#and when he finds someone who takes him so well he can’t help himself
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hxney-lemcn · 2 days ago
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Mine, Only Mine — Mr. Crawling, Gap, Silvair, Chopped, Hugeface, and Scarletella x gn! reader
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summery: how jealous do some of the Homicipher boys get?
tw: unhealthy relationships (Mr. Hugeface & Scarletella)
wc: 1.2k
Master List
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Crawling
❥I know people have written about how he gets jealous…but I don’t really think he does? Or at least not terribly. The scene with Mr. Chopped and the cat ears show that Mr. Crawling won’t pout or get sad at you showing affection to others, just that he wants to gain the same attention (the ear scene…). So jealousy with Mr. Crawling isn’t too bad, just be prepared to shower him with more affection than the person you originally did. 
❥On the other hand, I do think his jealousy may increase if you ignore him. Say you give more attention to Mr. Scarletella, Mr. Crawling would get a bit sad and pouty, thinking you don’t like him anymore. If this happens, give him lots and lots of attention and reassurance, he’ll be super grateful. I mean he loves your affection anyways, so might as well give him some extra headpats and kisses. Even better if you only show certain signs of affection with him, it makes him feel special. 
❥Overall, not the most jealous, but not completely unaffected either. Make sure he gets his daily dose of attention/quality time and he’ll be as right as rain.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Gap
❥Uh, he gets more jealous than you’d think. Like…his whole thing is he wants to be special to you…in his own strange way. Doesn’t like the thought of someone taking his place as a jokester to you. Also why he brings you things he’d think you like from time to time, just to make sure you still have that special place in your heart for him <3
❥Hates hate hates when you call him bad or not good. He’s good! He swears! Remember how he’s helped you before! Gets all frowny when you call him not good and then call someone else good. He’s good too! Guess he has to prove it, AGAIN. It’s honestly kind of endearing how he has no clue how he actually kind of does like you? But not exactly in a romantic way? It’s honestly hard to label his feelings towards you, so why should I?
❥I’d say he’s the second most jealous in this list of characters, watching on angrily as you praise someone that isn’t him. Be prepared for magazines and books galore when he’s in this mood, trying to prove his worth to you. Kind of strange for someone to try so hard when they claim to not like you…
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Silvair
❥Definitely the chillest one here. Doesn’t really get jealous at all :/ If anything, he finds it entertaining when you’re affectionate with others. Gives him more insight to his lab rats. Yes, he sees everyone as a lab rat. Idk, I can’t really see him get jealous.
❥Maybe…MAYBE if someone else tries doing research on you, or if Ms. Nurse treats you instead he’ll feel a bit off. Like…you’re his test subject, he knows you from the inside out…literally and not in the fun sense. Why would you go to someone who doesn’t know as much about you and how this world affects you? It’s very hard to spot his jealousy, doesn’t even notice it/recognize it himself. He just doesn’t want anyone to mess up his data…that’s all…totally.
❥In conclusion, not really jealous. Doesn’t feel like he needs to be. You’re ‘friends’, doctor and patient, mad scientist and lab rat not many others threaten that balance between you. 
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Chopped
❥Honestly…Mr. Chopped I’m kinda mixed on how he’d be. Like on one hand, I could totally see him getting jealous if you call others cute or pay too much attention to them. On the other…he could probably care less. He loves himself, you love him, why does he need to get jealous? It’s clear how much you like him with the way you pamper him. I mean we get so many examples where you’re affectionate to Mr. Crawling in front of Mr. Chopped and he doesn’t really bat an eye. 
❥Now, I can see if he gets a bit insecure he might get more jealous. Whether it be because Mr. Crawling pats your head or tucks you into bed, Mr. Chopped feels a bit sad. He’d like to tuck you in, you look so comfy. Might be just a bit pouty, eyeing you like a dissatisfied cat. Easily rectified with head pats or even cuddles. Gets side tracked from his jealousy as soon as you give him a sliver of attention honestly.
❥Mr. Chopped is fifty fifty when it comes to jealousy, but it’s never too bad. He’s pretty comfortable with what you both have and doesn’t really feel threatened by others. After all, you did call him cute.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Hugeface
❥I wouldn���t say he gets jealous? More possessive than anything. Like that scene when Mr. Machete stumbles into his little makeshift dollhouse that he made for you and gets all angry that he’s there. It’s more of a ‘you’re not supposed to be here, this is our playtime’ more than actual jealousy. Throws a little fit whenever someone messes up your playtime. Very accusatory lmao.
❥Does not like when you try to escape. Was he not providing enough for you? Were you unhappy? You’re not allowed to leave! You’re his cute human! He can’t just find another one y’know. Mr. Hugeface may be lenient if he sees you happier, you need enrichment after all. Feels extra happy if you come back on your own violation. 
❥The most childish out of all the characters on this list. Isn’t afraid to throw tantrums, will also punish you by putting you in a solid concrete cube if he’s really upset. Yeah…not the most healthy of relationships to have…BUT! I do think you could convince him to be a bit better…? Maybe? Only if you put enough work in communicating with him though. Maybe punish him in your own way like leaving for longer if he threatens to trap you.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Scarletella
❥Uhhhhhhhhhhh. Top of the list when it comes to jealousy. Watches your every move with curiosity and spite. Why are you doing that to Mr. Crawling? Do it to him instead. Why do you look so happy braiding Mr. Chopped’s hair? Style his hair instead. Why are you looking so fondly amused at Mr. Gap? Don’t you find him amusing? You do like him, right? He likes you. He likes you a lot, and he thought he was enough…was he not?
❥Will stare through your skull. It is so intimidating. His smile? Strained, it makes your skin crawl. You have to make sure he doesn’t hurt your friends, he’s so close to snapping, but he knows that would upset you and that’s not his goal. So instead he stands ominously in the background, body staticing in and out while his hand clenches the handle of his umbrella. 
❥Not that easily mended. Likes to monopolize all your time and affection. Needs constant reassurance as well, he’s quite needy. If you like constant validation and no social life go for it, just don’t get too upset if he threatens your other monster friends…he can’t stand that you could like someone that wasn’t him.
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midnightshard06 · 9 hours ago
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Sonic
Sonic grinned proudly. “Well Tails and me have been family for a long time now. Practically raised the kid myself heh. We’re close as you might expect. We also help keep each other in check. He, usually, keeps me from doing anything too reckless and I make sure he actually gets enough sleep and eats at least two meals a day.” He put his hands behind his head before a contemplative look came over his face. “If I have any blood related family out there I have no idea where they are. Not that I really care to find them anyway.” He put his hands down and shrugged. “Plus Shadow, and I guess Eclipse too, is in the picture now. Me and Shadow are on really good terms.” He chuckled. “Spending all that time helping him adjust to earth and doing my best to undo everything he’d been taught to think about himself helped with that. We’re… really close yeah.” A fond smile slipped onto his face for a moment before it slipped into a more cocky grin. “Eclipse is ok too. Fun to mess around with plus he makes a decent game partner when I can’t rope anyone else into it. He’s about just as competitive as me which makes it fun.”
Shadow
Shadow looked down for a moment before sighing. “Well not long after I was created I suppose I only considered Maria and perhaps Black Doom and some of the Black Arms my family. No one else at that point mattered to me. With Maria gone now though… well I find my family has expanded quite a bit. I think she would be happy to know that.” He cleared his throat. “Of course there is what is technically my biological family with Eclipse and the Black Arms. Eclipse is… a lot, but I am happy to have met him. Without his help I fear the confrontation with the Black Arms would have ended in tragedy. The Black Arms now look up to me like a leader, but I believe our relationship is positive.” He crossed his arms and scowled. “As for Black Doom… well he’s dead now so I suppose there’s not much of a point in speaking about him.” His ear twitched as his expression turned into something more neutral. “There’s also the Biolizard, which I suppose in a way could be considered my sibling as well. I… am doing my best to help them. Going back up to the Ark is hard though.”
His expression softened. “Then I suppose there’s Sonic and Tails. The two who took me in and took the time to help me.” He glanced around as if looking for something, or someone. “Sonic and I are very close. I admit I’m not sure what I would do without him at this point. His steady presence has helped me adapt much quicker I think. As well as realize some things.” He sighed. “Tails I’m far less close with but I still appreciate everything he’s done for me. I believe some of my lingering unease with the fox may be due to his connection with science. It… reminds me of the Ark. It’s something I’m working on though.”
Silver
“Oh! I’m really close with my family. Especially my parents.” Silver grinned. “I’m really grateful Sonic and Shadow decided to take me in when they found me all those years ago. It’s a little hard sometimes to get them to let me do things that might be dangerous, but I’ve been working on getting them to downplay their protective steaks for a while now.” He puffed his chest out. “Clearly it’s been working since they’ve let me start going to the past with Mephiles on a regular basis. Plus even before that they’d let me go out and scout the nearby ruins.” He tapped his chin. “There’s also uncle Eclipse. I don’t see him too often but Shadow likes to call him a bad influence on me. I think he’s fun.”
For characters!
If any of you have family, what's your family relationship like?
More character questions!!
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zaczenemiji · 2 days ago
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Tabito Karasu Headcannons
where reader is a hyper-independent eldest daughter of an Asian household who also happens to be the student council president
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
These HCs are based on my 5-chapter-long Tabito Karasu x Reader on AO3. I highly recommend reading that too as it contains all the emotions, details, and the full story.
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✧ "What can I say? I've got a talent for winning,” he says whenever someone asks how he scored the student council president.
✧ After training, he’d go back to school to fetch you whenever you stay behind to finish your student council duties.
✧ Always insists on helping you—he doesn’t stop at the polite offer or the half-hearted “Let me know if you need anything.”
✧ He simply did things for you, without question, without hesitation, and without making you feel like you owed him anything in return.
✧ Brings you food at the student council room whenever you’re so caught up in work that you didn’t notice it was well past lunch.
✧ Then he would sit across from you as if it were the most natural thing in the world to keep you company.
✧ The list goes on: Karasu helps you review for exams, reminding you to take breaks when you were clearly overworking yourself, or simply showing up when you least expected it.
✧ He would take on tasks you stubbornly refused to delegate, even if it meant showing up early or staying late himself.
✧ But he doesn’t try to take over or do things for you that you could handle yourself. He simply… supported you.
✧ Hates seeing you put everyone else’s needs above your own. And he hates how no one seemed to notice—how no one insisted you take care of yourself.
✧ Wants to be the one you relied on—the one you turned to when the world felt heavy.
✧ He cares for you in ways no one else ever had—quietly steps in when you needed it most, without taking away the independence you valued so deeply.
✧ Karasu always finds excuses to stay with you a little longer together.
✧ NEVER lets you walk home alone. He listens to you talk about your day as carries your bag without asking.
✧ 24/7 tells you you’re beautiful—all the time, followed by a kiss—on your forehead, cheeks, lips, anywhere his lips could touch you.
✧ Whenever he hugs you, he’d hold you tight as if to make the moment last forever.
✧ To say that your family loves him is an understatement. He quickly became a part of it in ways that surprised even you.
✧ He’d play soccer with your younger brother and would lift your little sister onto his shoulders and swing her around until she was giggling uncontrollably.
✧ Sometimes when your schedule gets hectic, he’d offer to be the one to fetch your younger siblings on your behalf and they would end up picking you up instead.
✧ Always brags about you in front of his family. So when you first came over to his house, you were referred to as the girl he can’t stop talking about.
✧ He’s definitely a girlfriend’s boy—“Sorry, I’ve got plans with my girlfriend,” he’d say, unapologetic to his friends, choosing to spend his free time with you.
✧ His possessiveness came out in subtle ways—a hand on your back, an arm slung over your shoulder, or fingers intertwined with yours. He wanted everyone to know you were his.
✧ “Let them stare,” he’d say, smirking.
✧ Loves you so much—you are everything to him.
✧ So if he loses at soccer, if he doesn’t become the greatest striker in the world—it’s fine. Because he has you.
✧ That was his real goal. You were his greatest win.
@mianbaobaoo @thetwinkims @arlecchinoftl @karasuglazer @axjisai @egoistlino
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idorukiss · 1 day ago
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Heres a sorta drabble/headcanon of sorts of how I picture MC's relationship with Sylus would devleop~ I'm not much of a writer but the brainrot is real and ive made similar ones for the other boys too!
1,035 words || You can also read it on ao3
‧͙⁺˚・༓・˚⁺‧͙⁺˚・༓・˚⁺‧͙⁺˚・༓・˚⁺‧͙⁺˚・༓・˚⁺‧͙⁺˚・༓・˚⁺‧͙ Xavier ・ Zayne ・ Rafayel
Sylus is always prepared for any and every situation that could happen when he works, In all his time reigning over the N109 zone there hasn't been a single thing or person that hasn’t been accounted for to some degree- that was until you showed up at least. Like a black cat, you seemed to bring unexpected chaos wherever you stepped.
Of course he couldn’t help but do everything he can to keep you by his side, not only to be a formidable ally but simply cause he finds you as a whole fascinating. What kind of things will you say next? How will you get out of this situation? It’s like a game to him, one that he can’t predict or brute force the ending to.
While the two of you didn't get off on the best foot at the start, he proved himself very trusting and that he cared for your well being fairly easily. Sure he would take chances to tease you for the littlest things- even creating various situations just to see your reaction to them, but he still honestly responded to your every question and kept you as best in the loop for things as he was able.
It was strange yet nice to have someone like him by your side, someone so strong and confident that you could trust to cover your back and seemingly trusted you as much to cover his in return. It was a dynamic you weren’t that used to yet, sure you had your fellow hunters but no matter how much you fought alongside any of them you just couldn’t find yourself fully trusting in their abilities like this.
The more he got to know you the more he found himself thinking about you and the things you like. Often swiping his card first and thinking later any time your face flashed in his mind when perusing wares. He wonders how long it will take you to realize he keeps all of his estates fully stocked with presents and everything you might need in the event you show up to any of them.
“Sylus? Why are you calling me so early??” “Check your door kitten, you should have a package waiting for you” “Don't tell me its another gun, I keep telling you I can't use these outside of the N109 zone” he chuckles deeply “Well I could get you a gun too if you really want one. But no, it's something different this time” Curiously you grab the box and start to open it “...A teddy bear?” “Do you not like it? I figured it could add to your growing plush collection.” You let out a small giggle “That's so sweet of you. But you didn't have to send it to me right away, you could've left it in my room for the next time I came by like usual.” his voice is soft, almost whispering into your ear “I couldn't wait to give it to you is all. Wont you accept my gift?” Your heart pounds “I love it, thank you. Ill be sure to sleep with it every night!” your face is beaming, he cant see it through the phone but he can surely hear it in your voice.
Any time you find yourself without missions long enough to justify the trip, you spend it in the N109 zone with him. You told yourself at first it was just to keep an eye on him and see if you can catch any weaknesses, but you were secretly excited to be spending time with him even if it was just sitting in content silence together while he worked. And despite his unchanging face, Sylus might’ve looked forward to each of your visits even more than you.
It wasn’t out of the ordinary to accompany him to various events and gatherings, and it was surely strictly for business at first. Now though? It’s hard to tell. Not that you mind either way, it just felt nice to have his arm around you and being doted on throughout the night. When people inquired about who you were, he would usually refer to you as his woman in a more joking way at first, but your heart couldn't help but flip the first time he said it more genuinely. While looking right at you with a smile.
