#but he's more likely to be the first to acknowledge it if they weren't being pressured by outside forces

[the-mpreg-guy]

the hill that i will die on is that cas would have never said he loved dean if he had to deal with the consequences of it afterwards, meanwhile dean (who was SUPPOSED to tell cas he loved him in the original crypt scene script) would have eventually worked up to saying it without external pressure

[stylesispunk]

'Hands in the hair of somebody named Marcus'

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

next part

summary: the cursed blood of Geta and Caracalla runs through your veins sealing your fate. However, the General Acacius is willing to fight for you.

w.c: 5k>

warnings: angst, violence, power imbalance,and fluff.

a/n: I had this one in my drafts but after watching gladiator ii twice. I had to finish it and write about my beloved General Acacius because he deserves it. I hope you like it. This may have a part ii depending on its performance. PLEASE DON'T BE MEAN. Reblogs and comments are always. appreciated 💌

| dividers by @/saradika-graphics |

Inhale.

Exhale.

Breathe in, breath out.

There was it, the rattle breathing inside Marcus Acacius lungs. The way life has turned out for him felt like cuts all over his skin.

Sometimes he felt he could even breath from how bloody his hands were. How dirty his name felt to his own honor. How salty his tears felt down his cheeks every night. Every time he closed his eyes at night, the screams pierced through his ears.

Mothers mourning their children.

Men mourning their wives.

Families destroyed.

All because of him.

All because he must have served those two spoiled kids so called emperors of Rome.

And he still couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of you, someone so pure and kind was cursed to share the same blood as them.

Every time he came back to the city. He witnessed on first hand, how badly you were treated by them.  The laughs, the humiliation, the segregation, and how your voice had been silenced just for you to be unwillingly part of a legacy that felt like your back being split in two.

Marcus was aware of the adoration people felt for you, how your kindness had reached to every single person in the empire. People loved you, but you were nothing more than a puppet under their fingers.

And he felt pity for you.

He could see the way your eyes seemed lost in the arena, in the way your hands trembled where Geta or Caracalla looked at you with disgust when you didn't approve of the madness they had arisen under their control.

You were the opposite of them.

You were Kind.

Kind as no one had been on here for so many years. You shared the same dream of Marcus Aurelio.

An empire for the world and a refuge for those in need.

and Marcus looked at you with tenderness in his heart from afar.

Most of the time you didn't acknowledge him. He knew you weren't really fond of him or the idea of him leading armies to claim cities under the glory of Rome.

For you, he was just a general repeating the same cycle of madness.

And you didn't acknowledge him until Geta slapped you on front of him for not showing your gratitude towards him after his returning from battle.

The sting lingered on your cheek after his slap, not from the force but from the humiliation of it. The room fell silent, the tension arose like flames to the fire. Geta and Caracalla, with their arrogant disdain, seemed to punish your perceived disobedience.

But Marcus? His expression shifted, subtle, yet profound. His sharp gaze, so often unreadable, burned with an intensity that wasn’t anger but something close to defiance. He stepped forward, his towering presence demanding the attention of everyone in the room.

“Enough,” Marcus said, his voice calm and gentle, the command laced with quiet fury. The word carried weight, a warning not to be ignored. Your brothers exchanged a glance, clearly displeased but unwilling to challenge the general directly. They turned and left, leaving muttered curses in the air.

The room fell silent once again, and you found yourself standing alone with General Acacius. Your hand hovering your cheek, the skin still warm from Geta’s punishment. You didn’t look up at first, embarrassed not just by the slap but by the realization that Marcus had witnessed it. You had worked so hard to ignore him, to keep him at a distance, but now, there was no avoiding him.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said softly, his voice a startling contrast to the authority he had wielded moments ago.

You finally raised your eyes to meet his, expecting pity but finding something else entirely different, something softer. “It doesn’t matter,” you murmured, attempting to dismiss it, but he shook his head.

“It does,” Marcus said, taking a step closer. “You shouldn’t have to endure this, least of all from them. They’re your blood”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw him not as the general who commanded armies in your brothers’ name but as a man standing apart from their cruelty. He wasn’t like them, not entirely.

And perhaps, you thought, he never had been.

Your gaze lingered on Marcus for a moment longer, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for you to say something—anything. But you couldn’t. Your throat tightened, and you turned away, moving to the window to avoid the weight of his attention.

“I don’t need your protection,” you said, though the words came out softer than you intended. “You’ve done enough by speaking against them. They will get under your skin for it.”

Marcus hesitated, his heavy footsteps echoing as he approached you. “You shouldn’t have to thank me for doing what’s right.”

His words made your chest ache. When was the last time anyone had done what was “right” for you? You stared out at the gardens beyond the window, their beauty feeling distant, unreachable. Your brothers had never cared about right or wrong, only power.

