arms, you rock him, patient as always and allowing him his moment of weakness without judgement. That’s one of the reasons he loved you so. He was allowed to be weak with you without fear that he’d be judged or taken advantage of. With you and your reassurances, he knows he’ll always be loved and safe.

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Scream for Me - Rafe Cameron Ghostface! x reader PART 1

Warnings: none

Scream For Me Masterlist

"I'm thinking about not letting her go to school tomorrow!" You could hear your parents, most likely talking about the recent serial murders occurring throughout the Outerbanks. Even though the killer seemed to be a bit of a slacker, the police had no leads on who it could be.

"Honey, we can't just keep her home! Besides, he's only killed at night, she'd be perfectly safe."

"How do you know it's a he?"

"I don't know honey, but there isn't anything we can do."

As you listened to your parents talk about the OBX killer, your nerves settled in your stomach. You didn't want to be out and about while there was a serial killer on the loose, but what could you do? Senior year of high school with only three weeks left of the year? That would not be ruined by some asshole with a knife and anger issues. You walked down the stairs, which silenced your parents, putting an end to the conversation.

...

"So who do we think it is." You were sitting at lunch with your friends, and the hot April weather called for more relaxed uniforms and unbuttoned shirts. Kenzie, your friend was fanning herself with her homework while sipping on her water. Her question made your face scrunch.

"Why do we have to talk about this?"

"C'mon, don't you have your theories?" She leaned closer to you. "I think it's one of the pogues. If he's only killing kooks, it has to be, right?" Your eyes roll in response.

"Kenz, I don't know." You continue eating your lunch.

"You're no fun."

...

Later that day you and Kenzie went to the country club to work on homework. It seems all she could talk about was the OBX Killer.

"The victims have all been rich guys who have done terrible things. Arnold Norris was stealing money from his company, Andrew Williams had several affairs, Thomas Carlson did-"

"Kenz, calm down! You're almost yelling!" Her face flushed as she glanced around the country club, meeting the eyes of a few curious patrons.

Including the OBX Killer himself, Rafe Cameron. He was lounging at the bar with his friends, acting like he was getting increasingly drunk along with them but had secretly been listening to your conversation for the past several minutes. He grinned to himself, your little friend was acting like such a sleuth and hadn't even thought that a kook could be the killer at school earlier either.

Yes, Rafe had been listening closely to that conversation as well. In fact, he was always keeping tabs on you. He shared many classes with you and had always been drawn to you, though he didn't know why.

But he didn't want to kill you.

He had his reasons for the murders. All of the men deserved it.

He wanted you for different reasons. Rafe decided he would make his first move tonight.

...

Your parents were working late and you were alone in your house. The music playing from your phone drowned out any noises from outside. The pasta cooking on the stove was almost finished when the music cut out and your phone started ringing.

The number was blocked but you thought nothing of it until you heard the distorted voice on the other side.

"Hello, sweetheart." As soon as you heard it, your heart stopped, the wooden spoon you were holding clattering to the floor. "Didn't mean to scare you." You were stunned.

Out of all the people in the Outerbanks, all of the big businessmen, why were you the next victim? Your hands were shaky as you glanced around your home. Searching through the night to see if you could see him. See anything.

"Trying to find me?" The laugh that rang out chilled you to the bone. "You're adorable." The condescending words did nothing to appease your fear. "Why are you so scared?"

"Why me?" The silence on the other end is loud. "All of your other victims have been men who've done awful things. So why-"

Rafe cuts you off.

"Who said you were my victim, sweetheart? You're my new friend."

It's your turn to be speechless.

The distorted voice begins again.

"Unless you tell the cops about our little conversation, then you'll be my victim. Do you understand, Y/N?" Something about him saying your name makes you agree right away.

"I understand."

The laugh rings out again before he speaks one more time.

"Talk to you tomorrow, sweetheart."

Then, the low beep of the line disconnecting fills your ears.

Rafe Taglist: @iameatingmyhair @cherrrywraith @lil2023 @lcvrsheart @sophiah2253 @mila1224 @iamlilykrav @emotionalldamage @earthruled @bluuuughh @sunsetargent @kingedmund007 @iluvbunnyhops @steveharie @rafelover @tarrenshayne @stcrkeyluvr @idktheusual @eddiemunson86 @taylorswiftloversera @wh0r3-for-klaus @housekeeperjjswife @wildwallflower24 @poge-life @fuckmelikestilesstilinski @user556677889900 @lonnielain @sachaa-ff @xhaliemax @kravitzwhore @coryisagee @multidimensionalslut @fratboyharrysgf0201 @iheartthe90s @settingmoxn @lewisroscoelove @hannahxhoney @iluvcatslolol @x2skyler @user36376373 @kkmstblog @kinokorii @pickingviolets @somebodys-enola

I'm so so sorry that this took so long, I've been going through it mentally and had no time to write. I'll roll these out as quickly as possible.