One very late night after attending a party, you couldn't help but doze off in the car on the way back to his place. It was much later in the night than you are typically used to, you don’t know how he can function at this time of night most days. You can’t help but let your mind wander and picture what day to day life with him would be like if you just never went back home.- If you stayed by his side for the rest of time.
He gently carries you inside, but instead of going all of the way to your dedicated room he brings you with him into his. There's no nefarious plans, he just simply wants to have you by his side longer and has wished to wake up to your face for far too long. A faint hum stirs you from your dreams as you are being gently placed onto the comfort of his mattress. A small kiss pressed to the top of your head as the blankets pulled over you before he quietly climbs in beside you.
Did you even wake up in the first place? Even if it was still a dream it meant everything to you, and you reach an arm out pulling yourself close to him and nuzzling into his side. Your eyes flutter closed once more enjoying his warmth as he quietly chuckles to himself and wraps an arm around you in return, falling into a blissful sleep of his own. Neither of you would give up this moment for the world, you were meant to be in each other’s arms just like this for eternity.
He would kill for you, and you would live for him. Nothing anyone could do would predict your love for one another, and you'll continue to defy fate to be with him
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star-farer · 1 day ago
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well met
Summary: Connections and clones; it takes only one to be family. AU: Imperial Taglist: @kybercrystals94 @fionas-frenzy @padawancat97 @margindoodles2407 @dreamsight73 @groguandthebadbatch @comfy-vember
Comfy-vember 2024, Day 19: Thick blankets — Sunset
“Hello.”
The voice, young and gentle, draws his eyes up away from the tiles beneath his feet. He looks over his shoulder to see a girl, bathed in the warm colors of the dying day, smiling at him kindly.
His brow quirks in question, but he finds it in himself to tilt the line of his lips. A spark brightens in her face, like a heating unit switching on. She steps forward, holding out something dusty blue and folded.
“It’s going to get pretty cold soon.”
He turns, reaching one trembling hand to feel the thick blanket, coarse against his fingers. The muscles on his face stretch awkwardly around his grin. “Thanks, kid.”
And her smile explodes like a star going supernova, full-fledged and shining bright with teeth. By the Ka’ra, he knows her cheeks must ache. He’s had the pleasure of grinning like that too.
With his vode. Who are all—
He breathes in. He breathes out.
There’s something heavy making itself known in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t dare give it a name.
A warmth envelopes him, welcome as a hug. He raises his head with some surprise to see the girl slowly smoothing the blanket around his shoulders, a quiet look that makes her look too old for one so little.
When she catches him gazing at her, her lips turn crookedly in a manner too familiar to ignore. “I don’t like the cold either,” she tells him softly.
He can’t help the huff of laughter. Here he sits, a Clone Commander, exploited as a soldier, tortured as an experiment, rescued by his brothers and safe on some tropical haven of a planet, freshly de-chipped when he didn't even know about them a day ago.
And a kid is trying to make him feel better.
His heart warms to see the concern in her brown eyes, though. It's been far too long since he's been shown such kindness
“Don’t worry about me,” he reassures, careful to balance his best Commander-voice with his ori'vod-voice. He’s a little out of practice, but he thinks he does a good job of it.
She snorts — and a bolt strikes through him at how familiar it is. He racks his mind, even as she slings her legs over the ledge and sits down beside him, but comes up short of any explanation.
Crossing her arms, she mutters, not low enough to keep out of his hearing because she wants him to hear it, “That’s what you all say.”
He…honestly doesn’t know how to respond to that. He chews on words, responses, anything his mind could give him. The fact that she reminds him of…someone, doesn’t really help him either. So he turns back to the view in front of him.
Confusion keeps him silent as he watches the sun rest distorted on the horizon. The girl doesn’t speak either, her hands clasped together on her lap and her head tilted towards the crimson-gold swathing the sky and shimmering over the sea. From the corner of his eye, he sees her blond curls tumble down to hide her eyes along her temples.
Who is she?
A breeze brushes past, playing the leaves strewn on the grounds up into a rampant dance. She shifts, and—
He can’t believe he never saw this before. She’s wearing the same uniform as he does.
The uniform of a prisoner of Tantiss.
Who is she?
“You cold?”
He nearly smacks himself in the face for asking the very wrong question. He isn’t even the sort to go about questioning in circles — when he wants an answer, he gets straight to the point.
As he reprimands himself for it, the girl looks up at him with careful, considering eyes. There’s a deep complexity behind them, a hundred thoughts whirring.
He’s faced such similar scrutiny before, he’s seen eyes look at him like—
Eyes.
More specifically, a sniper’s eyes.
She smiles up at him, wide and warm, her head listing against one shoulder. “I’m fine, thanks.”
He blinks, once, twice, and pauses to really, really, look at her.
Blonde curls, brown skin, a perpetually smiling face.
He’s probably the biggest di’kut alive.
Some thought must show on his face, because her smile grows confused, her brows draw together, her nose wrinkles up, just like, well — how the kark had he missed it? — like that kriffing 99 kid he’d been stuck with on Barton IV.
“…Omega?”
She reels back with a sharp inhale, eyes wide like twinkling stars. “How do you know my name?”
And he laughs, a proper laugh from the depths of his heart, warm and full. He hasn’t laughed like this in a very long time. He's missed laughing as heartily as this.
“A certain buir of yours told me all about you,” he tells her, affection seeping into his tone with the knowledge that he’s looking at a vod’ika, strange though she seems.
“My—” she stares up at him with a flickering expression— “My buir?”
“Yeah,” he lilts, grinning wide, “’S name starts with a cresh, resh, osk…”
He nearly jolts for her dropping jaw out of fear it might fall right off her skull. “You know Crosshair?”
“I should. He saved my life.”
There’s that perplexed look again, scrunching up her nose in a way he dares to label adorable. “He never told me about anything like that.”
Honestly, he isn’t surprised. A little hurt, maybe. The way it hurts when a vod steals the last chocolate pudding cup. But he isn’t surprised
I’m gonna have to have a word with that boy, he thinks absentmindedly, scratching his beard, though a part of him is glad that he survived.
“Really?” he hums. “The audacity.”
The girl, Omega, giggles like a tiny cadet. “He is pretty audacious.”
He shrugs, draping the blanket around her shoulders with the movement. “Figured as much.”
Her laughter rings a little while longer when he grumbles out tales of being subject to the boy’s acerbic nature, making a point to keep it light and humorous for her sake. He’s always been good at regaling stories, old and new ones. He’d had to find a way to keep the spirits up in that desolate outpost after all.
When at last a lull falls between them, the sun only a sliver of gold as if the water kisses the air, she turns to him with a fond smile on her face.
“You never told me your name.”
Her tone is teasing, almost accusatory, and it feels like they’ve been old friends since time immemorial.
He chuckles as he ruffles her curls.
“Mayday, kid. The name’s Mayday.”
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hoejosatoru · 3 months ago
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Thinking about being sukuna’s favorite concubine that he swears he has no affection for but he spoils you so much and literally cannot get enough of you. He fucks you so hard and rough and fast and somehow you always take it so good. He just wants to be buried in your cunt as much as possible… yeah 🤍
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aemondsbabe · 5 months ago
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Deliverance
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summary: following your nephew's death, you find aemond in need of comfort. as his older sister, who are you to deny him?
pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, mentioned canon death, infidelity technically but reader's husband is cool with it and understands that she comes from a weirdo family cough cough incest cough, lactation kink, hurt/comfort, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, titty sucking, angst but happy ending, otto cameo ew, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 7.4k
a/n: *slams fist on table* i need for him to suck on my boobie
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
gif creds to @feodor-dostoevsky
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🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!
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“Shall I fetch Maester Orwyle once we return to your chambers, Princess?” Your handmaiden, Edyth, questions as the two of you make your way up one of the many winding staircases in the Red Keep – each step making you wince. 
“Yes, please,” you sigh, ever grateful that she had always seemed to have a knack for predicting your requests before you had the chance to voice them, “Perhaps tell him to prepare some of the same soothing balm he gave to Helaena?” 
“Of course, Princess,” Edyth nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, ever the optimist, “I believe it should help with your aches, I remember it seemed to help the Queen after…” She trails off, breath hitching in her throat.
A heavy silence seems to fall over the two of you, the same that had been blanketing the entirety of the palace for the past few days. You swallow thickly, battling against the lump suddenly growing at the back of your throat and merely nod your head in simple understanding, offering her a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sure it will be of great help, Edyth, thank you.” 
Ever since… it had happened, the Red Keep feels as if it’s made of eggshells, like one small gust of wind could knock it right over. Everyone’s so on edge, terrified of saying too much or too little, the wrong thing at the wrong time. The stress of it all seems nearly suffocating, though you still have a feeling the worst was yet to come. 
Suddenly, someone calls your name from behind you and you turn, smiling once you see your grandsire striding toward you.
“A raven arrived earlier from Gwayne,” Otto explains, deep voice carrying down the empty hallway, “He’s reached Oldtown safely, everything seems to be well there.”
“Oh, wonderful,” you nod, grateful for news of your husband.
“Indeed,” he continues, “Daeron seems to be in good spirits, happy to come home; they’re to depart tomorrow, as scheduled… forgive me, I meant to tell you before supper but it seems to have slipped my mind.”
“Everything has been so hectic of late, please don’t trouble yourself. He arrived safely and will be back all the sooner for it, that is what matters.”
“Of course,” Otto nods, glancing out a nearby window, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been ordered to attend to His Grace,” he says gruffly, a wry smile on his lips, nodding in the direction of Aegon’s chambers.
You nod at the mention of your twin, brows pinching together with worry. “Be… patient with him, grandsire, please,” you beseech, chest heaving with a soft sigh, “I spoke with him earlier this morning, he’s… well, he’s not himself.”
“Are any of us anymore, I wonder,” Otto mutters, fixing you with a tight smile before taking his leave, striding quickly down the hallway. Your brows furrow at that, you can’t help but throw Edyth a questioning look before the two of you continue toward your chambers. 
“Seven Hells,” you grumble, quickly bringing a hand to your breast as you climb another, blessedly shorter, set of stairs, “Perhaps check the nursery first, yes? Daena may be stirring still…” You know better, even as the words leave your lips. 
Your daughter has finally begun sleeping soundly through the night recently and while that is cause for celebration, you certainly won’t miss the past eight moons of late night feedings, your poor breasts are paying the price – your body not yet caught up with the lessened need for milk. 
“Yes, Princess,” Edyth replies with a little nod, walking alongside you.
The two of you are almost at your chambers, finally turning onto the hallway where the family apartments are housed, when you hear it – a muffled, barely there cry. The sound makes you pause in your tracks, head swiveling, unsure of exactly where it came from and it’s then you notice that the door to Aemond’s chambers is ajar. 
That in and of itself is strange indeed, your little brother valued privacy above all else, so you stride over only to pause at the entrance, hand poised midair as you reach for the door handle. Your heart clenches when another soft sob pierces the quiet of the hallway – a mournful little noise, one you’d expect more from Aegon. 
Turning back to Edyth, you lead her a few feet from the door, knowing Aemond would hate it if he knew someone, anyone aside from you, had overheard him. “Go to the nursery,” you instruct, making sure to keep your voice low, “Make sure Daena is well, then you’re free for the evening.” 
“But, princess, what about –”
“Nevermind it,” you murmur with a shake of your head, “I’ll send for the maester later myself.”
With a nod, she scampers off further down the hallway, leaving you alone by your brother’s door. Stepping back over toward the threshold, you bite at your bottom lip, wondering if you should go in at all – if it would be more merciful to simply pretend you hadn’t heard anything at all. 
But then it happens again, another pitiful sob sounds from beyond the cracked door and you’re unable to help yourself – Aemond had always come to you with his troubles when he was younger, surely now would be no different. With a little breath, you push the door open just enough to slip through it and thank whichever Gods may be listening when you’re able to press it closed with hardly a sound. 
Peeking around the screen your brother has beside the door, it feels as if your heart shatters in your chest. He looks so… small, so fragile, the complete opposite of the towering, formidable man he’d become in recent years. It’s clear he didn’t hear you come in as he stays seated in a chair near the door, his back to you; his shoulders shake with gentle cries while he hunches over, head cradled in his hands. 
The disarray of his normally spotless chambers startles you once you let your eyes flit over the space – papers are strewn about all across the low table he keeps in the little sitting area, some scattered across the floor, crumpled up, or ripped to pieces. His bedsheets are halfway ripped from the bed and lie in a pool at its foot, along with the remnants of a candle, now merely a translucent puddle on the dark stone floor. 
Taking a step forward, you softly call his name, trying your hardest to keep your voice as low and soft as possible, though you’re hardly able to get the first syllable out before he bolts up from the chair with a strangled gasp and spins toward you. 
“Oh, Aem,” the words fall past your lips in a soft sigh, pulled from you by the startled expression on his face – eyes wide with the fear of being caught so vulnerable. His sapphire eye seems to sparkle with just as much emotion as his pale purple one. 
“Sister, I –” He starts, hastily wiping his hands over his cheeks, chest heaving while he tries to calm his harsh breaths, but you’ll have none of that.
“Shh, whatever excuses you have, I’ll not hear them,” you murmur, quickly walking the few feet over to him and enveloping him in a tight embrace, just as you used to do when he would come crying to you about the tortures Aegon or your nephews put him through in their youth.
Your brother stays stiff in your arms for a moment, tense and wary, though he slowly relaxes as you rub a hand over his back, smoothing out his long hair. You yourself relax once he finally winds his long arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder with a soft sigh, the tension in his shoulders finally releasing. 
“Tell me what distresses you so?”
“I… Jae– the boy,” he stammers, stumbling over his name. You understand, just saying your little nephew’s name seems to somehow make the pain of the loss even worse. Yet, something in your gut tells you there’s something else going on, that Jaehaerys’s death is not the only thing causing your brother such anguish.
“Aemond…” you gently press, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, “I cannot help if you won’t tell me–”
“Tell you what?” He counters, tone growing too defensive too quickly, “My nephew’s death brings me sorrow, sister. The loss of a young child is a… distressing thing.”
“You know that’s not what I mean!” You counter, trying desperately to keep your voice calm, even when Aemond backs away from you with an exasperated sigh. You’re no stranger to this game – ever since he lost his eye, your brother has guarded his emotions carefully. Getting him to speak honestly about them was about as hard as keeping a bottle of Dornish wine from Aegon’s grasp. 
He gives you a sidelong glance as he paces about the room, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched. Worry only blooms brighter in your chest the longer you watch him; so agitated and so guarded, closed off like an abused animal. 
“It… it’s nothing,” he mumbles finally, voice short and clipped, “Nothing important, sister, I assure you.”
Unconsciously, you wring your hands worriedly, heart clenching; you want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, yet you know from experience that it was better to let Aemond come to you. 
“Well, surely it cannot be nothing if it has upset you so, sweetling.” 
His nervous pacing comes to a screeching halt at that and he squeezes his eye shut, fists clenched at his side – his whole body tense like he’s trying desperately to keep some invisible dam within himself closed. 
You reach a hand up instinctively when he bites at his bottom lip and turns his head away from you, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I–,” he croaks, the tightness in his voice makes your breath hitch in your throat; every maternal cell in your body is screaming at you, pleading with you to hold him, “I don’t w-wish to burden you.”
“Baby brother,” you sigh, finally going to him, practically running the few feet over to where he stands. Your arms encircle him instantly, pulling him into a tight embrace – one hand rubs over his back while the other cups the back of his head, holding his face against the crook of your neck, “You could never be a burden to me, never.”