“I don’t understand you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You fight for them. You serve them. And yet…”

“And yet I see who they truly are,” Marcus interrupted gently. “I serve Rome, not their cruelty. There’s a difference.”

You turned to face him, his nearness almost startling. For the first time, his presence didn’t feel overwhelming. Instead, it felt… grounding. Safe. He stood tall, but his expression was open, waiting for you to respond.

“They’ll hate you for standing up for me,” you said, your tone cautious. “They don’t forgive things like that.”

“Let them hate me,” Marcus replied without hesitation. “I won’t stand by and let them treat you as they do.”

The conviction in his voice sent a shiver through you. You wanted to argue, to remind him that opposing your brothers would bring nothing but trouble, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you found yourself studying him. His broad shoulders, the sharp lines of his face, and the way his eyes softened when they rested on you.

“I don’t need anyone fighting my battles,” you said, though even you weren’t sure if you believed it. “I’ve survived this long on my own.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he replied, stepping closer, his voice low but steady. “You deserve better than survival.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against you. Before you could respond, Marcus straightened, his demeanor shifting as if sensing he had said too much. He nodded once, a gesture of respect, before stepping back.

“I should leave you to rest,” he said. “You’ve been through enough today”

Your breath caught at the sound of his voice, so steady and sincere, the words lingering in the air like a balm to your frayed nerves. You wanted to reach out, to say something and stop him, but you hesitated, unsure of what held you back.

Marcus took another step away, his broad shoulders tense, as though leaving you was harder for him than he let on. His words, though respectful, carried a tone of finality that made your heart twist.

“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reluctant. He bowed slightly, taking your hand in his, and kissing it as his dark eyes met yours, “My lady.”

As if his words had worked as a kind of manifesto, the “soon” came no long after.

There you were in the gardens, barefoot, with your wild hair looking at the moon shining over the town you had been forced to call it home.

Marcus could see from your posture to your void eyes when you were there in the middle of your brothers, faking enthusiasm, while inside your bones you hate with passion this torturous show.

You didn't wish to be cruel to the world but kind.

You didn't wish to see blood coming out from innocent men who had fallen prey under the hands of the cruelty of the roman empire.

And you were exhausted of seeing and hearing the cheering of people celebrating death as a spectacle.

You didn't want this to be your life but just a nightmare you were going to wake from too soon.

And now, as Marcus could see the moon reflecting on your face. He was able to see through the golden jewelry and the soft material of your dress, he could see a soul pleading to the moon to set her free.

Something must have alerted you. You turned around facing him hiding under his cloak.

"General Acacius?" You whispered, closing your eyes a bit to take his form under the soft light of the moon.

"My lady" he replied softly, with respect to his tone.

“What are you doing here?” you breathed, your voice trembled under his gaze.

He hesitated for mere seconds, his gaze intense as it locked onto yours. “I could ask you the same, my lady,” he replied, a trace of sweetness in his tone. “It seems even those closest to the emperors need to escape from time to time.”

A silence fell between you, charged with a tension that both thrilled and unsettled you. The few stolen glances you’d shared over the past days had spoken volumes, but you had never dared to hope his heart could be beating as fast as yours in your presence.

You turned around again, your back to him. "I love coming here to look at the moon. " You spoke, breaking the silence "This seems to be the only place my brothers haven't tainted yet."

"How they don't know about this place?"

"My father sent this place to be built for his only daughter." You replied, and Marcus could notice how the corners of your lips graced with a smirk, even from behind. "A place for her to be a girl."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, General. Women seem to be useless for having a voice, less for ruling an Empire. Everything I can do is stay here and feel like I own something." You hold your voice for a minute, “I’m just a statue waiting to crumble.”

Marcus didn't reply to your words and if it wasn't for the sound of his steps getting closer you would have thought he left.

You could see his outline from the corner of your eyes, the way his face had been marked by cruel events you despise. A red mark on his cheek, a few scars on his neck and for brown eyes that contrasted from his hard exterior, shinning under the same moon as yours.

"How did you find this place, General?" You asked, bow fully looking at him. You were wondering how your brothers never knew about this place but him had been the first man to find it, just after his return.

He took a brief look at you from the corners of his eyes. "I would say that something brought me here," he paused for a moment, "but it seems like it was you, my lady."

You had to hold your breath for a moment. You didn't expect such words from Marcus. He was the beloved general of Rome. But to your eyes he was still a man who had built his honor from cruelty or that was what you thought.

"I don't believe so." You replied, despite the rapid beating of your heart, you didn't want to be fooled by a man with soft brown eyes and a heart that seems to be kind. "I do not desire a man to follow me, not less one who is the puppet of the cruelty of all this cold nonsense."

"My lady…"

"Please, you may go now." you said, turning your gaze back to the moon.