[sugarjar]

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Inspired by this and based on this without the nun part

There isn’t anything in the world Simon would deny you, even if it shook the ground he walks on for you

Mentions of death, domestic violence and abuse, trauma, cursing and a slightly pushy reader

Nothing was making sense to you if Simon loved you the way he said he did, the way he showed he did, the why wouldn’t he answer any questions.

It wasn’t like you were asking for his social security number or his bank account info, you simply wanted to know more about him he knew everything about you to a tee it bothered you that when you’d ask anything personal you’re head would be patted.

You had been dating for six months for Christ sake you didn’t need to know everything but you needed something, some sort of explanation for the long period of time he’s just so causally said he had to leave for. Who just says “m’ going to be away for five months, it’s f’work” which was fine but you didn’t know what he did for work.

It made no sense and you were tried of being scared to pry you deserved some answers

“Where are you going Simon?” His head peaked up immediately untucking itself away from the corner of the back of your neck.

Simon

“I don’t know” you can feel his heart beat a little faster for a moment before it slows again like it was before, his nervous hands trailing down your smooth arms. Raising a quiet eyebrow he didn’t know

lies

Strike one, moving on “when do you leave?” A quick “soon” he had to steady his heart again you could feel it, the anxiety in your stomach was tiring. “Soon when?” He didn’t answer the question and he wouldn’t. “Next few days” strike two

“Who are you going with?” It should absolutely be a simple question if this whole work trip thing is true this shouldn’t be a troubling question. “M’boss and colleagues” fair enough no strike.

“Why are you going on a trip” he did not know that a simple question, a few simple questions would lead to such heartache he felt the anxiety having a war in his stomach fear vs love a battle he’d only been tore up as a little boy hearing the beatings his mother went though always shaking in fear as the anger that wanted to fight back bubbled but fear always won the cruel war.

In a simple second you popped out of bed thrusting yourself away from Simon’s arms and into the cool airs “bullshit I’m sick of this” grabbing your robe flinging yourself down the stairs heavy footsteps a moment later racing with you.

You were leaving

Fear was once again winning but Simon couldn’t let this happen he refused to lose this wonderful accident that he washed his hands of ghost, and all the blood he had shed. He was sweating letting the war play out raised in a tree from afar he doesn’t know what to say him following was only a jerk reaction.

You can’t leave

“Do you even love me? I know we started out a just flings and if sex was all this was going to be you should’ve just said that Simon!” You were fine with just sex before but you were in way to deep to go back. Call it irrational but you were going to get answers one way or another.

“Of course I love you! Haven’t it shown it?” The tides of the war is shifting

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to talk about you to everyone who will listen and being asked a simple question and realize that I don’t know shit? Nothing about you or what you do.” Make it make sense you were begging.

Nothing

Love was on its last leg its best are slain everyone packed, scorched and bloody. It seems like there isn’t any hope left for anything shred of the surrounding to prevail.

He didn’t want to say anything fine it was done, walking away would hurt like a bitch but lying to yourself would too. Stepping out of the doorframe car keys in hand and when a gust of wind blew you back into the foyer the door clicking with a lock after the gush settled.

“I’m in the military, sas to be specific I’m also a lieutenant I enlisted when I was seventeen” he was begging you back. Dropping to his knees tears drizzling down his blonde eyelashes down his scarred beaten face. Peach his cheeks were

“Anything you want to know anything, just tell me what you want to know and I’ll tell you anything you want me to be I’ll be that for you but please don’t leave.” He had never in his life done this before.

This first meant everything to both of you, it was laughable how stunned you were after making such a show.

The tide was turning love is breaking formation a burst of adrenaline,the gloating opposite was basking in before being taking by surprise form behind.

“My mum, brother and nephew died, so I have I family besides my team the 141 I kill people bad people we do, ghost does it as me there Price, Johnny, and Kyle were leaving in three days for Guadalajara, México I can’t tell you anything more but when I can I will I’ll be gone for five months at the lost three at the least.” Everything came spilling out.

“I just wanted you to let me in si, I’m sorry but this can’t work without you giving me something thank you I love you.” The hug is embracing and warm the settling of the conversation would take a little while but for now

For the first time ever love has won the war