That seems to break him and he gasps, breathing warm against your neck, before he finally lets go and his shoulders heave with sobs while his hands cling to you desperately, fisting into the fabric of your gown like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. A tightness grows at the back of your own throat, not used to seeing him be this raw, this open, in what feels like lifetimes. It breaks your heart to think he’d been holding all of this in, determined to be the strong, silent soldier like everyone expected, while he dealt with such sadness all alone. 
“Shh, shh, Aemond, you’re okay,” you murmur gently, eyes widening when he sags against you, his knees giving way only for a second. “Here, come,” you instruct, taking one of his hands in yours and leading him to the small seating area in his chambers. You urge him to sit on the sofa he has there before joining him yourself, a bit surprised when he all but throws himself against you again – practically laying his head in your lap as he sobs, cheek pressed against your chest in a way that makes you wince from the tenderness still there, not that you’d ever scold him for it. 
“There, that’s much better, hm? Comfortable?” You ask, simply trying to draw him back to the surface. 
He doesn’t reply, something that doesn’t really come as a shock to you given how harsh his cries are, leaving him breathless against you. Deciding to let him get it out, you stay quiet, merely shushing him every so often as you run your fingers through his pearlescent hair.
After a long while, he seems to settle some and tears begin running down his cheeks silently rather than racking his body with savage cries; he lifts his head from your lap and rests it instead against your shoulder, gazing up at you as if you’re an angel sent from the heavens themselves. The intense tenderness with which he looks at you makes you blush, yet your brows furrow slightly at the darkness still there – lingering in the lilac of his eye. 
“I have… I have done something terrible.”
Your brother's murmured confession only serves to confuse you further and you shake your head slightly, heart clenching in your chest as you silently wonder what in all the Seven Kingdoms he could possibly mean by that. 
“Aemond,” you start, knowing not to pry – to let him tell you, “There is nothing you could ever do that would make me think any less of you.”
He stares up at you for a long moment, eye flicking across your face like he’s checking for even the barest hint of deception, yet he finds none – your words are true. 
“You… promise me you will not hate me.”
“I promise, sweet brother,” your brows pinch together at his words, wondering what could possibly be bad enough for all this, yet you can’t stop the corners of your lips from quirking into a sad smile at his request; that uncertain lilt in his voice reminds you so much of when he was younger, “There’s nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Nothing.”
“I…” He starts, pulling away from you as he sits up, sparing you one last glance before staring off into the fireplace, “I am the… the reason Jaehaerys is dead.”
“What?” The word is pressed from you, leaving your lips as little more than a breath. You stare at him as if he’d sprouted a second head, utterly perplexed. How in the Seven Hells could he have ever arrived at that conclusion? Taking one of his hands in yours, you lean a little closer, “Sweetling, what in the world do you mean?”
“They were here for me,” Aemond rasps, wincing as if the words themselves are painful, clawing at his throat on their way out, “They were… Gods, they were sent for me and – and when they couldn’t find me, they… H-He died because I was not here, because they could not f-find me…”
“Oh, my love,” you sigh, the backs of your eyes stinging as he presses himself against you again, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, “Aemond, you couldn’t have known, none of us did. You couldn’t have known…” You repeat, like saying the words again and again will make him believe them. 
“I s-should have,” he whimpers, voice breaking over a sob, “I should’ve k-known, I sh–should’ve been here…”
You hold him tightly, practically hauling him onto your lap as his tears leak over your skin, running into the valley of your cleavage like a river, though you pay it no mind. “Shh, sweetling, shh,” you murmur and press a soft kiss to his forehead, “It’s not your fault, dear one, it’s no one’s fault but the vile men who took him and our… our coward of a sister who ordered it done.”
He stays silent for a moment and you can feel the gears in his brain turning, working furiously as he tries to internalize your words, wanting desperately to believe them but unable to let himself. You sigh softly when you feel him shake his head against you, so determined to cling to guilt. 
“If… if I had n-not been at the…” 
“At the where, brother?” You press, clinging to anything you may be able to use to shift the conversation. 
“...The brothel…” he mumbles after a long pause, the words so muffled against the column of your neck that you have to strain to hear them. His words shock you, the complete opposite of anything you’d been expecting. You try your hardest not to let that show, even as a strange sense of jealousy wells up within you – a sense of possessiveness you’ve always felt for your little brother.
“Well, you… you are a man grown, my love,” you heart hammers in your chest, loud enough that you wonder if he can hear it, “If you wish to lay with–”
“I didn’t… I–” He stammers, clinging to you tightly as he shakes his head, an urgency in his voice you can’t quite place, “That’s not what, I… I mean, I–”
“No matter,” you cut him off, aching to see him so distressed, “Whatever you do there, sweet brother, it’s your… right to do it.” You struggle to get the words out, the sense of protectiveness rising viciously in your chest makes your throat feel tight. 
He lifts his head from your shoulder again and eyes you for a long moment – for what, you aren’t sure. It’s almost like he’s surprised not to be meant with disgust or contempt; you wish you knew why.
“It doesn’t matter,” he finally mumbles, glancing away from you, ashamed, “I should’ve been home… I should’ve been here to protect my family.”
“Aemond, please,” you sigh and sit up slightly, moving to cup his cheeks in your hands, wiping at his tears with your thumb, “It is not your job to protect us, we have guards for a reason… if anything, this atrocity is their fault but it is not yours, do you understand?” Your eyes bore into his as you speak, desperate to make him understand, to rid him of this misplaced guilt. 
“Do… do you still love me?” He asks after a long moment, voice so timid, so meek like he’s already preparing himself for your rejection, that it makes your heart twist horribly in your chest. 
Still, you cannot help but huff out a little laugh, lips lifting into a sad smile at the utter ridiculousness of the question. “You are my dearest brother,” you murmur, leaning forward to press a kiss against his forehead, letting your lips linger on his skin for a second, “Of course, I still love you, Aemond. I have loved you from the moment you came into this world and I shall never, never stop – the Gods themselves could not make me.”
The two of you are quiet for a moment, save for a small hum from your brother as he nods. His arms encircle you again and selfishly, you enjoy it – being this close to him again, like he was a little boy once more. He’d been all but attached to you at the hip before that dreadful night, following you about the Keep and telling you all sorts of tales about various histories of the Realm in that sweet voice of his. 
All of that had stopped that night and, at first, you had assumed that he merely thought himself a man grown afterwards – a man who had finally claimed a dragon, a man who no longer needed comfort from an older sibling. The sadness in his voice when he speaks again, muffled against your shoulder, tells you otherwise.
“Mother doesn’t love me anymore,” his voice is flat and detached as he breathes out the words, like he’s informing you of some tragic, unavoidable accident. 
“Aem, of course she does. She loves you very–”
“No,” he cuts you off, sitting up once more and shaking his head, “Ever since that business with Luke, I… she can hardly bring herself to look at me. She won’t speak to me outside of Small Council meetings and even then she tries not to, ‘tis plain to see.”
You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes, leaving you to swallow around the lump that grows at the back of your throat once again. What are you to say? He’s… Gods, bless him, he’s right, you’ve seen as much to know. 
“You are the only one who has never abandoned me,” he starts, eye sparkling in the candlelight as tears begin welling up within it once more, “Everyone else has left.”
“That’s not…” Your voice fades as you sigh, knowing that arguing with him now will do no good. Instead, you simply hold him tighter and brush a few stray locks of hair from his face. “I can promise that I shall never leave you, sweet brother.”
He grows quiet for a moment, slumping down against you until his head rests in your lap and his body curls up onto the sofa. Silently, you resist the urge to cradle him, to hold him against you as you do Daena when she wakes from a nap with a start, crying out from her cradle. 
He is a grown man, you remind yourself, yet it does nothing to stop the strange ache in your heart. 
“They all used to taunt me, surely you remember, when we were younger,” he mumbles, eye fixated on the fire crackling in the hearth, even as he clings to you, “First for not having a dragon, then for not having an eye.”
You hum in affirmation – you do remember it, sadly. You remember it all very well; he had slept in your chambers for a week after the incident with the pig, not wanting to be left alone at night with the memories of it. You remember having to hold him back at the table when Aegon had poked fun at his eyepatch during supper, about a month after his eye had been gouged out. 
You remember that night too, when he’d come to you with tearful apologies, murmuring sorries again and again for accidentally nicking your hand while trying to brandish a knife against his brother. 
“I have always been an outcast.”
A smile tugs at the corners of your lips despite the circumstances and you sigh softly, brushing your fingers through his long strands of hair, “I quite like you being different… perhaps if you weren’t, we wouldn’t be as close, hm?”
Aemond goes quiet at that, stills in your lap with a little sigh before simply burrowing against you even more, curling in on himself tighter. 
A soft coo leaves your lips, strands of his long hair passing between your fingers like silk. “What say you stay with me tonight, yes?” You offer, the thought of him in the dark carrying all this alone grief makes you feel ill, “We could even cuddle, if you like? Just as we did when you were younger.”
A short beat of silence later, all you get is a little, “Yes, please,��� mumbled against your abdomen. 
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“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs later, the two of you finally lying together atop your bed, cuddled closely against one another just as you’d promised. You’d each taken time to get ready for bed and Aemond seems a little better for it, no longer as distressed and teary now that he’s had the time to collect himself. 
Your hand carefully cups the side of his face that isn’t pressed against your pillow, that isn’t buried in the crook of your neck, as an astonished huff of laughter escapes your lips as they curve into a sad smile, your brows furrowed. “Why in the world would you think such things?” Even as the question is whispered into the quiet of your chambers, you know the answer – Aemond has always been this way, always one to reject comfort, even when it is so freely given, even when he himself seeks it out. 
If only he could see himself as you do. 
“I… I have done so many shameful things, sister, I…” His voice breaks when he cuts himself off and you can feel him tense in your hold, “‘Tis the simple truth, I don’t deserve you.”
You hum softly, combing your fingers through his hair while you mull over his words, silently wondering why he has always been like this – why you have always felt so unworthy of softness and kindness and love. 
“Well, it is not my truth,” you murmur after a moment, eyes flicking over the long line of his body, hidden by your silken bedsheets. In the time each of you had taken to ready yourselves for bed, you had changed into a nightgown and he into a simple nightshirt, leaving your bare legs to tangle together, “Would you like to know what I think, my love?”
You feel him inhale against the crook of your neck, sucking in air like he’s steeling himself for disappointment, yet he still lifts his head and peers up at you. His lilac eye searches your face for a long moment, looking for even the smallest indication of displeasure in your features, only to find none. 
Seemingly satisfied with his assessment, assured that surely whatever you were to say would not hurt him too badly, he nods. 
Sitting up just enough to better see his face, you look at him with nothing but adoration as the two of you rest shoulder to shoulder, backs against the headboard. “I believe you deserve every kindness in the world, Aemond. And I believe even that would be too little,” your voice is hardly a whisper when you speak, like this is the deepest of secrets meant only for his ears, “You deserve nothing but happiness, sweet baby brother.”
He stares at you for a long moment, eye wide and glassy while his chest aches as your words seep into him like a soothing balm. You can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows, eye squeezing shut for a moment while he processes your words – so sweet they nearly stung. 
A soft coo bubbles from your lips when you see his chest rise and fall rapidly beneath the linen of his nightshirt, and you lean into him all the more when one of his hands reaches out and grabs one of your own, squeezing it like it’s a lifeline. 
“Shh,” you soothe, giving him a sad smile when his eye finally opens again, gaze immediately finding yours, “Sweet boy.”
He lets out a shuddering breath before looking away from you once again, mind reeling. Not knowing what to do, overcome with so much emotion his heart feels as if it’s adrift at sea, he brings your hand up and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles before holding it to his cheek and sucking in another little breath as his bottom lip trembles. “Please don’t ever leave me,” he whispers finally, voice tight and hoarse. 
Cupping his face, you caress your thumb over the scar beneath his eye softly and lean over just enough to press a soft kiss against his cheek. “I will never leave you, Aemond, I swear it.”
He shudders once more before letting out a shaky breath, eye filled with a wild desperation. Before you can register the movement, his hands are suddenly gripping at your waist and hauling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck once more, apologies already muffled against your skin. “I-I’m sorry, I – Gwayne will… will hate me but –”
“Shh, sh, sh, sweetling,” you murmur, despite the small, barely audible gasp that leaves you at the sudden movement, so wholly unused to this as half of you tries desperately to comfort you while the other half wonders if you should put a stop to this, “Gwayne knows, my love, he… it’s okay, he knows.”
A sob is wrenched from Aemond’s lips, warm against your neck, but he nods nonetheless, sighing when you begin carding your fingers through his hair once more, smoothing out the long, pale strands. Slowly, he relaxes again, arms wound securely around your waist while his breath evens out. 
You’re about to say something else, though your breath hitches in your throat when he begins peppering your neck with soft, chaste little kisses – feather-light down the column of your neck. He stops after a second, noticing you tense up on his lap, eyes wide as a million thoughts swirl in your mind: Is this okay? Should you stop this? This is your precious baby brother, the one who used to cling to your skirts when he was sad, who used to come to you in the night when he woke from a nightmare… 
He leans forward once more and nips at your earlobe, making your heart stutter in your chest, “Can… can I try something?”
Your head reels at the sudden change in his touches, needier now, though for an entirely different reason, yet still your mind reels – piqued with curiosity. “What is it you wish to try?” You question after a moment, voice scratchy from the sudden dryness at the back of your throat. 
Silently, Aemond relishes this; something about you, you his normally strong and carefree older sister, being this flustered because of him makes his heart flutter in his chest. Dipping his head, he resumes pressing soft kisses against your skin, though they linger now – teeth nipping before he soothes the small bites with a swipe of his tongue, drawing ever closer to the pulse point in your neck that beats so wildly he can feel it beneath your skin. 
“Aemond!” You all but wheeze when he suddenly grabs at your hips, his own firmly bucking up against you. A shock goes down your spine at the evidence of his arousal pressing against you, two thin layers of fabric doing precious little to mask the feel of it. Again, you tense up, practically jumping out of your skin as you pull back just enough to gaze down at him, your eyes wide, blinking rapidly, as they search his. 
This was the last thing you expected tonight, the last thing you’d expect from him at all. “Wha – I…” You stammer, dumbstruck while worry and uncertainty cloud your mind. 
Aemond shushes you now, long fingers squeezing at your bare thighs now that your nightgown has ridden up enough to reveal them. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs soothingly against your skin, “Do you trust me…?”
Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly, heart hammering in your chest. You should be the one comforting him… what in the Seven Hells has happened? Is… is this the comfort he needs now?
Even still, you nod your head at his question; of course you trust him, you’d trust him with anything… even this. 
A smile grows on his lips when you acquiesce, a pleased glimmer in his eye when he lifts his hands to your hips again, his grip firmer this time. “Good… good, sweet sister,” he hums lowly, rutting his hips up against you once more, lilac eye watching you with keen interest. 
“A-Aem…” You gasp once more, the feel of him against you so intense it sends a shiver down your spine, even when your brows furrow as your eyes flutter, threatening to slip shut. His movements press a small whimper from your lips and you can feel the sting in your cheeks as they flush, chest heaving while your hands grab tightly at his shoulders. 
The smug look on his face slowly morphs into one of wonder and his eye flits over your face greedily, like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of seeing you like this – already so strung out over him. 