Marcus didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he lingered in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the faint torchlight flickering in the hall. His hand rested on the edge of the door, his knuckles tight and pale as if he were restraining himself from saying something he would later regret.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the embers in the hearth. The tension between you felt almost unbearable, a quiet battle waged in silence.

“I know what you think of me,” he finally said, his voice softer now, like the hush of a secret shared in the dark. “You see a man of blood and iron, one who serves an empire that devours cities for the Glory of Rome.” He exhaled slowly, almost as if gathering the strength to continue. “You’re not wrong to think that. There are nights when I wonder if all of this is worth it, if I am worth anything beyond my sword.”

His admission struck something deep within you, though you kept your face turned toward the moon. You refused to let him see the small crack forming in your carefully constructed armor.

“Then why stay?” you asked quietly, your voice carrying an edge of challenge. “Why continue to serve a cause you doubt?”

“I stay because I must,” Marcus said without hesitation. “It is all I have known, and it is all that has been asked of me. But you…” His voice faltered, and you felt the weight of his gaze, though you didn’t dare meet it. “You are different. You are everything this empire is not, kind, unyielding. Someone like you should be the one ruling Rome, the princess.”

You chuckled at the statement “My brothers would send me to death before I’ll have the chance to sit on that throne.”

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your dress. His words shouldn’t have this effect on you, yet they lingered, stirring something unfamiliar.

“And that is why you should go,” you said, more firmly now. “You’re talking nonsense”

Marcus took a step closer, his steps echoing faintly against the cobblestones “Perhaps I do not belong here,” he said, his tone unwavering, “but that does not mean I will walk away so easily and let this empire fall under your brother’s madness.”

You turned to him then, unable to ignore the quiet determination in his voice. His eyes, those soft brown eyes that had once seemed so dangerous, now held a sincerity you hadn’t expected. For the first time, you saw not a general, but a man, a man who carried the weight of his choices and the burden of his doubts.

“You think you can change my mind?” you asked, your tone sharp despite the unease stirring in your chest.

“No,” Marcus admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But I hope, one day, I can show you what I am talking about.”

Before you could reply, he bowed his head slightly, as a gesture of respect rather than submission, and turned to leave.

As the door closed behind him, you stood in the quiet of the garden, your heart beating fast while his words played over in your head.

The arena buzzed with the deafening roar of the crowd, their excitement spilling into the air as dust kicked up from the floor below. You sat stiffly behind Geta and Caracalla, their laughter and sharp whispers grating against your ears. This was how it always was, trapped in their own world, watching their cruelty unfold.

Today, the games were bloodier than usual, the violence more drawn out, as if they relished every clash of blades and every cry of pain. You tried to ignore the chaos, your gaze drifting to the far horizon, where freedom felt like a distant dream in the blue sky.

But then, a movement to your right drew your attention. You turned your head just slightly, your breath catching when you saw Marcus approaching. His expression was calm, unreadable, though his eyes softened ever so slightly when they met yours. Without a word, he settled into the seat next to you.

“General,” you greeted, your voice low.

“My lady,” he replied, his tone equally soft, though there was a subtle warmth in it.

For a while, neither of your spoke. The sounds of the crowd and the clash of weapons filled the silence between you, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.

“They love this,” Marcus finally said, his voice barely audible over the noise.

You didn’t reply, too focused on fidgeting with the material of your dress, your fingers twisting the fabric in small, anxious movements. The tension in your shoulders was noticeable, your gaze fixed on the arena below, though it was clear your mind was far from the bloodshed.

Marcus noticed. He always noticed. After a moment of hesitation, his hand moved, gentle, placing it over yours. His touch was warm, steady, and it stopped the restless motion of your fingers.

Startled, you glanced at him, your breath catching as you saw the softness in his expression. There was no judgment, no pity, only quiet reassurance. For a moment, you forgot where you were, the chaos of the arena fading into the background.

But the moment didn’t last.

“Ah, what’s this?” Geta’s voice cut through the din, sharp and mocking.

You flinched, quickly pulling your hand away as Geta turned in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he looked between you and Marcus. His lips curled into a sly grin, the kind that sent a chill down your spine.

“Well, well,” he drawled, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “Our dear sister has caught the attention of the great general. How… intriguing.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his gaze unwavering as he stared ahead.

Geta leaned back in his seat, his grin widening as an idea seemed to spark in his mind. He turned to Caracalla, nudging him with an elbow. “Brother, I think we haven’t been too generous with our sister, have we?”

Caracalla raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What do you suggest we could do for her?”

Geta’s grin turned wicked, his eyes gleaming with malice. “A little incentive for the games. Let the gods decide her fate.”

Your blood ran cold as you realized what he was suggesting. “Geta, don’t—”

He ignored you, standing abruptly and raising his arms to address the crowd.

“Citizens of Rome!” Geta’s voice boomed over the noise, silencing the arena. “Today, we have a special reward for our brave gladiators. A prize worthy of their strength and valor.”

Caracalla caught on quickly, his laughter echoing through the stands. “Indeed, a prize unlike any other,” he added, his voice dripping with amusement.

You shot to your feet, panic rising in your chest. “Geta, stop this!”

He turned to you, his smile cruel. “Sit down, sister. This is for the glory of Rome.”

You didn’t move, but your voice faltered, your protests drowned out by the cheers of the crowd as Geta announced his decree.

“The victor of this fight,” he declared, “shall win not only their freedom but also the hand of our beloved sister.”

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers, their excitement deafening.

Beside you, Marcus remained seated, his expression unreadable. But you could see the storm brewing in his eyes, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he processed what had just happened.

And for the first time, you saw something in him that you hadn’t before, a quiet, burning fury, one that made you wonder just how far he would go to defy your brothers.

"They offered me as a price." You whispered to Marcus who was offering his arm for you to hold, as you tried to keep your composure.

You felt humiliated.

You felt that men owned you and despised the feeling.

Marcus didn’t respond right away. His arm remained steady, extended for you to hold, a silent offer of support. His face, though unreadable, betrayed hints of a restrained anger—anger that wasn’t directed at you, but at the cruelty of your brothers, the twisted spectacle they had made of your dignity.

“They did,” he finally murmured, his voice low but firm, so only you could hear. “And they will answer for it.”

You hesitated, your hand trembling slightly before resting on his arm. The gesture was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but between the two of you, it felt like a silent pact. Marcus guided you to sit back down, his movements deliberate, as if shielding you from the prying eyes of the crowd.

“Hold your head high,” he said quietly, leaning just close enough for his words to reach you. “You are not a prize. You are a queen in all but name.”

His words, though softly spoken, struck a chord deep within you. They carried a weight that steadied the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you—humiliation, anger, and a raw, aching vulnerability you despised feeling. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to sit straighter, your gaze fixed on the arena even as your chest burned with resentment.

The fight began, the clash of swords and the roar of the crowd filling the air. The gladiators fought with a ferocity that was almost unbearable to watch, knowing that your fate hung in the balance of their blades. You despised every second of it, despised the men in the arena who saw you as a reward to be claimed, despised the crowd who cheered for your subjugation, and most of all, despised your brothers for orchestrating this humiliation.

And yet, as the fight dragged on, your attention kept flickering to Marcus. He hadn’t moved, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the arena with an intensity that made your heart race. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, fingers tightening with every blow exchanged below.

“They cannot do this,” you whispered, your voice trembling with barely contained anger. “They cannot decide my life like this.”

“They can try,” Marcus replied, his tone like steel. “But they will not succeed.”

His words were cryptic, but there was something in his voice, a quiet, unshakable resolve that made you glance at him. For a moment, you wondered if he already had a plan, if his mind was racing with strategies to undo the cruelty your brothers had unleashed.

The fight ended abruptly, the crowd roaring as the victor emerged, bloodied but triumphant. Your stomach churned as the man was announced, his grin wide as he looked up to the podium where you sat. You felt Marcus tense beside you, his hand gripping his sword so tightly you feared it might snap.

“Don’t,” you whispered urgently, sensing the storm about to break within him. “Please, Marcus.”

But he didn’t respond, his gaze locked on the victor below. And for the first time, you wondered just how far Marcus would go, not just to defy your brothers, but to protect you from their cruelty.

The victor's triumphant roar echoed through the arena, and the crowd erupted into wild cheers. You couldn’t bear to look at the man below, his eyes alight with the promise of his prize—you. Your stomach churned with revulsion, and your breathing quickened, panic clawing at your chest.

“Come,” Marcus said quietly, his voice cutting through the noise. His hand found yours again, firm but not forceful, and this time, you didn’t hesitate to take it. The heat of his palm against yours grounded you, gave you a tether to hold onto as you stood on unsteady legs.

You didn’t wait for your brothers’ gloating remarks or the smug expressions on their faces. Without a word, you let Marcus guide you away, his presence shielding you from the leering eyes of the crowd. The noise of the arena began to fade as you descended the steps, replaced by the rapid beating of your heart.

The corridors beneath the stands were dimly lit, the cool air a welcome reprieve from the suffocating heat of the arena. You kept your gaze forward, refusing to look back, refusing to give your brothers or the victor the satisfaction of seeing your fear. But inside, you were trembling.

“Marcus,” you finally whispered, your voice breaking. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere they can’t touch you,” he replied, his tone low and steady. His hand tightened around yours, a silent vow that he wouldn’t let you face this alone.

The two of you emerged into the open courtyard behind the arena, the setting sun casting long shadows across the stone walls. The sounds of the crowd were distant now, muffled by the heavy doors that closed behind you. You stopped walking, pulling your hand from his and turning to face him.