He moves again, the feeling of your soft core pressing against his growing length through the thin linen only serving to drive his urges further. “Gods, you look so beautiful like this…” He murmurs, in awe at having you like this, and all to himself. Unable to help himself, he leans forward yet again and pulls you closer as his lips settle once more against your neck. 
Instinctually, your head tilts to the side, giving him room to kiss over your skin. His movements against you cause you to shiver in his grasp, even if a small part of you was still uncertain, hoping this wouldn’t change your relationship with him for the worse. 
The slow grind of his hips causes his nightshirt to eventually ride up his legs as well, and you gasp anew, jumping once more when his length suddenly presses against your center, unhindered by fabric. 
“Feel what you do to me?” He purrs, letting out a low groan of his own. 
For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, lips parted ever so slightly while your chest heaves, silently wondering if this is truly happening. Almost imperceptibly, you nod your head, shuddering at the feeling of his cock pressed against you, already twitching. 
“L-Little brother,” you gasp, breathless already.
Aemond smirks at your response, your whimpers and soft gasps going right to his head. He grabs at your waist still, bucking against you in slow, almost teasing movements. A low, pleased hum vibrates him in his chest when he feels how wet you are against him – the heat radiating from your center nearly stifling. 
The longer this goes on, the more you can feel your resolve crumbling, any small bits left of you that wanted to put a stop to this slowly fading away. Distantly, you can’t help wondering if this is how it’s always been meant to be, if this was the only logical conclusion your paths could reach, the outcome of such a close bond. Perhaps, you have always been made for this. 
“Aemond,” his name falls from your lips in a soft sigh and you finally lean against him heavily, pressing your chest against his unthinkingly. “Shit!” You gasp only a second later, jolting as if stung by a bee, brought back to reality by the ache in your breasts. 
“Sister?” Aemond questions, freezing beneath you while he looks over your face, his hands rising to cup your cheeks protectively. 
You start to answer, to explain, when you feel a sudden tingling sensation at your chest and, judging from the look on your brother’s face, an explanation would be a moot point by now anyway.
“Gods grant me mercy,” he sighs, eye wider than you’ve ever seen it as he stares, near open-mouthed, at your chest. Glancing down, your cheeks flush at the sight of milk dampening the linen at your breasts, leaving it all but translucent. 
Again, you go to explain, only to stop yourself in your tracks when his tongue darts out, licking over his bottom lip. Your head spins when you notice his chest heaving as he stares at you with a nearly savage hunger, eyes fixed on your breasts like his universe has been narrowed down to a pinpoint. 
“Aemond?”
“Please,” he groans, swallowing thickly and licking over his lips once more, practically salivating. His eye flicks up to yours for only the briefest of seconds before zeroing in on your chest once more, “Sweet… sweet sister, please.”
Again, the energy in the room seems to shift, Aemond once again begging you for comfort, bowing to your whims. Quickly, you shush him while one hand threads into his hair once more as you bring his head back against the crook of your neck, settling him there while he groans against your skin, rough hands slowly trailing up your waist before halting at your ribs. 
Your other hand busies itself with snaking between the two of you and impatiently batting your clothes away before your fingers finally curl around his length, causing the both of you to let out soft cries. 
“Shh, sweetling,” you coo, chest heaving while you position him at your entrance, sighing as he desperately mouths at your neck, “I know what you need, I’ve got you.”
Again, twin moans fill your dimly lit chambers when you slowly sink down on him. Whimpers are punched from your lungs at the feel of him steadily filling you, his chest rumbling against yours as he groans deeply, hips jolting beneath you. 
“Gods,” you sigh when your hips are finally pressed tightly against his once more, panting and letting your eyes fall shut while you give yourself a moment to adjust. 
The feel of him borders on overwhelming – pressed so tightly inside of you, around you, the very air in your room filled with the heady, herbaceous scent of the bath oils you know he favors. You imagine he must feel the same as he trembles beneath you, fingers and hips twitching with barely contained desire. 
Finally, your need to comfort him, to protect him even from himself, rears its head again and you relish the breathy sigh that leaves him as you begin to move your hips. It’s a grinding motion, soft and gentle – what he needs now, to be treated with care. Still, the movements send shockwaves up your spine as the pale hairs at the base of his cock rub perfectly against your pearl, creating a delicious friction to spur you on. 
“So good,” he breathes, warm against your shoulder as he leans forward, kissing at your neck, “You feel so good, sister, you… you are s-so good to me…”
“Just as you deserve,” you murmur, combing your fingers through his long hair once more before your hands travel down to the hem of his nightshirt and you begin impatiently tugging at it, pulling it over his head and grinning at the soft, nearly petulant, whine he gives at having to separate from you even for a second. 
Still, some instinctual force seems to drive you, a need to feel his skin against your own, and you waste no time before pulling your own nightgown up and over your head as well, leaving nothing to separate the two of you. 
The groan that leaves him when your chest presses back against his own once more is like nothing you’ve heard before – a sound of the purest relief, like he’s found some oasis in the desert. His eye opens again and the rhythm of your hips stutters only for a second once it finds yours. The lilac is almost completely overtaken by black and yet, he still regards you as if you are an angel sent from the heavens themselves, stares at you with such reverence that your heart flutters in your chest. 
Something clicks for you then as he whimpers beneath you, his own hips beginning to buck up against your own as the lazy tempo you’ve settled into slowly starts to pick up. You understand, now, that this is merely another step, an added turn, in the so carefully balanced dance the two of you have constructed.
And if this is what he needs to be comforted, then you’re more than happy to give it. 
“My good boy,” sigh, moving against him with renewed vigor, grinning when he lets out a hitched moan, “Is this what you needed?”
“Yes, y-yes,” he nods, his eye never leaving your own as he ruts beneath you, the choppy movements only adding to the fire slowly building within your veins, “Please, sweet sister, please…”
You don’t need to ask to know what it is he means, nodding before he has time to stutter out another word, “Take what you need, my love.”
Another breathy groan sounds from him as he quickly descends onto your chest, tilting his head down and immediately capturing your sensitive nipple between his lips, one hand coming up to gently cup your breast, holding it steady. The feeling of relief that flows through you when he starts suckling is nearly disorienting, the dull ache in your breast slowly fading away with each mouthful of milk he pulls from you, greedily taking a few mouthfuls from one breast before switching to the other.
Your fingers stay anchored in his hair while your hips work against him, your high building more steadily within you now that your breasts no longer feel ready to burst. You pant as you gaze down at him, eyes half-lidded while you watch his lips move against you, lilac eye still fixated on you. 
Below you, Aemond is halfway convinced he’s died and somehow the Gods have seen fit to spare him the Seven Hells. His head spins as he drinks from you, the taste of you by far the sweetest, most decadent thing he could fathom. As the knot in his belly grows ever-tighter, his suckles become more greedy, frantic, not knowing whether you’ll allow him this pleasure ever again. 
“Please, f-fuck,” he sighs, the words punched from his lips as he pulls away from you just enough to speak, uncaring as dribbles of milk leak from the corners of his lips, staining your skin. His hips practically move on their own accord as he mindlessly grinds up into you, seeking out the warmth and safety he knows he shall only ever feel within you. 
Above him, you nod, swallowing thickly against the dryness at the back of your throat, cheeks flushed while you watch him unravel. Snaking a hand between your bodies once more, your fingers quickly find your sensitive, aching bud and rubbing at it with a practiced precision. 
“Gods, sweet little brother,” you breathe out, pleasure zapping down your spine. You frantically nod again, frantic this time, just as your high washes over you, “Come, Aemond… Gods, let go, little one.”
His suckles turn more into little biting nips while he gasps against you, trembling beneath you when he finally lets pleasure overtake him – eye squeezing shut at the feel of your walls clenching tightly around his cock. 
The warmth of him filling you only spurs you on more, your breaths ragged against his forehead while you feel yourself tense and relax again and again, grabbing at whatever parts of him you can reach. 
You each go still after a few moments, panting against each other. Aemond is practically limp beneath you, lazily nuzzling his face against your chest, satiated smile just barely tugging at the corners of his lips. Chuckling softly, you pepper his forehead in sweet kisses, relishing the contented hum he gives in return. 
When you go to get up however, intent on fetching a cloth to clean you both up with, he reaches for you with a small whine as he grabs at your thighs.
“Don’t, please,” he murmurs, brows furrowed when your eyes meet, “Stay…”
“You… you want to stay like this?” You question, your heartbeat quickening as he quickly nods, “You wish to stay –”
“Inside,” he finishes quickly, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows bashfully, cheeks flushed, “I… I feel safe like… like this.”
“Then you can stay, silly boy,” you answer with a grin, kissing at his forehead once more, “Here, let’s just…” You murmur, tilting your hips to the side ever so slightly, attempting to pull him with you.
Blessedly, he seems to understand and follows you willingly, allowing you to maneuver the two of you onto your sides. After a moment, you’re comfortable once more, each of you lying on your side and facing the other, one of your legs slung over his narrow hips to keep him pressed tightly within you. 
“Good boy,” you sigh softly, smiling when he shivers against you. 
The two of you stay like that for a while, your hands gently caressing his soft skin or running through his hair while you hold him against you. After a while, his lilac eye finally flutters closed and you can’t help but marvel at how much younger he looks like this – relaxed and spent while he lies against you, like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. 
After a while, he seems to grow restless again, nosing at your chest until he finds what he desires. You sigh softly as he pulls a nipple into his mouth once more, suckling at it contentedly while he peers up at you sleepily. 
“There you go,” you murmur soothingly, coaxing him to lift his head just enough for you to lay an arm beneath it, allowing you to caress his shoulders while your other hand cups gently at the side of his face, thumb sweeping over his soft skin. “Take what you need, sweet one,” you coo, smiling as he quickly returns his lips to your breast, “You’re safe, I’ve got you…”
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thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)
consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!
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crackshipguardian · 6 months ago
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Second reblog bc actually I have more thoughts
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If you can't remember (cuz I've only drawn him once) my Au!Walter has a WereWolf (WereHound?) curse and he hides from everyone every full moon
To bad he can't find the words to tell little Woodie about their shared curse. Not without a way to break it
#they are both so afraid of being alone again#Walter is the first adult in Woodie’s life that hadn’t immediately written him off bc of his curse and really engaged with his interests#let alone both!#Woodie is probably desperate to get/keep his approval and terrified of driving him off by being ‘too much’ or too monsterous#consider Woodie getting extremely triggered by the phrase “put him/it down” bc even though the idea of killing him to get rid of the curse#was shut down by the adults around him growing up#it was still suggested and that was very traumatizing for him#and oh boy Walter is trying his best to be the best parent to Woodie he can be#and he knows he should accept Woodie’s curse for what it is#but he can’t help but wish he could free Woodie from it#bc not only has Walter had his own terrible experiences with having a similar curse but also#he can see how traumatized Woodie is from how people have treated him bc of it#and Walter hates himself for the chance he might lose control and hurt the ppl he cares about bc his curse#and the idea that Woodie might fall into the same cycle of self-hatred is killing him#and he’s terrified of Woodie not only finding out abt his cause and thinking he’s dangerous#but also finding out the lengths he takes to hide his curse bc if Walter’s so ashamed of his own curse#what does that say abt how he sees Woodie when he has such a similar curse?#such an emotionally charged subject for the both of them#I like to think Walter freaked the fuck out when he realized he was Woodie’s parent now#terrified less of the parental responsibility and more of the chance of failing to be the role model Woodie deserves#then he vents abt it to Webber like ‘I am not cut out for this someone’s who’s better at this should be taking care of him not me’#Webber: ‘well he didn’t choose someone else. he looks up to you yknow?’#Walter: ‘/why though/‘#he cannot imagine someone wanting him to be their parent#but also being Woodie’s parent and spending time with this bright funny kid who’s as interested in nature as he is makes him happier than#he’s been in a long time. maybe ever#and he’s so afraid to lose that and he’s so afraid of Woodie hating him
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navybrat817 · 3 days ago
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Knock You Down a Peg or Two
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Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.
Word Count: Over 1.5k
Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
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Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.
You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.
Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.
He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.
“Give me his name.”
“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”
“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”
You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.
He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.
Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.
He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”
The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”
Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”
The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”
Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.
There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”
The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.
“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”
“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”
Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.
The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”
“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”
The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”
Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”
His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”
“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”
“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”
“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”
The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.
“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”
Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.
“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”
“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”
The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.
“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”
“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”
“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”
“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”
The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”
“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.
“Love you.”
His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”
He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.
But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.
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Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
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schrodingerscougar · 8 months ago
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Summary: roommate!Simon is possessive.
Simon is practical. Why would he have an apartment of his own when he’s away so much? It would be better to rent a room, have someone who collects his mail and keeps the place clean while he’s gone. It doesn’t even bother him that his roommate is a woman in her twenties because they barely meet anyway. But when Johnny finds out, he goes feral and can’t stop bugging him about it. 
“She’s cute,” he notes after his superior showed him your Instagram profile. “And you say you haven’t made a move on her? What a shame. If you won’t do it, I will. Could use a pretty little cock sleeve like her.”
He has no idea why, but Simon gets mad at the Scotsman for calling you that. If he wasn’t so good at controlling himself, he would have punched him in the face without much consideration. You’re a nice girl; smart, kind, beautiful, and understanding. You don’t get mad at him if he arrives home in the middle of the night and wakes you up by accidentally kicking something loudly in the dark. You don’t get mad if he forgets to help out around the apartment with the chores when he’s home. You don’t get mad if he forgets something that was on the shopping list. 
Letting out a sigh, he leans against the wall and puts his phone back into his pocket. “She wouldn’t let you close enough for that,” he finally tells Soap. 
But he doesn’t seem offended, in fact, he takes it as a challenge. “Just introduce me to her. Let’s see if I can get into her pants.”
“Not gonna happen, Johnny.”
And just like that, you remain his well-guarded secret. You remain his, and only his.
(part 2)
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tender-rosiey · 1 year ago
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“A BIT GENTLER, PLEASE?”
— gojo, nanami, geto, and sukuna feeling their baby kick (f!reader)
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GOJO SATORU:
satoru was always all over you, one clingy and affectionate husband.
truthfully, while you would like to say that he is annoying and is making you regret ever getting pregnant, you have to admit that he makes being pregnant a lot easier to endure. his light-hearted way of speaking puts you at easy somehow.
he also made it very obvious that he is excited for the baby, maybe even more than you’re. one of the many ways he shows his enthusiasm is through buying baby clothes and baby equipment and I mean a shit ton of them.
that’s why you’re not surprised when he enters the house with yet another batch of baby clothes, “wifey, I am home!”
you get up and waddle your way to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “what did you get this time?”
“I thought you would never ask,” he smirks before pulling out each and every one of the outfits he got.
you’re sat on the couch with a cup of your favorite warm drink as you listen to his rambles, “first off, I got this really cute blue dress! call it a dad’s instinct but I think she will have my gorgeous eyes,” he grins.
you nod absentmindedly as he continues, “second, I got this yellow jump suit? overalls? dungarees?” he switches his accent in the end and you roll your eyes. he resumes, “eh, I don’t care, but it’s pretty so who cares?”
he puts the clothes aside before kneeling in front you, hand resting on your stomaxh, “right, baby?” he coos, “daddy’s going to get you all the pretty outfits you want!”
you’re about to drift to sleep while your husband busies himself with the baby, but you’re quickly brought back to consciousness when you feel her kick against your stomach.
your husband’s gasp quickly follows after before he presses his ear to your stomach, “can you do that again for me, pretty?”
his other hand moves to hold your own and he guides your hand to his hair, “somehow, this is making me realize just how close she is to finally join us, right, wifey?”