“They’ll come for me,” you said, your voice laced with frustration and fear. “They won’t let this stand. Geta and Caracalla—”

“They’ll have to go through me first,” Marcus interrupted, his tone sharp, his brown eyes fierce. “And I promise you, my lady, they won’t succeed.”

You stared at him, his words sinking in. He looked every bit the general now, strong, resolute, and unyielding. And yet, there was something else in his gaze, something softer that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t just protecting you out of duty or honor. There was something personal in the way he looked at you, in the way he stood so close, as though shielding you from the world.

"I can fight in the arena" he said, "for you."

You stared blankly at him, shocked at your core.

"What would you win from that? Do you want to own me like those men?" You asked.

"I do not wish to own you, my lady. You're not property. You're a free woman, and If I win, I'll become your husband and you would never have to endure those humiliations ever again."

"Just because I would be yours." You whispered, still broken at the thought of not being enough.

"You would be my wife, not my property." He clarified, "I will live and fight to keep your honor just as you deserve"

You looked away, heart pounding, his words washing over you like laurels over your skin. A part of you longed to believe him, to let his offer pull you from the grip of your family’s ambitions. But fear clung tightly, rooted in years of being nothing more than a pawn in your brothers' power games.

"General…" you murmured, voice wavering. "If you fight for me, you put yourself in danger. And if you fall, my life will only become darker, lonelier. I don’t want your blood on my hands."

He stepped closer, his eyes steady, fierce. "I would rather risk everything than stand by while you suffer. You deserve a life where you choose, where you're loved, not used."

Your throat tightened, emotions swelling. "But if you fight and lose, you’d be at their mercy. They’d make you a symbol. A warning to anyone else who dares to defy them."

He lifted your hand, pressing it to his heart. "Then let them try," he said, his voice unyielding. "For you, my lady, I would face even the wrath of the empire."

His touch was gentle, but his resolve was unbreakable. In that moment, you realized he wasn’t just a man willing to fight for you, he was someone who saw you as more than a title, more than a sister to emperors. He saw you, truly.

“Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why would you risk this for me?”

For a moment, he hesitated, the stoic mask slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the man beneath. “Because you deserve more than to be treated as a pawn in their games,” he said finally. “And because I…” He stopped himself, shaking his head as if the words were too much to say aloud. “You don’t deserve this.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion.

"Acacius… if you truly wish to do this," you whispered, your fingers trembling in his, "then I will stand by your side, come what may."

He smiled, a rare softness breaking through his stoic exterior. "Then we’ll face them together, my lady. And if they stand in our way…" His eyes darkened, a spark of defiance glinting within them. "They’ll learn that love is a force they cannot control"

"Do you believe you could come close to loving me?" You asked, heart pounding.

His reply didn’t come from words. Instead, he squeezed your hand over his heart.

His words lingered in the air, hanging between you like the delicate balance of a fragile moment. You searched his face, his steady eyes holding yours as if daring you to see the sincerity in them. For all his strength, for all his might as a general, Marcus stood before you as something else entirely. A man laying his heart bare.

Your breath hitched as his hand moved from yours to gently cradle your cheek, his touch warm and careful, as if he feared you might pull away. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you leaned into his palm, your heart pounding so loudly you thought he must hear it.

“May I?” he murmured, his voice soft and hesitant, as though you were something precious, he was afraid to break.

You nodded, unable to speak, your eyes fluttering closed as he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours, tentative and light, testing the waters of your comfort. It was not the kiss of a conqueror or a man accustomed to taking what he wanted. It was the kiss of someone who had been waiting, who had held back his own desires out of respect for you.

The first touch was fleeting, but when he felt you relax into him, he deepened the kiss, his other hand settling on your waist to anchor you against him. The world around you faded. The distant noise of the Coliseum, the threat of your brothers, even the weight of your own fear. All that remained was the warmth of his lips, the steady beat of his heart beneath your other hand.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet that followed. “Loving you,” he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion, “would be the easiest battle I’ve ever fought.”

[acid-ixx]

oooh so did we divorce Bruce, or is this an infidelity type of situation?

a loving family, an unpalatable desire: first meeting (unofficial)

— related post !

a/n: a tad bit nsfw. if this sounds messy, spare me. i'm running on like 4 hours of sleep and the will of a thirsty man in front of an oasis. i told yall im going insane for this plotline. ofc a&a still has my heart but I also love to occasionally write for smth else in the sidelines. send in more asks yall hehe.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

definitely an infidelity type of situation, anon! you see, the affair was caused by all mere coincidence. you were to attend with bruce in one of lex luthor's extravagant show of a gala, hold his arm for a brief moment when you walk out of the limousine, only to be abandoned right in the middle of the enormous room.

of course, the right reaction was to be pissed, to badmouth the very man who decided to court and entertain others in front of you; but you chose to stay silent, biting back choked tears by stumbling over the buffet table, only to be met with stupid, overbearing paparazzi and journalists.

so when clark kent rushes in to save you from stuttering over the dozens of microphones and cameras shoved right in your face, granting them access to your pathetic sobs— it's only right that your first reaction was to lean against his body, dismissing the hushed, harsh gossips of journalists.

it was at a time where you're not aware of his identity of superman. well, bruce barely permits you to enter the batcave, only if you stubbornly pester alfred does he let you, only to kick you, his darling spouse right out the moment you step on the cold, hard floors of the lair.

so it's not... a bad thing, right? your husband had a child with another woman, raised him as his own, didn't even bother to notify you with his infidelity— so is it your fault if you slowly start to fall for a man who promises you the world? who actually has the ability to give you the world in the palm of your hands? whose kid lets you pamper him without any fight?

sure, he's coping with... the loss of his previous wife but you're such a perfect spouse, so undeniably attractive, captivating in the hearts of many. your distant eyes, the way you bite the inside of your cheeks, the way your body sways back and forth as if begging for someone, your husband, to provide you a pillar of support in the suffocating heat of paparazzi.

he could be that pillar, could be your support.

when he first came up to you, his intentions weren't to obtain gossip about the oh-so silent spouse of bruce wayne. he didn't even want to acknowledge your marital status, palms already taking your wrist just so he could lead you off to somewhere quieter.

"it's an interview," he whispers an excuse to your reddened ears. but the buzz of his breath, the warmth, the caged arm on your waist tells you it's more than that.

but you don't fight back, you'd rather be anywhere than be the spotlight of a media that eats you up, makes you doubt your marriage even more.

so you're grateful that someone came to your rescue.

this would be the first time you ever saw someone as a savior, and it's not superman, no. it's clark kent, your resident, widowed, journalist.

and for clark's case, you warm his bed better than anything else. you allow clark this sense of respite, a break from heroic activities. allow him to be human, just as he allows you to play your fantasies of being a house spouse; you're perfect for each other.

to hell with useless marriage papers that don't even give bruce a sense of obligation to act as your husband, right? what can it do, when you're absolutely smitten with the current life you're living?

the first stages of your infidelity with clark is confusing, but very much welcomed into your already hectic life.

firstly, you convince yourself, it was all mere 'emotional cheating'. you began texting clark, he does too. an occasional greeting in messages, a passing congratulation for something, then the next it was good morning messages, 'have you eaten breakfast yet?, 'how'd the appointment go?'.

you don't know when it started, when your feelings started, when you began an intimate to romantic relationship with the man— all you knew was that the moment he revealed his superhero identity was the moment he decided to bed you for the night, the moment you grant the man, now your partner, access to every part of your depraved body, made him make you beg for more, giving him all the time in the world to kiss your imperfections, to fondle sensitive parts long untouched, to leave lovebites deeper and darker than the ones you caught bruce with.

you can't help it, he's unknowingly handsome, especially when he invites you over to his ma and pa's farm the next day, pretending to not notice the way your eyes hungrily flit over his topless body, sweat and budding pecs encased in a muscled form. over the course of dinner, you kept biting your lips, warm cheeks at the implications that clark merely wanted to sit next to you just so he could handfeed you, something about him being prideful that you'd definitely enjoy this week's harvest... but his fingers circling your thighs just seems to get you brain all haywired.

yet you stay, and continue visiting for long hours either way, enjoying the man's attention.

you know it's wrong, he knows it's wrong. but the way his son, jon looks at you like you mean the world, the way he's slowly starting to heal the longer you stay over at his place makes clark want to... what's the word? ah, he wants to turn you into his loving trophy spouse. all you need to do is provide jon with all the support in the world.

as for bruce... well, him and his family can deal with your absence for the first few months. but when the lingering feeling of emptiness becomes too much, when bruce no longer feels the worried gazes, or when dick can't hear anymore laughter in one of the supposed 'barren' rooms, or when tim's security systems tracked a missing device, one now in a completely different city.

that's when they start to yearn for someone they purposely let go

[n0t-y0ur-piece-0f-cake]

The study of human social behaviour

Summary: you get kidnapped by Yautja, as well as some other people. You try to escape but in a twisted turn of events, you end up being an aliens mate for life.

Fem reader x male yautja

Warnings: NSFW, kidnapping, non-con/rape, violence, death, swearing, metion of forced pregnancy

MDNI / MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

For everyone else: read at own risk

Not proof read, English is not my first language

---------- <3 ----------

"I remembered how I was sitting at my dining table, eating.

Just minding my business and trying to calm down from my stressful day at work. But everything changed with a sudden white light illuminating my surroundings completely." I said, looking into everyone's faces. We sat in a circle. On the cold white ground. What seemed to be LED lights shone so bright, it hurt my eyes at the beginning. Now my eyes didn't mind anymore. The walls were empty and cold.