“right, ‘toru,” you smile softly and he quickly starts peppering your face with kisses, murmuring about how his pretty wife is simply irresistible.
NANAMI KENTO:
whenever someone asks you about kento, you can’t find the words to stress just how much of a sweetheart he is. he was always a caring and attentive man.
yet, somehow it amplified after your pregnancy: he helps you rest as much as he can, cooks for you, and gets you all the snacks you would like.
you also remember the first time you told him that your feet hurt, and he ended up massaging it for you. you cried that day.
in summary, he never left you in need of anything, like right now for example.
“y/n, would you like anything else?”
a dopey smile is plastered on your face as you relax further in the cushions, feet propped up on the pillow your sweetheart of a husband got.
he places your favorite snacks right by your side. you cup his face and press a lingering kiss on his cheek, “no, thank you, kento.”
he nods and takes a seat beside you. he takes your hand into his and starts rubbing your hand, “we should start preparing the baby’s room,” he murmurs softly.
you nod, head resting on his shoulder, “you’re right. we need to welcome our little princess well.”
he chuckles and his hand moves to rest on your stomach, “I assembled the crib already so that’s something to be proud of.”
nanami’s arm is wrapped around your shoulder and you snuggle closer into his chest, giggling, “my strong, independent, and reliable husband,” you sigh happily, “whatever will I do without you?”
he half-heartedly rolls his eyes, “flattery is getting you nowhere.”
“but it does!” you laugh and he lightly tickles you. your hand rests on your stomach, alongside his. you smirk, “what do you think, baby? is mommy right?”
to your absolute delight, the little girl kicks against your womb making you squeal and instantly look at your husband, “kento, did you feel that?!”
“…yeah,” his face is one of awe. she kicks once again and nanami can’t help but press a kiss to your stomach, “looks like she is a strong, healthy baby.”
 “just like her dad,” you chuckle but stop to think about it for a moment before concern over takes your face.
nanami’s gaze quickly snaps to you, “what’s wrong?”
“if she will be as strong as you then god help my uterus.”
GETO SUGURU:
geto gets a little busy at times, but he does do his best to make time for you.
in addition to that, nanako and mimiko love hanging out with you so it kind of puts him at ease, knowing that you’re accompanied by someone.
today, he was doing some of his usual works in the establishment? shrine? eh whatever.
no fiber of his being expected the girls to burst into the room, grins filling their faces, as they urgently call him, “geto-sama! you have to see what just happened!”
with no hesitation, he abandons the followers and quickly follows the girls. he asks them, voice laced with concern, “is y/n okay? did something happen?”
the girls giggle as they finally near your room. mimiko speak up, “she is okay! but something important really did happen!”
somehow, it sends geto more into panic, because just what happened and why is it so important to the point they had to call him?
after a while, they are finally there, and geto wastes no time in sitting by your side, hands and eyes inspecting your body for an injury.
you giggle, “’calm down, suguru,” you take his hand and guide it to your stomach, “can you feel it?”
“feel it? what do you mean—“ he pauses upon the little kick against his palm. he smiles, actually grins, quietly before looking you in the eyes.
you nod with a smile of your own, while he leans down to kiss your stomach then your hand.
he rests his head against your stomach, “how are you, little buddy?”
geto chuckles softly, “better not cause trouble for your pretty mom,” his eyes lock with yours, “I hate to see her in pain or discomfort.”
you roll your eyes before patting your husband’s head, “you’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”
“I would rather only charm you, y’know,” he chuckles.
the both of you completely forget about the pair of girls standing at the door way, each snapping a bunch of photos of the moment in front you.
nanako snickers a little before teasing, “that line was a bit cheesy, no?”
he quirks an eyebrow at them and they quickly flee away. with a soft sigh and a gentle chuckle, he goes back to admiring you, hand rubbing circles on your stomach.
RYOMEN SUKUNA:
it’s safe to say that sukuna was surprised with the news of your pregnancy, but he came to terms with it quicker than you expected.
he just had to sit with himself a bit and understand that the ‘brat’ in you was his ‘brat’ as well.
he also found himself staring at your stomach longer than he would like. he started to really think about how life will go on from this point onwards.
he is a feared man, the king of curses, with no weaknesses to ever exploit.
that is until you came into his life. he grew fond of you and the rest is history. right now, though, you’re carrying his child.
after a long day, he finally enters your chambers and finds you fast asleep.
he guesses that carrying a child of his own must be more exhausting than that of a normal man. his feet take him to you and his figure towers over your sleeping form.
he watches your expression contort ever so slightly as you stir, perhaps in seek of your comfort.
he sits by your side and his hand traces your every feature, nails slightly grazing you but never hurting you. finally, it reaches your stomach and he frowns lightly.
he sighs, “just what the hell am I going to do with you?”
he feels a light kick against his palm.
his eyes widen at the movement and his hand involuntary presses against your stomach once more, wanting to feel the kick once again. he narrows his eyes, “what? you think that light kick is fit for the kid of the king of curses?”
as if understanding what he said, the baby delivers one rough and tough kick to your abdomen. you wince and whine at the pain, “sukuna, don’t be mean to the baby…”
“I am not trying to, woman,” he grumbles, “that kid is just short-tempered.”
sukuna is sporting quite the frown but it doesn’t stop his hand from massaging your stomach and you hum in content before sassing him, “oh wow, I wonder where did he get that from.”
you squeak as you feel a pinch to your side. you glare at sukuna who glares at you back before replying, “he got it from one stubborn woman who happens to be mine.”
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copyright © tender-rosiey
do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported
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unequivocallyreid · 2 months ago
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Why Didn’t You Tell Me?
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it has been SO long... i was suffering from serious writers block but it think i'm finally out of it :)
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
summary: Spencer Reid used to be your best friend, but things changed. How long can you pretend that you don't love him before it ruins you?
warnings: angst! (with a happy ending), smut (unprotected piv), character loss, mention of Maeve, very sad Spencer, mental health struggles, drinking/bar scene, light choking, fighting, slight praise kink
wc: 8.8k 🤗
i’m very proud of this one! i hope you love it!
Every morning when you wake up, you feel a familiar and creeping sort of dread in the pit of your stomach.
Don’t get the wrong idea; you love your job. You love helping people and stopping horrible people from ruining any more lives, but the creeping feeling and desire to get out is always in the corner of your mind. Anyone working in this field would tell you that. There’s no absolute separation between you and the victims and their families. You take all of them home with you, and you just have to learn how to deal with that and not let it eat at you.
It doesn’t help that it’s an isolating job as well. The last time you were in a serious relationship was in college. Now, every date you have ends in disappointment. Not only do you lack interest in most of the men and women, but it couldn’t go anywhere even if you did. 75% of your time is spent in the office, on a jet, or hundreds of miles away from your home.
All of this contributes to the feeling, but the worst part of your job is Dr. Spencer Reid.
He’s secretive and dismissive and just about the most attractive person you’d ever seen. You honestly don’t know what is worse: his constant physical presence in your life or the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him no matter what you do. You’ve tried to get over it; you’ve buried yourself in work, lamented to your friends, and gone out on dates (all with guys that looked vaguely similar), but nothing has worked. All his worst traits grate your nerves and light you up at the same time.
The worst part of it all is that it wasn’t always like this. When you first joined the BAU nearly two years ago, you and Spencer got along well. You were friends, he talked to you about his life, he understood you, and you really severely fell for him. He became your best friend.
Everything changed around six months ago. Spencer started to develop migraines, and as those developed, he started distancing himself from you. He became snippy and closed off, he started hiding things from you, and he stopped talking to you about life outside of Quantico. It was like overnight, you became nothing to him, and you really didn’t understand. Everyone else on the team got the same old Spencer, but you went from his right-hand man to someone he only spoke to when it was necessary.
Maybe he didn’t deserve to be vilified. You know, realistically, he can and should be able to decide who he wants to be close to, but working with a man who unknowingly broke your heart was close to the hardest thing you’d ever done. So, you decided hating him was easier. The real emotions you feel toward him sit somewhere inside you, but they have been covered by manufactured distaste. Addressing the actual feeling would hurt too bad, so you pretend to hate the things you used to love.
Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the last case you worked on: helping Spencer save a girl he met about six months ago, a girl he loved. You tried to stay collected, you said nothing when Spencer assisted when he shouldn’t have, and goddamn, did you do everything in your power to find that girl. Maeve. She was perfect for Spencer, and you saw that immediately. Everyone did. The sight of him sobbing in front of her body is one that will never leave your mind.
Now, two weeks later, no one has heard from Reid. The only indication that he hasn’t abandoned his life altogether is the absence of the gift baskets on his doorstep that Pen leaves daily.
Nearly everyone has been to his apartment, but they are met with a closed door and have yet to receive a response. Everyone but you.
Penelope is the first to bring up your lack of appearance at the end of a long day of paperwork.
“Y/n, please, you just have to try. No one is getting anything from him.”
“I really don’t think my presence would do any good,” you pause for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts running through your head like a freight train. “Me and him haven’t been close in a long time, Pen.”
Before you can continue, she cuts in, “Everyone has tried, Y/n. Hell, I’ve even considered tracking down Gideon, and I really, really do not want to do that.”
She pauses for a moment before looking up at you with a pout on her face, “Please, Y/n, for me. I can’t bear the thought of him in there all alone, just wasting away in grief.”
For someone who claims not to be a profiler, Penelope knew exactly what to say to get you to agree. She’s the only person in your life who you told about how you felt, though you’re sure everyone else (aside from Spencer) knew: you’re shit at keeping secrets.
“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”
She nearly bursts with excitement, “Thank God-“
You cut her off before she can finish, “But I’m telling you, I’m not the person he wants to hear from right now. Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Yes, yes. I just want him to know we all want him to be okay.”
Before you can hurry out of the office to follow Pen’s instructions, she stops you and hands you a basket full of assorted snacks and fruits.
“Make sure he eats!”
The walk up to Spencer’s apartment is a hard one to take. The smell of his building hits you as soon as you step into the lobby. From there, everything rushes back at once. Memories of nights you spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or listening to him prattle off about whatever he last read assault you with every step. As you slowly make your way up, you start to question why you agreed to do this in the first place.
You feel a lot toward Reid. More than you should and less than you could. But all that care and feelings that are so close to love aren’t enough to make you forget why you’ve been trying to hate him for so long. He deserted you without an explanation and cut you off without a warning. You spent weeks (three months) crying over him like a love-struck teen. So, as much as you want to hold him and comfort him, you know it’ll hurt you to do so. Penelope sent you, with the whole team’s approval, you’re sure, to try to patch up a broken heart he got loving someone else. There’s a sickness in your gut, but it’s not enough to stop you from rapping your knuckles against his door.
“Spencer? It’s Y/n.”
There’s no response.
“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, but I want to make sure you’re alright. Can you tell me you’re alright?”
Again, nothing.
You know he’s there. Despite your lack of communication, you know Spencer well enough to know that he would never leave his life behind entirely. That being said, your next few attempts at garnering a response are unsuccessful.
You decide to try one final time before just leaving the basket alone on his doorstep and texting Pen it was a bust.
“There’s a lot I don’t know about you now, and I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling.”
You don’t exactly know where this is headed, but you continue on regardless.
“I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me, and I know you’re hurting. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you to be alone right now, Spence. You can either unlock your door, or I can pick it, but I’m coming in one way or the other. You know I will.”
You wouldn’t, actually. It’s a last-ditch effort, and it’s met with the same silence you’ve heard on the other side for the past ten minutes. You’re about to turn to head back down the stairs when you hear the very faint sound of a deadbolt turning.
There’s no other sound or movement, and for a moment, you think you might’ve imagined the sound, but you try the handle anyway. It turns, and the door slides open. You take a step in.
“Spencer,” you call out to him.
You don’t see him at first in the mess of his apartment, but when you do, you feel a crack form in your heart.
Beyond the clutter of his entryway, you see his back on the couch. His frame looks smaller than you’ve ever seen it, and you can see his legs curled into his chest. You set down the gift basket by a collection of others on the entry table and walk over to him. Slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a lost dog, you creep in front of him.
His head is down, and his gaze stays trained on his knees.
You reach out your hand and lay it over his. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“Spence, I’m so glad you opened the door.”
You didn’t plan out what you would say, but ‘sorry’ feels redundant and useless.
You go on, “I’m here. I- I don’t know what to do or say, and I’m sorry that I don’t. I can get someone else for you. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”
You wait for him to say he wants Penelope or JJ, but it doesn’t come. Nothing comes. You start to move to get up, figuring you could clean up a bit and try to make him something to eat, then go, but he grasps your arm before you can.
He looks up at you, and his eyes hit you right in the gut. They’re bloodshot and sunken but still beautiful.
“Stay. Please. I just- I need to know I’m not dreaming. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”
His voice is croaky from disuse and breaks at the end, but it’s so heartbreakingly earnest that you feel your breath catch. You move from your crouch and sit beside him on the couch; your hand is still in his.
You stay like that for a long time. His breathing is shakey and uneven, and every so often, his body shakes with what you can only assume are sobs. You stay pressed to his side the whole time, thumb rubbing back and forth over his hand.
Eventually, you speak again, “I’m gonna get you some food, Spence. You should eat.”
He says nothing back, but he does loosen his grip. You push yourself up from the coach with a promise you’ll be as fast as possible.
His kitchen is nearly empty, and you hope he’s been eating from the baskets. Still, you find enough to make noodles and butter, and you figure the carbs should help his energy some.
You return with the bowl. Spencer hasn’t moved, but his head follows you as you walk back over to him.
“It’s not fine dining.”
He studied you for a second, and you catch a glimpse of the old him in his eye.
“You did the same thing when I was sick on a case a year ago.”
You smile at his recollection.
“It helped you then.”
The rest of the night is spent mostly in silence. Occasionally, you tell him something to try to remind him that you’re there and that you won’t leave as long as he wants you there. Eventually, you get up from the couch again.
“Spencer, it’s too late to still be awake.”
He nods and still says nothing, but he is far more receptive than before. You reach your hand out to him to help him up from the couch, and he takes it.
He leads you to his room at a slow pace. His head stays down as you both take a seat on his bed, hands still interlocked. Being in his bedroom is odd for you. You’ve been to his apartment quite a few times before he disappeared from your life, but you never breached this space. It’s all very him. Almost surprisingly cozy, with books scattered around nearly everywhere there’s space.
You take in the moment for a beat before saying, “I’m gonna head home, Spencer, but please call me if you need anything at all. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
This makes his head snap up, and his eyes lock with yours.
“Please stay.”
That’s all he says, but every part of him is pleading with you. It’s not a good idea, and you know it. You’re the only person he’s seen in days, you aren’t close anymore, and you don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch tonight.
“Spencer, I don’t want to sleep in your living room tonight. I’ll come back.”
He pauses for a moment, “You can stay here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”
Your heart cracks again. There was a time when this was all you wanted. It’s still, deep down, all you want, just not like this. You know he doesn’t really want you there and he’s not himself. But you aren’t strong enough to say no, so you don’t.
He gets you clothes to wear, and you change in his bathroom. You come out and find him in his bed, laying with his back to you. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you get into bed next to him anyways. There are a thousand thoughts racing through your head, but the prevailing one is how badly you want to touch him, to hold him, to make him forget, just for the night. You stay still, though, confined to the edge of the bed and start to count to drown out the noise.