I turned to look behind me. Looked at the big glass where these aliens are probably observing us. "And that's how I ended up here, in this room. That's all I know." My glance shifted right back at the group. We were three women and three men. Some acknowledged my story by nodding, others by just looking at me wide eyed. I was last to tell. Their stories weren't any diffrent. All of them experienced that white illuminating light. And then they were waking up in here.

I have no idea how long we've already been here. But probably not even a day. Neither do I have any idea what these aliens want from us. Or if they would be happy to tell us, if they even know our tongue.

For now we just sat around. Trying to wrap our mind around what we should do. What THEY would do. One guy threw in a idiotic plan on how he would try to escape, which was quickly shut down and discouraged by us. Why? Because we already saw these aliens. We saw how they were built and could easily lift a out of hand human, to throw them out. The guy they threw out was here again, but he was now quiet. I don't know what they did to him. He doesn't tell either.

After a while our conversations got more quiet, less frequent. I personally was frustrated there was nothing to pass time here. Frustrated I still don't know what the fuck they want. I was laying on the ground for a while now. Others laying too, or sitting against the wall. Suddenly the lights dimmed. I jump up and look around. See if I can spot any differences. Nothing. After a few seconds a big plate from underneath the viewing window was brought into the room. On it were various kind of fruits and vegetables from earth. We all looked at each other. Confused. Should we eat it? Is it poisoned? A woman took the first step. "I'm hungry!", she exclaimed. She took a Mango and bit right in it, peeling the skin then, when she punctured the Mango.

Everyone else followed. I did so too, grabbing an apple, inspecting it. I stood close to the viewing window. Out of curiosity I pressed my forehead against it, I could see the shape of these aliens. They stared at me. Noting something in their, what seemed to be, computers. I sat down on the ground. Just like everyone else. We were now gathered around the plate containing food.

After what seemed to be another hour, the light turned even more dim. Enough to see, but significantly more darker. "I have to use the toilet. Real bad", one of the guys said. "Use the corner?" The other guy said. One girl got mad and made a gagging sound "Are you crazy?" "Well where else is he supposed to go? There's nothing here!"

I look up at the window, and point at it. "Maybe we can ask them?" "Oh sure. Please mister or misses alien, give us a toilet." The guy who had to pee said mockingly. The girl that was still quiet since the beginning sighed and said we should give it a try. She stood up. She looked at all of us, unsure if she should really do it. I nodded. The pee guy nodded too. "Toilet! We need a toilet!" She screamed at the window. Nothing happened. I look through the window again making sure someone is even on the other side. Which yes they are. I look at the girl. "Do it again", I said. She screamed again. This time I joined in and banged my fist against the window. The guy who had to pee chuckled and mocked us again.

Suddenly the big plate was taken back. The sound of a motor made us all go quiet. We looked at where the sound came from. We all starred in awe as a new small room in a corner was build. The new walls including a door came out of the big walls. The motor kept whirring until it seemed to lock in. The guy who had to pee stood up and bolted for that room. As he opened the door he screamed out in ecstasy. "It's an actual fucking bathroom!" He slammed the door, locking it and doing his thing. We could hear muffled yelling. "It has a shower and everything, holy shit!"

The girl who was screaming at the window to get a toilet sat down again. We were all still in our spot. And the rest of the room was still empty. We were all in that corner as if the rest of the room is bad. The guy came back from his bathroom break. Sat down with us as well. I didn't know anyone. Not even their names. Would it be awkward to ask now? Whatever. I'll do it. "I'm Y/N."

They looked up at me. Silence.

"I'm Dave", said the pee guy. "Rachel." The girl that screamed but was always silent.

"Maria", she smiled as she said her name. The girl that was disgusted by the 'pee in the corner suggestion'. "Alexander. But Alex is cool too" said the guy who had lost his temper at the start and was taken by these aliens to god knows where but brought back.

The guy who suggested Dave to pee in the corner sighed. "Nick."

"Is that short for anything?" Maria asked. "Nicklas." Silence again. So now we know each others names. I was tired. I layed down. Some others followed soon after. Motor whirring came up again. We jumped up to look. Out of the wall came beds. For everyone one. They were lined up next to each other on one wall, next to the bathroom. We looked at each other again. We slowly stood up and went over. A fight soon came to ensue. No one wanted to sleep right next to the window. "One of the men have to go on that bed!" Rachel stood her ground. "Nuh uh", said Nick, "I won't let them grab me first!"

"There's not even a door there! To be frank the door is over there!", Dave pointed at the other wall, the door was disguised. The wall plate was over it, covering the door. We all know. Because Alex was taken through it. "Nick, they're always gonna be watching us, everyone of us. It doesn't matter." I said. Nick turned to me. "Then go ahead and sleep on this bed. It's all yours."