Though, you can’t drown out his voice, saying, “Can- Could you hold me? I think that everything feels better when you touch me.”
Another crack. By the end of this, you know Spencer Reid is going to break your heart all over again.
~
When you wake up the next morning, Spencer is still asleep. You sneak out of his room and call Hotch. When he answers, you tell him Spencer has let you in, and you ask for time off to try to help. You can tell from his voice that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he grants you it anyway.
Much of your day is spent like the night before. You stay next to Spencer, and you cook for him after leaving to pick up clothes and groceries. Then, you get him to shower and wash his hair. He sleeps with his head in your lap, and you feel like a fucking idiot at first, but as long as it’s helping him in some way, you let it happen.
That’s the thing: you don’t really know how to help him. You know he isn’t the type to talk about something until he is entirely ready, so all you can do is add something domestic and bright to his life while he grieves. It’s all you can think about in the moments of silence. Hell, you even read to him to try and get your mind off of it, but it barely helps.
The night is the same. You change in different rooms and slip into his bed at different times. You feel dirty for imagining what it would be like if the circumstances were different: if he wanted you like you have wanted him for the past two years. You hold him against you, and you pray for sign that you should be there.
The sign comes the following morning when Derek calls you.
“Y/n…”
You can hear his teasing tone over the phone.
“Hi, Derek.”
“What are you doing, mamas?”
You sigh, “What do you mean?”
You’re playing coy. You know he’s wondering why you’re at Spencer’s house, picking up the pieces, but you won’t be the one to bring it up.
“Why’d you ask Hotch for the week off, Y/n?”
Another sigh, “You know why, Derek. I just, I want to help him.”
“I know you do, Y/n, I know.”
He pauses for a moment, and you let the moment fill with silence.
“I know you care about him. We all care about him. But who is taking care of you?”
“I am. I can take care of him, and I can take care of me.”
“I know you can, but I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/n. Don’t let this be something that hurts you.”
“It won’t. I- You have to- Fuck, I’ll be fine. He’s not fine. I don’t care about me or any feelings that may get hurt right now. I’ll be fine.”
There’s another bear of silence, “Okay, Y/n. Just know you’re allowed to tap out.”
You try to think of anything else to say, but nothing comes, so you say your goodbyes.
You won’t need to tap out. You can take care of him and be good to him and ignore the other feelings you have. You can be good.
The call does make you think it’s time to push, to try harder, to help him get better. So, you approach him that day before bed, before he tucks himself into your arms and falls into a fretful sleep.
“Spencer?”
He takes a moment and then responds, “Yes?”
“You have to talk about it. I think that you need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be to me but to someone.”
He’s quiet for a long time, and your breath is caught in your throat, waiting for him to say anything.
“I- I don’t want to,” his voice cracks while he says it.
“Spence, you can’t come back if you don’t. You can’t move forward if you don’t.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
A ringing echos in your ears.
“You don’t mean that. She- she would want you to keep going.”
Wrong thing to say.
“You don’t know anything about what she would want.”
He’s seething now, below the surface, but smoke has started to plume from his ears. Still, you don’t stop.
“Spencer, everyone knows that. No one would want you to put your life on hold.”
He speaks his next line through his teeth, “You don’t know anything, Y/n.”
You’ve never heard him sound so angry.
“Spencer-“
“No, just stop. You don’t know her. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do. You don’t know anything. I don’t even know why you’re here. I don’t want you here. You can't be what I need.”
The ringing in your ears is louder.
“Spencer, please. Just-“
“No!” His voice is raised now, bordering on a yell, “I don’t want you here. I want you out, Y/n.”
This has to be what shell shock feels like. The ringing, the tingle in your limbs, and the heat in your face. You don’t know how you are moving, but you are.
His voice is echoing in your head, or maybe he’s still talking, but you can’t tell either way. The only thing you can focus on is how Spencer sounded like he hates you and that Morgan was right about the hurt.
~
You spend the next day trying desperately to shut down the noise in your head. It doesn’t work. The day after is the same. And the days following that. You ignore calls when they come, you ignore the texts, but you can’t stop looking at your phone for a message from the man who fills your thoughts.
Spencer doesn’t call, obviously, and you have to sit with a pit in your stomach while you beg yourself to just get the fuck over it. Two years of reckoning with the severity of your love, months of watching him live happily without you, and it’s the three days you spent trying to help him feel incrementally better that floor you.
You feel like a dumb teenage girl with so much love and nothing to do with it. On top of everything, you feel selfish. Spencer lost the love of his life forever, and you’re nursing the worst heartbreak of your life because a boy will never want you and never has. Still, you send out prayers for him over and over. You hope you’ll see him in the BAU again, even if his eyes glaze over you. Hell, even if they look at you with hate the way they did two days ago. You just want him to function. You want him to be good and eventually be happy. You try to go to bed with soothing thoughts, but you end up with a mantra of his name.
You wake to your alarm and dress for work before you realize you aren’t actually supposed to go back yet. You never set a date to return. You wanted to be open as long as Spencer needed you. You’re supposed to be with him. You’re supposed to be helping and not tapping out. But you aren’t.
You have no reason not to return to the bullpen, so you do. You walk in and feel eyes on you. You wait for Morgan to call out to you, but he doesn’t, so you follow the feeling.
Your breath catches in your throat; it’s Spencer. He’s sitting at his desk, paperwork spread out, and he doesn’t look away from your gaze; he just holds it. His face is unreadable, and yours is definitely not, so you look away first. You don’t look up again until you reach Hotch’s office. You knock and hear him call out to come in.
“I’m back if that’s okay.”
He looks up at you, and you want to cry. You know he can read you. He has always been the best at it.
“Are you okay with that, Y/l/n?”
You lock eyes with him, “Yes, sir.”
It’s no use; he knows your tells and you aren’t being honest.
“Alright, conference room in five.”
Whatever he sees in your face, he ignores and takes you at your word, but there’s a warning in his tone. He knows when to let things go and when to push. More than that, though, he knows you’d never let something like this affect your work.
~
The first case back is in Maryland, and the one after is in Austin, and the next is in Philadelphia with The Replicator. The job takes you all over the country, and the cases blend together. You don’t speak to Spencer through all of it. You’re never partnered, never work together, you sit on opposite ends of the jet. You don’t even speak at Strauss’ funeral. It’s radio silent, and everyone notices it, but no one brings it up.
In that time, you allow yourself to slip away slightly. You don’t go out with the team, you see Pen at nearly half frequency, and basically, the only time you speak is on cases. It’s stupid and melodramatic, but you call it healing. Derek tries to reason with you, JJ sticks to you a bit more than usual, and Penelope calls you virtually whenever she can, but their efforts are mostly in vain. This is your way of protecting yourself. You feel like you have to isolate in order to improve, and you know, given time, you will come back to yourself.
Penelope’s insistence that you go to her Day of the Dead celebration breaks your distance.
“Y/n, please come. I know you aren’t going out, but you have to. I know you have people to honor, and I need you there.”
You sigh, “Whose going, Pen?”
“The team, which you are a part of, so you must be there.”
“I don’t think I can do that. I promise you I will celebrate with you. I’ll help you set up, just please don’t make me go.”
Penelope pauses, but the glint in her eye keys you into the fact that she is not interested in giving up.
“We miss you, Y/n. Everyone loves you and misses you. You’ve been living this stupid, isolated life, and it’s time for you to come back. You are not this person. I refuse to believe it. You’re coming, and that’s final.”
Maybe you don’t have the energy to argue, or maybe you know she’s right, but you agree to go.
~
The thought of seeing him makes your heart race, and the clock you keep glancing at makes it worse. Just a few more hours before you're trapped in a confined space (Pen’s beautiful home) with a man you haven’t spoken to in weeks.
You busy yourself with preparing. Lights are hung, food is made, and you make a trip to the store while Pen sets up her remembrance table. When everything is said and done, you can’t help but feel this is the most beautiful thing you’ve been a part of in a long time.
The first knock comes at 7:30 exactly, and it’s Hotch and Rossi. They are followed closely by Blake, then Derek and JJ. By 7:00, the atmosphere is light and loving, and you feel a bit of your anxiety let up as the minutes go by without Reid. But, eventually, the knock comes, of course it does, and you move into a corner as Spencer walks in. You feel a shift in energy, though you doubt it’s palpable for anyone else. Rossi is the first to make his way over to you, and his presence comforts you nearly immediately.
“How you doing, kid?” His voice is soft like he’s speaking to a scared rabbit.
“I’m better,” you say, and it’s about as honest as you can get. As much as you’d like to think he knows nothing about what’s gone on, you’re smarter than that. He’s the best profiler on the team, and he’s always known when someone was off with you. Even so, you are better than you were, even if you aren’t quite good, and you know he believes you.
There’s some idle conversation between you before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not tonight. I don’t know when, but I will. Eventually, I will.”
It’s good enough for him, and you move on easily, which surprises you.
Right before Pen gathers you all to present your photos, he says, “Sometimes we think we’ve seen the whole picture, but we miss a big part. People do things because they don’t want to be hurt, but those things hurt them more. Just, be open.”
You don’t quite understand what he means, but you hope you will.
Penelope presents the first picture, which shows her parents. JJ honors her sister, Derek, his dad, Hotch Haley, and Rossi, Hernandez; then it’s your turn. You place down a photo of your best friend. You hadn’t talked much about her, but you think of her daily. She passed a few years before you joined the BAU.
“I was lucky to have someone that hurt that much to lose.”
That’s all you say, but it’s enough for you, and it would be enough for her.
Spencer is last. He places down a picture of Tesla and a picture of Maeve. Your heart is heavy for everyone.
The night dwindles from there. Hotch and Rossi say their goodbyes, and Rossi gives you a knowing look as he leaves. You just smile. You stay for a few minutes after, but eventually, you move to leave as well.
You make it down Garcia’s porch before you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn, and it’s Spencer’s face you see.
“Would you- Do you think you could come over? Do you think we could talk?”
~
The feeling you have walking up to Spencer's apartment is similar to what you felt the last time. You’re incredibly anxious, but at least you know you’ll be let in this time.
The drive over was silent. Spencer had taken the metro to Penelope’s, so he rode with you. It wasn’t necessarily awkward. There was just an understanding that the car wasn’t the place to begin your conversation.
Now, as Spencer unlocked his door, it’s one of those rare moments you felt starved for words, and you know it’s because you’re scared you’ll say the wrong thing and face the same reaction that you did the last time you were in his home.
He leads you to his living room and motions for you to sit, and you do. The two of you are on opposite ends of his couch while you wait for him to say something.
His first words are airy and light, “Thank you for letting me talk to you.”
You look at him but remain silent, waiting for him to go on. All you can think about is why he wants to speak to you at all. The last time you spoke, he made it incredibly clear he did not want you in his life or around him at all.
Before you can think about it more and let your anger and sadness build, he speaks again, “I feel really stupid right now. I kind of feel stupid whenever I’m around you recently.”
He pauses momentarily before going on, “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. About the last time we spoke. I’ve been thinking about it pretty constantly for the past few weeks.”
You open your mouth, unsure of what exactly to say, but you can’t get there before he’s off again.
“I’m not sure how to talk to you anymore. I don’t think I’ve known how to for a long time. I just, I need you to know how sorry I am for speaking to you like that.”
He takes a shakey breath but keeps going, “That wasn’t me, and that isn’t how I feel. I’m just unbelievably sorry, Y/n.”
He stops there, and you work to collect your thoughts.
“I know. A part of me knows, at least, that you didn’t mean it. I just wanted to be there for you, and hearing that made me- I just- I think it made me hate myself for wanting to be there.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m unbelievably sorry.”
“You didn’t talk to me for months, Spencer. I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why you let me in in the first place. I thought you hated me.”
He’s silent for a long minute.
“I never hated you, Y/n. I just stopped knowing how to act around you, and then I met Maeve. I fell so deep into it that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I- And I just started to feel like you didn’t want me to speak to you, so I didn’t. But, when you came here, after everything, I guess I just felt like you were the only person who would get it. You never, no one on the team ever treated me or talked to me how you did. I just wanted that.”
Tears had begun to well in your eyes now. A part of you gets what he means, at least about letting you in, but the other part is so confused as to why he stopped being comfortable around you.
“I don’t understand, Spencer. Why did you stop knowing how to be around me?”
There’s desperation in your voice that makes you sound like a stranger to yourself. Maybe you’re a stranger to everyone right now.
“I uh, I don’t really know.”
“That's not fair, Spence.”
You’re crying now. Just a little bit, but you can feel the wetness on your cheeks. You can see that you are by the look on his face. He looks broken, and you know it's a reflection of your own image.
You wipe your face, “Thank you for apologizing, Spencer. I just, there are parts of this all that I don’t understand, and if you can't explain them to me, I don’t think I ever will.”
“Y/n-,” he calls out your name like a prayer.
“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to say anything more. We talked, and things will go back to how they were eventually.”
“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”
You smile sadly as you get up to leave.
“I am, too, for what it's worth. For whatever I did to make things change in the first place.”
You leave it at that, and it takes everything in you not to look back as you leave his apartment.
~
Things do get easier after that. Not completely. You still love him, and it hurts, but it helps to know he doesn’t hate you. He talks to you some, cordial things, and you do the same. You're sure your teammates still sense something is off, but this works for you. Right now, it works. Getting over him, not loving him anymore, is going to take work, but eventually, you know that you won’t hurt anymore.
Shortly after you and him talked, you started going back out with your friends. Spencer joined periodically, but that was normal. Bars were never really his scene.
Tonight, everyone gathers at your local pub. Your last case was particularly grueling, and you all need a way to blow off some steam. It's fun, and you feel good, even with Spencer sitting across from you. You feel proud of yourself for getting to this point.
JJ and Penelope feed you drinks to try and get you to dance, and you let them. Tonight feels as good of a night as any to ‘get back out there’ as Pen says. So, you do. You dance with them, and you ward off the other cops and agents around you who try to pull you away from your group. You aren’t interested in that. Right now, you're just having an appropriate amount of fun for a woman 15 feet from her boss.
Time goes by quickly, and by the time you get back to the table, you, Derek, Penelope, and JJ remain. He tells you that Hotch, Rossi, Reid, and Alex left a few minutes before. The conversation between you flows for a while, up until the drinks loosen Penelope up enough to bring up what you were pretty sure the team designated a no-no topic.
“Y/n, you have to talk about it.”
You’re still laughing as something Derek said when you reply, “What?”
“You know what. You and Boy-Genius. What on Earth happened? You went from ice-cold to semi-friendly. None of us saw it coming.”
“Babygirl-,” Derek tries to stop her, but you cut him off.
“No, it’s okay. I have to talk about it at some point, and I think right now is the only time I’ll be tipsy enough to let you get it out of me.”
You're still laughing slightly, but the pit that's lived in your stomach for the past few months starts to rear its head.
“After your Day of the Dead party, he asked to talk to me. I went to his place, and he apologized. I don’t really understand what he said or what he meant, but I can’t be sad about him forever.”
Pen perks up a bit at that, “I knew that party would bring good things!”
You giggle a bit at her outburst, but then JJ asks, “What did he say?”
The faces around you all tune in at that. You know they don’t see this as gossip. They care about you both too much to trivialize it like that.
“He just said that he stopped knowing how to act around me, and he didn’t know why, but then he met Maeve, and I guess it didn’t matter so much after that. He was my best friend, and then he was nothing.”
JJ shares a glance with Derek and then speaks, “Oh, Y/n.”
“What?”
After a beat, Derek says, “He didn’t just not know how to act around you.”
Now you're confused, “What do you mean? I talked to him, that's what he said. He didn’t know why. I mean, he knows everything and didn’t know why he didn’t want to be around me anymore. How fucking stupid is that.”
You laugh again, but it does come off as genuine in the slightest.
“Y/n, he probably doesn’t really know why. At least not fully. For someone as smart as he is, the kid can be really stupid.”
“Stop being cryptic.”
Derek sighs but goes on, “Pretty girl, pretty boy was in love with you. Probably still is. He just didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”
“No. That's not true.”
You look at the others around you, but their faces are serious.
“He loved Maeve. He loves Maeve. That, that doesn’t make any sense.”
It's JJ’s turn to talk now.
“He definitely did love Maeve, no one is denying that, but we all saw how he was around you. His whole relationship with her was safe. He couldn’t be hurt by her rejection every day because he had no way of seeing her. With you, he could.”
Your mind is moving a mile a minute, “Did he tell you guys this?”
Penelope puts her hand over yours and says, “He didn’t have to, love. We all say the way he looked at you and acted around you. The way he talked about you. That boy was head over heels.”
“Guys, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but this isn’t real. Spencer doesn’t- this is not real.”
“Y/n, pause. Think about the way he acted around you, the things he said. Think about how Reid is.”
You hear what Derek said, but it all sounds faint like someone stuffed your ears with cotton while you weren't paying attention. All you can focus on are the different scenes running through your head, the scenes of your life with Spencer in it. How he memorized your coffee order and brought it for you every day, how he never shied away from your touch despite his aversion to contact, how he consistently went out of his way to protect you on the field. At his house after everything, the way he clung to you and wanted to be held. How he said in his own words, “You can't be what I need”; not “you aren’t,” but “you can’t.”
Your whole world is crashing down in this bar, and you can’t do anything to stop it.
“Y/n?”
JJ’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.
“Just go talk to him.”
You nod mutely, and you get up.
~
Everything in the last ten months of your life has led you to the exact spot you were when everything blew up in the first place: Spencer’s door.
This time, you aren't too worried about him not letting you in. If anything, it's the opposite. Him opening this door could open a hundred others, and you don’t quite know if you are ready for any of them. You sit there and sit there and sit there, trying to work up the courage to knock, though you aren’t sure it's there to begin with. Right as you're about to walk away and decide you’ll come back another day, his door swings open.
“Y/n?”
His face is lit up with shock, and you notice his hand that is not on the door is holding his pistol.
“What are you doing here?”
You don’t answer, “Why did you open the door?”
He sets his piece down on the entry table before responding, “I heard footsteps in the hall and saw they stopped here. I was anxious. 50.3% of home invasions happen between 8:00 pm and 7:00 am.” He cuts himself off there, “Y/n, why are you here?”
You didn’t pay attention to anything he said. All you could think about was the way his lips were moving and the way his eyes locked onto yours as he talked.
“Do you love me?”
That is not what you wanted to say.
His lips fall open as he takes in a sharp breath, “What?”
“Or I guess did you love me? Before everything? Because Derek and JJ and Pen, they all said that you loved me, and now I can’t think about anything else, Spencer.”
He doesn’t speak, but you don't really give him a chance to.
“I just, I know I sound crazy right now, but I feel fucking crazy. I keep going over everything in my head, and I have been, for the past year I have been, but now it’s all different. It's all different because they said that you loved me, but you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”
Here, you do pause, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you go on before you can stop yourself.
“Because if that's true, Spencer, it's just- I did. I do. And if it's not, then please just tell me so I can stop feeling this way.”
He sounds resigned when he says, “Y/n,” and you feel like you know what that means.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I'm doing this. You don’t have to say anything. Actually, please don’t say anything. I don't think I can hear it. Just pretend I never-”
He cuts off your ramble, “Y/n, stop.”
You draw your eyes from the floor, look up at him, and find something in his gaze you have never seen before. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, and it takes everything you have not to look away. His hand raises to cup your jaw, and your skin lights on fire. Before you can process what he’s doing, you feel his lips press against yours, and something clicks. At first, his touch is light, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But, when he grasps that you won’t, he presses himself to you harder, and all you can think about is how nothing has ever felt so right.
His lips move against yours, and you don’t know how you're managing to reciprocate because it feels like everything in your body has gone fuzzy. The kiss is by no means long, but it feels like it lasts forever, and by the time he pulls away, you’re breathless.
His forehead stays connected to yours, and he whispers, “I do, Y/n, love you. I have.”
You don’t feel the tears on your cheeks until he’s wiping them away.
“Oh, Y/n.”
“Did you know? That you did? Is that why…”
You trail off, hoping he’ll pick up on what you're asking, and he does.
“I didn’t at first, or I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you until it happened. I got scared, so I ran. I just never thought that you could feel the same or that I was hurting you. I didn’t realize that. I just thought I was doing what was best for us. I felt guilty for being in love with my best friend.”
“And Maeve?”
“I loved Maeve. I’ll always have love for her. I was trying to move on, and I thought I could eventually be with her and be around you without it hurting. I wish I would have told you this before.”
“You’re telling me now. That's enough.”
This time, it's you who pushes your lips to meet his. Your arms snake around his neck, and his fall to your waist. You follow when he pulls you into his apartment and closes the door. There is still pain on both sides, but you can feel it dissipating as you cling to each other. You’re just two broken people who have finally found a way to each other.
This kiss is different, hungrier. Neither of you pulls away for longer than a few seconds as you navigate your way from his entryway to his couch. Every touch is desperate like you're searching for something you never knew existed until now. His hands pull you closer and closer until he's pulling you on top of him, and each of your legs rests on opposite sides of his hips.
Your lips break from his for a moment, “What do you want, Spence?”
His reply is instant, “You.”
From there, things move faster. Your hands unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders while he undoes your pants. There are moments of awkwardness that come with exploring another for the first time, but it feels good. His hands trace over your hips and push further until you're left on top of him in only your underwear and bra. He takes you in like you are something to be marveled at, and you know your eyes reflect the same adoration.
You raise yourself off of him and work to get him in the same state of undress as you, and when you position yourself on top of him, you feel his length press against your center. The two thin layers of fabric do little to hinder the intensity as you rock into him. He lets out quiet moans at the action as his lips trace down your neck and over your collarbone.
His breath ghosts over you and makes you shiver when he asks, “Can I touch you?”
“Please.”
His hand moves between the two of you, and his fingers find your clit easily, rubbing circles over the fabric of your panties. You pant his name against his lips at the action. You feel like your whole body is lit up, and under any other circumstance, you'd feel embarrassed at how worked up you are, but you can’t seem to care.
After a few moments, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he positions you below him on the bed, removing your remaining clothes in the same motion. The new setup lets you grip him, and he feels big in your hand. His fingers resume their previous assault before dipping down into you. You cry out at the feeling of him inside you, slowly pushing in and out, finding a spot that makes your legs start to shake. He’s relentless in his pursuit and all you can muster up the energy to say is his name.
“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”
It's somewhere between a whimper and a whisper, but the sound of his voice causes you to clench around his fingers.
He picks up on this, of course he does, and quickens his pace as he coos at you.
“So pretty like this. I’m so lucky.”
You’re embarrassingly close already, so when he moves his thumb over your clit to rub circles as he fucks into you with his fingers, you come undone almost instantly with a warning and cry of his name. He works you through your orgasm, all while whispering praise in your ear. Once you come down from your high, you start to push his boxers down his legs, but he stops you before you can fully.
“We don’t have to do anything more, Y/n. I liked just making you feel good.”
“I want more. I want to feel you if you want that too.”
“Of course I do. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”
“I couldn’t regret this, Spencer. I love you. I want all of you.”
It's the first time you’ve actually said those three words to him, and it feels so fucking good to say.
“I love you, too. God, so much.”
With that, he positions himself back on top of you, running his fingers over your slit gently before gripping himself.
“Do you have a condom?”
“I might somewhere, but I have an IUD, and I’m clean. I can try to find one if you’re more comfortable with that?”
“IUDs have a failure rate of around .05% and are largely considered the most effective form of birth control, so uh, as long as you're okay with it, I am.”
You smile to yourself at his statistic but nod, “I want to feel you, Spencer.”
He returns your smile before rubbing his length over your entrance a few times and slowly pushing himself into you just slightly. He teases you, or maybe himself, for a moment before fully entering you. You push your hips up to meet his, and feeling him in his entirety makes your jaw fall open. He’s big, and you feel unbelievably full.
He waits a moment for you to adjust before he starts to develop a rhythm. His hands are everywhere, but his eyes are focused solely on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of your reaction to him inside of you. To be fair, you are probably putting on a good show. Every movement he makes hits you in exactly the right spot, and you don’t think you could be louder if you tried. You can feel the leg he’s not holding up against his shoulder shake against the bed. Your first orgasm has made way for your second to be incredibly close.
“Spencer, please.”
You’re crying out, desperate for a little more to push you over the edge.
“What do you need, baby?” His voice is tight like he’s not far himself, and it sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard.
“Harder. Please, harder.”
He takes your direction immediately, rubbing circles on your clit with one hand while he thrusts into you with a bruising force. He’s fucking you like he wants you to remember the feeling long after he stops, and you know that you will. Everything about it is overwhelming: his smell, his pace, his eyes. You are covered in him, and he is covered in you.
After a moment, the hand he had on your stomach trails up to grasp lightly at your throat, and you fall into feeling. You can’t warn him that you're about to come before you do. The feeling is white hot. Bigger than your first, and the fact that you're coming on him sends you into overdrive. You can feel his hips falter for a moment, but you're lost in a daze, crying out his name.
He pumps into you a few more times before he follows suit. He pulls out, and you feel stripes of his come paint your cunt and lower stomach as he finishes with a moan of your name.
He falls next to you on the bed, and it takes you both a few moments to collect yourselves and catch your breath.
Once you do, the only thing you can think to say is, “I love you.”
It feels like those are the only words circling around in your head at the moment. Some mixture of his name and that declaration. While you know you each said it before, that your profession was the exigence of the sex you just had, it feels uniquely vulnerable to say now. It’s like the moment you just had together could have changed things or made him realize that he doesn’t actually love you after all.
That shoe doesn’t drop, though. Instead, you hear the three words echoed back to you by a man who, 6 hours ago, you thought would never, ever say them.
You turn to face him, and the love on his face feels like it could knock you out. He’s looking at you and smiling in a way you haven't seen in a long time.
“Will you let me clean you up?”
You know that part of the reason he’s asking has something to do with the likelihood of bacteria growth or something like that, but you think it's mainly that he wants to take care of you. Him wetting a rag and running it over you feels intimate in a different way, in an excruciatingly gentle way. Personal in a way that makes you feel like nothing between you could ever be wrong again, and maybe that's naive to think, but you feel hopeful regardless.
Once he finishes, he takes his space back next to you in the bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms, and it's different than it was all those months ago. This time, you know that he won’t push you away and that you won't hurt yourself by being next to him. This time, you just tuck yourself into him, and you let him whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you begin to drift off. This time, it feels like peace.
~
The following day, you wake up to Spencer still next to you, looking incredibly soft in the early morning light. You search for a moment to find your phone in the piles of clothes and are greeted with a text from Pen.
How did it go????
You smile before turning your phone off and climbing back into bed next to the man you love. It couldn’t have gone better.
-
all done! yay!!!
i hope you guys love it!! i’m not 100% happy with the ending but i’ve been writing this for so long and just needed to be done.
this is my first time writing angst on here and my longest fic, so PLEASE tell me what you think! all (nice) feedback is welcome and i love to hear from you guys!! :)
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liloinkoink · 3 months ago
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one thing i think people get wrong about Martyn in the life series is he really isn’t loyal
like yeah, we all know him as the Hand, following the Red King as far as their shared grave, but that is… truly the outlier and not the norm with him
i mean, let’s take a brief look at other seasons. i can’t speak to Secret Life, as it came out when i was incredibly busy and i haven’t yet had time to watch it, but what about the others?
he won Limited Life because he’s a chronic traitor! he betrayed Scott, his ally for the whole season, so that he could win, and said he’d been planning it / wanting to do it the whole session. spent a whole season protecting and helping Scott, and laughed in his face to betray as soon as he saw a shot to do so
Double Life was a whole mess of Martyn and weird loyalties. just one example: he spent all of the first session hanging out with Pearl in favor of even looking for either of their soulmates, with no regard for how he’d been putting his soulmate in danger. when their soulmates dumped them due to being ignored all session and stormed off, he dumped Pearl just because. one session in and he’s betrayed both his soulmate and his day one alliance!
Last Life he teamed with the Southlanders and then made the Shadow Alliance in secret, so he was on two teams and never truly committed to either. he tried to kill Grian basically immediately when he got boogeyman, for example, and in the final fight he tried to lure Ren to himself by offering to team and then tried to blow Ren up
of course, i’m simplifying and ignoring a lot. he doesn’t earn the loyal reputation for nothing. he does a lot of things to help his teammates, like giving a life to Ren in Last Life, trying all season to win Cleo over for all of Double Life, or working to protect Scott for all of Limited Life. it’s not like Martyn doesn’t play the part of a loyal friend well, but, well.
the thing about Martyn is that he’s selfish. he’s basically always going to prioritize his own survival over anything else. he’s never going to roll over and die, especially not for another person. he’s good at looking loyal, because having allies will help you survive, and he knows making outright enemies is a bad idea. he knows he can’t make it obvious he’s a traitor, because then he’ll certainly be killed. but, when it comes down to the wire, he will generally bail at the last minute to save his own skin rather than protecting the people around him. when his loyalty is tested, nine times out of ten, he will not only fail, but do so completely without remorse
it doesnt take a lot to become Martyn’s ally, and once you’ve got a foot in the door, he will take his allegiances seriously (at least, to a point). but it takes effort to really earn Martyn’s trust. and, even when it looks like you have, there’s no guarantee he won’t yank the rug out from under you if he decides having you alive is more detrimental to his survival than seeing you dead
and yes, you can especially see all of this in Third Life. Martyn was absolutely not instantly ride or die for Ren—for a lot of the earlier episodes, he won’t say he’s on Ren’s team or that he lives at Ren’s base, and often tells other players he’s simply Ren’s employee rather than teammate and that he’s wandering or homeless. he trusts Ren so little due to Ren’s inability to keep a secret or stand up for himself that even Ren acknowledges in the third session that Martyn is probably going to leave him and find someone else. Martyn’s loyalty had to be earned, and it very nearly wasn’t. if Ren had taken a session more to grow a spine, Martyn probably would have left
but Ren became an ally that Martyn could rely on, who could stand up for himself and keep secrets. it became more beneficial to Martyn’s survival to have Ren around, so he stayed with Ren for the rest of the season, and committed hard to their kingdom. Ren earns Martyn’s trust by becoming a more dependable ally, and because of that, Ren earns Martyn’s loyalty…. probably
(half related, bc i want it in the post and i don’t know where to put it: after the execution, two sessions after Ren officially earns Martyn’s loyalty, Ren admits to being genuinely convinced Martyn was going to take him out of the series as soon as Ren gave him the chance!)
because yes, even here, even after Ren earns his trust and Ren trusts Martyn to execute him and they become King and Hand, Martyn was okay with killing Ren to save himself. Martyn has said he was going to betray Ren in the final session of Third Life. his entire plan was that when he and Ren hit the final 5, he was going to kill Ren. end Red Winter, usher in Red Spring. even the most loyal version of Martyn was a traitor!
now, you can decide for yourself if you believe he could have actually gone through with this—he and Ren were 6th and 7th out of the game, after all. maybe he wouldn’t have been able to steel himself. maybe his loyalty would have, for once, been too strong to kill Ren.
but it’s very possible that even the most loyal version of Martyn—the version of Martyn who has created this “loyal” image of Martyn in fanon—was only loyal because he died too soon to show his true colors
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starsthatlinethesky · 25 days ago
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What’s so fucking ironic about Jimmy in mouthwashing, is when he’s pitching a fit to Anya about having to do FIVE tasks around the ship when she asks for help with Curly’s medication and literally nobody actually ASKED him to do those things, there all pretty much self-imposed tasks.
Like an ACTUAL Captain would do these things with almost no complaint as he understands that they benefit not only himself but the safety and wellbeing of the crew.
But Jimmy can only see the rest of the crew as burdens and he is the sole person managing to keep this ship together with what he’s been given to work with. When that is so NOT the case.
Anya was most likely putting in so much work into keeping Curly alive, which in itself is a miracle seeing that state that he was in and the limited resources that the had. She had to find a way to provide nutrition, prevent infection and bleeding and somehow perform four amputations with what was most likely limited training from Pony Express. All while being PREGNANT.
Daisuke and Swansea were most likely the only thing keeping that ship running and preventing any further mechanical failures that could have put them all at further risk. As well as most likely actively looking for solutions to try and get parts of the ship running again.
And asking Daisuke to go in to the damaged vent when he KNEW it would do more harm than good to, was a risk that a captain would not take. And no, he wasn’t concerned about Anya when he asked Daisuke to go into the vent and I could argue that he wasn’t all that concerned about Curly either.
The only thing that he was concerned with was the fact that he had lost control of the situation and that Anya wasn’t being subservient to him and his demands.
Also the fact that he used the alcohol disinfectant to make that drink from Swansea also proved how little he thinks through his actions and the long term consequences. If he hadn’t of used it for the drink, it’s likely that it could have been used as a disinfectant for Daisuke’s wounds and could have also been rationed for other wounds the crew obtains as well.
But Jimmy can’t see the big picture, all Jimmy can see is all the messes and problems in the ship. That he CREATED. But he takes no responsibility for them as he can only think of what Jimmy wants and not how what he says or does impacts anyone else.
It’s just goes to show that Jimmy, is and has probably always been someone who wants the title and authority of a position like ‘Captain’ but he can’t handle any of the duties that come with it.
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itostea · 1 year ago
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the strongest (gojo x wife! reader)
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gojo can't help but feel annoyed that he feels concern for the wife he swears he doesn't care for.
warnings: arranged marriage au, gojo refers to you as his wife, enemies to lovers (?), gojo tells you to lift up your top, slight angst, he's really bad at feelings okay, image from loving yamada-kun at lv999 (part of gojo’s wife series)
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The lines of intrigue and fear are often blurred. It explains why we admire fire from afar, careful not to get too close in hopes of not getting burned. It explains why we find peace in parts of the ocean and tense up in deeper parts. It also explains why Gojo Satoru seeks your presence yet pushes you away the moment he finds himself feeling something other than indifference or vexation–it’s never hatred though. The strongest can’t envision himself ever hating his wife and it scares him. 
He’s not sure that can be said about you. Gojo wouldn’t be surprised if you grew to hate him after the treatment you put up with. 
Your marriage is what you call a “marriage of convenience” and Gojo made sure you remembered that. He wasn’t always so distant with you. Back then, you might’ve considered him a friend but time did its bidding and you two drifted apart, your time together merely a memory. Now fast forward a few years and you were wedded to him, taking up his surname and sleeping in the same house as him–in separate rooms of course. 
Your steps on the wooden floors were silent as you intended not to make a single noise at such a late hour. You sighed, feeling the weight of your heavy shoulders drag you down. 
Gojo might be considered cruel to you but the elders were on a different level. They knew this mission would be too much for you yet they sent you on it as punishment for speaking your mind the last time everyone gathered. 
At that time, your husband had an unfamiliar gleam in your eyes as you voiced your thoughts on the matter of Itadori. He’s a nice kid, you thought when you first saw the pink-haired boy. 
Taking away his youth wouldn’t be fair. After all, he didn’t choose to have the Ryomen Sukuna use him as a vessel. Yet, sentiment doesn’t do well with the higher ups and they made sure you knew your place with the mission they sent you on. 
You inhaled sharply, wincing as you felt the bruise on your rib with your palm. There was blood soaking your tights, little cuts littering your legs. You’re so tired you can’t find it in yourself to even eat. Then again, you needed to be in your best condition tomorrow since another mission was sent out of you and specifically you. Those in power always make sure it’s clear that they are in power. Your voice of opinion meant nothing to their beliefs in tradition or what you liked to call, “backward thinking.” That’s one thing you and your husband could agree on. 
“Ow,” you wince for the nth time as you open the fridge, scanning the items. Mochi. Ice-cream. Leftover cake. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to go grocery shopping a day prior so you could have a proper meal. This was the kind of stuff Gojo could live on but you couldn’t. Closing the fridge, you opt for instant ramen instead. Not the best choice in regards to healthiness but cracking an egg in there meant more protein and it also minimized the spice levels. 
You’re halfway in between preparing the noodles when you feel a presence right beside you and soft breathing besides your ears. “You’re home,” your ‘husband’ mumbles, his eyes half-lidded from just having woken up. 
“God! Satoru!” You gasp, flinching away from and only realizing how close he was. For someone who claimed he wasn’t interested in you, he didn’t know what personal space was. “How did you know I was home?”
“Your cursed energy leaked in,” he shrugs his shoulders, peering down at you without the constraints of his blindfold or shades. You gulp as his eyes flit up and down your appearance, causing your insides to tense up in a sudden wave of self-consciousness. Being scrutinized by the six-eyes himself wasn’t much fun and you’re suddenly aware of the fact that your hair is disheveled and your face is sweaty from just having come home from a grueling mission. 
You don’t even notice the glint of rage that crosses his hues before he masks it. “Who did this to you?”
“Huh?” You blink, coming to your senses that your body was bloodied up and battered from having fought a curse. “Oh it was just a mission. It’s normal to be hurt on missions.” 
Gojo’s been living with you for nearly half a year now and he knows you’re more than competent when it comes to shaman duties (not that he’d ever tell you). He knows you return home by 7 p.m.., and never at hours well past midnight. He knows that you usually only get injuries on your back because you get careless at times. But now, he sees cuts everywhere and he’s not sure if you’re running on adrenaline or if you’re too tired to notice. 
His eyes glance at the way you press a palm on your rib, subconsciously squeezing the area as if hiding it from him. “Let me see.”
Your surprise is immediate and he would’ve felt a strange fluttering in his stomach if not for this concern he was experiencing for you. You smile. “See what?”
“Your injury. Let me see it,” he says again, pressing on the hand you hold close to your ribs, narrowing his eyes as you hiss in pain. “Don’t be stubborn (Name).” 
His voice is different from the cheery one he often uses and you’re left leaning further into the kitchen counter, acutely aware of the fact that his taller frame wasn’t allowing you to escape. His eyes widen the slightest once he gets a glimpse of your flustered expression as you peer up at him and he only realizes what he was asking from you. Part of him tells him to ignore this and pretend his concern for you was brief. Yet, part of him screams at him that he was your husband, so he should feel the right to be worried–even if he was months late. 
He sighs, tilting his head. “I’m just going to look. I promise I won’t do anything else,” his voice is oddly tender as he speaks to you, a contrast to the usual nonchalance you’re used to. 
You gulp and let out a shaky sigh, giving in when your fingers reach to pull your top up for him to see the bare skin that you can’t even say is spotless or void of marks. Multiple wounds litter your skin–some faded, some new. You’re scared his gaze would show some signs of judgment or disgust but you’re left bemused when you see how his eyebrows furrow and his lips purse. For a second, you allow yourself to be deluded by the fact that he might be worried but you quickly abandon that thought, averting your eyes from him.
You can see how he pieces everything together. From the way you rebelled against the elders and how they saw it as a means to punish you. He does it so quickly that you can only blink when his blank expression morphs into something different. You almost feel relieved from the fact that his expression of pure anger wasn’t directed at you and rather those who sent you on the mission.
It’s almost natural how he slides the top further up, mapping the extent of the bruise with his eyes. His hands are warm and calloused. They’re also gentle, tracing the bruise carefully to not hurt you. “I’ll kill those old bastards,” he chuckles with a sneer. “They have some nerve letting my wife take this mission without me.”
You frown as you see his anger first-hand. “Satoru–”
“Why didn’t you go to Shoko?” He interrupts, gently holding on your waist to prop you on the counter while he stands in between your legs. He watches you intently, in search of answers.
You feel somewhat embarrassed as his hand still lifts your top up to see the bare skin but don’t comment on it. “I didn’t want to bother her so late at night…”
For the first time since today, you see him flash a genuine smile, as if exasperated by your reasoning. “But you’re fine with bothering me?” 
“That’s different!” You say, a pout slowly forming on your lips and he can’t help but feel drawn to you even if he doesn’t want to. 
He laughs as you pull your top down with a huff, finding it cute that you were so bashful. “Because I’m your husband?” 
You go silent and for a second, Gojo thinks he’s messed up for mentioning that. Despite being your husband, he’s not the greatest at doing his job. He’s not callous or spiteful towards you, instead taking on more of a cold and aloof attitude towards you. Even so, he thinks that hurts just as much as a few insults. 
He’s about to pull back but your voice draws him back to you. “Yeah. It’s because you’re my husband.”
Gojo can’t stop himself from glancing at your lips at that single statement. He was today years old when he realized he was a man of simple tastes. All you had to do was tell him that he was your husband and he’d want to kiss you until your lips turned red. He considers himself lucky that you didn’t see that slip-up of his–though he wouldn’t have minded if you did.
He breathes out a sigh, propping his chin atop your head while his fingers draw circles around your hips. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
It’s a vow he swears to keep. 
“I know,” you whisper quietly enough for him to hear. “You’re the strongest after all.”
He thinks it’s funny that even as the strongest, he feels weak when he feels your fingers play with his sleeves. No words are said after that and a comfortable silence drifts between you two. It’s like the barrier between the two of you is cracking once you feel his lips press gently against your forehead and you think it's his way of sealing the promise. 
Gojo Satoru thinks–or rather he knows that he wouldn’t mind living the rest of his life with you. And he knows that he should fix his behavior around you and stop running away. That way, instead of a kiss to the forehead, he can finally give you one on your lips. 
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arafilez · 5 months ago
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੭୧ ⼂ PRINCESS ﹗
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ー☆ㅤㅤ [ lmh x fem!reader ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤfluff 𓏧 being your enemy’s passenger princess is a dream that he likes it as much as you do ㅤ warnings drunk reader ﹢ 0.8k wc ㅤ𓏧ㅤ @sxmmerberries (beta)
“Why am I her emergency contact?” your friend’s boyfriend cowers under his pointed gaze and hastily explains how you did not have an emergency contact so he just dialled your most recent call. Halfway through that explanation your friend drunkenly starts kissing her boyfriend making that the cue for them to leave.
Minho looks at you, who has been suspiciously quiet the whole time before he sighs, accepting his fate and drags you to his car. His glares do nothing to soothe the ache in his heart as he softly places you down on the passenger seat and carefully tucks your legs in before attaching the seatbelt.
Closing the door, he moves to the other side, sets himself down on the driver’s seat and puts in your house location. As soon as he starts the car you mutter your first sentence for the night, “You really came.”
“Yes, you called me so,” he reasons, more to himself than with you, hating the pang in his heart formed at the thought of what if you had called someone else and not him. God, he would have hated it!
You giggle under the influence saying, “Do you know how many times I have dreamed of being your passenger princess?” His heart flutters at the sound of your light laugh filling the car making him bite back a smile as he asks, “Why?”
“Because you look hot driving,” your blatant voice makes him choke on air as he feels his face getting hotter at the compliment. Minho tries to focus on the road and less on his thumping heart as you continue blabbering, “I am so cliché, I like my enemy.” After a short breath you continue, “Will you tease me about this tomorrow? Well, that’s okay, I will just make myself believe.”
When you suddenly stop his eyes widen and he hastily asks before he can stop himself, “Believe what?”
“That you tease me because you like me, like those book-boys,” your eyes fix on his face and it takes him all his self-control to not look at you or he knows he will straight up crash.
“Passenger princess huh? You like being that?” he quickly changes the topic as the air around him gets hotter. He makes a mental note to get his car's air conditioner checked. Maybe it is malfunctioning.
You nod lightly, eyes hazily fixed on him, making him grip the steering wheel as if his life depended on it and say, “You always call me that to tease me, the joke’s on you, girls love being called a ‘princess’.”
“Do you now?” the teasing edge returns to his voice, his cocky demeanour coming back instantly. “Most do,” you say softly and add, “I would hate it so much if you called someone else that though.” Minho doesn’t know how he kept his sanity after that sentence leaves he knows but he somehow brings you to your apartment and stands in front of the door.
“Password,” he asks, making you giggle and flirtingly pointing at his chest, “To your heart?”
“To your home,” he deadpans but can’t help a lovesick smile take over his face as he watches you cutely stumble to put it in. The low light of the hallway accentuates your features and he finds himself blaming the high of the night for wanting to grab your face and kiss you right then and there.
When the door finally unlocks he carefully holds you and walks inside as he finds himself spilling, “You don’t need to worry about the heart you have already got that unlocked.”
“Have I?” your eyes widen in anticipation as you sling your arms around his neck looking up at him and Minho swears he never saw as many stars in the night sky as he did in your eyes that night.
“Yes, the day I realised you were borderline tolerable, I knew I was screwed,” he whispers back, eyes fleeting between your lips and your eyes before he sighs panting lightly. He somehow makes you drink a glass of water and you plop down on the bed, pulling you with him but he stays upright making you pout. Mustering all his self-control he goes to find a change of clothes in your closet.
He waits outside patiently and after what feels like almost twenty minutes he hears the door unlock as he enters, your hair is ruffled, and your face is puffy and warm from all the alcohol yet Minho finds himself fighting all his demons to not press his lips to yours.
When you finally plop down on the bed he pulls up the duvet to your chin and sighs saying, “I find drunk confessions awful, but I am here swooning over shit like this, so yes, I am stupidly in love with you, I guess.” Your eyes light up even in the haze of alcohol and sleep overtaking your features and he finds himself resisting to kiss you for the third time that night.
“Remember it till morning, for me,” he whispers to you lightly and prays silently that you will, before turning off the lights and saying one last sentence, “Sleep, my princess.”
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ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ੭𓂃ㅤ okay but to be minho's passenger princess asfsjsjejsl (divider my me) ㅤ𓏧ㅤ libraryㅤ skz shelfㅤ navi
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੭ 𝅄ㅤ ꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ ㅤ⏤ㅤ @haneagerr @gong-fourz @aaa-sia @yeosayang @weird-bookworm ㅤ𓏧ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added
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ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤ© arafilez on tumblrㅤㅤ)
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