I rolled my eyes. I looked at it. At all of them. None of them had blankets. Only pillows and a matress. I nodded. "Fine." Since this discussing was over we all just laid down. Alex still sat on the foot end of his bed. Starring at the opposite wall and where the door is. I was too tired to hold more conversation today. And I don't want to push him. So I just fell asleep.

The next day was more of the same. Our day was started by being woken up by motor whirring sound. Another plate with the same food being brought in. But instead of grabbing something everyone groaned and made a run for the bathroom. Some were faster some slower. I stood up slowly. I didn't have to pee that badly. I passed Alex bed. He was still laying in it. Eyes closed. Snoring. He's a deep sleeper. The line became smaller and smaller. And at last we were all gathered around the table and eating. Except for Alex.

"What did he see?" Maria asked. Everyone shrugged their shoulders. Silence. Maybe no one wanted to keep talking about it because maybe these aliens will get mad. Understandable. We left some food for Alex on the plate. As we stood up and went back to our respective beds to sit down on soft ground the motor starter whirring again. The plate with Alex's food was taken back. Since I was closest to the window and the plate I jumped up and grabbed the left overs before it was fully gone.

I placed it at the foot end of my bed. Waiting on my bed for anything to happen. Dave stood up and banged his fist at the window. "We're bored!" Maria rolled her eyes. There was no reaction even after a while. "Ask for something specific." Rachel said. I nod. "Oh! Like a PC or something." We all looked at Maria's comment. "A PC? What would you want with that? I doubt they have earth Internet access or would allow us to use theirs. If they even have that." Dave said.

"Well they do have PCs so I think they might have Internet? But... yeah. Ask for something else maybe?" I said. Dave resumed banging on the window. "Give us paper and pen! Paper! Pen!" Alex was awoken by the comotion. He grunted. "Shut the fuck up!" Motor started whirring again. A table with a chair like thing appeared. Right in the middle. On it, was nothing. Dave turned to the window again. "For gods sake, Pen! Paper!" Another whirring. This time the plate where usually the food was, came with several pencils and a stack of paper.

Dave grabbed a pen and paper. "If you're up for it, let's play some paper games." Not even a minute later we all gathered on the ground playing 'Town, Country, River'.

It's been days now. Painted and written paper was scattered underneath our beds. We requested a few more things. Like music, but it was a Walkman or whatever you called them from the 80s. We tried requesting a movie, all we got was a Disc, but no TV or anything. It doesn't even say what kind of movie or other media it contains. We requested a flashlight because Maria started to freak out when the lights dimmed for the night, which they granted. We requested actual cooked meals. But all that came was questionable looking things. They tried their best but... didn't look to edible. We did taste it. Either it was bland or not cooked through. So we kept eating fruits and vegetables. Yes. We did try to request raw foods, even going as far as to write and draw the ingredients and what tools we'd need, but they didn't do anything. None of them ever came in since Alex little incident. Not until this day.

We weren't sure if they had cameras in this room or not. Or where their blindspots are. So we came up with something. Nick, who had suggested before that we should try and escape, 'invented' the human pile. We would throw ourselves on a pile, laying on the ground with our stomach, basically. So our heads would be looking down at the same spot in the middle and our heads would be so close together we'd maybe have the chance of a camera not catching what we write on a piece of paper. We'd also be stacked upon each other, and someone would have to hold Maria's flashlight so we could see what was written on the paper. Because that's how close our heads had to be. Of course these aliens must wonder and get suspicious what we'd do. So we started out with drawing really weird things like memes. Of course we'd laugh about it. We all hoped the aliens would think we were just doing some stupid human bonding stuff drawing these pictures.

And only in-between we wrote the plans and discussions for escaping. We'd black them out or overdraw them with memes. Just to make sure. Our plan so far? The strongest must pretend that he has a heart attack or something. Everyone else needs to back up against the empty wall and pretend to be scared, where the door is. So when they open it the second strongest and strongest can distract them aliens. But why try to escape? We were here since days. Pretty sure we're on a planet. Not ours but a planet. We can hear no big motor sound that made us think that we were still in space or something. Also the fruits and vegetables changed in shape, size and color that it made us think that these ones are not from earth anymore. They looked more alien yet earthly. Like they've ran out of earth veggies and fruits and now only have their similar stuff left.

Maybe we'd have a chance of surviving out there. But we won't stay here forever. We asked them on how long they plan on keeping us here. What they want. But no answer ever came. They just starred back at us through the window. We're not gonna die here.

The day of the plan finally came. We all kept acting as always. Wake up. Eat. Do something. Nick and Dave worked out, push ups, squats, whatever, trying go get more pumped up for later. Alex was still in bed, not yet getting up, but due to the circumstances fully awake. Maria, me and Rachel on the ground playing or drawing. Rachel then got up. She took some tomatoes from under her bed that she kept there from this morning and started screaming and acting weirdly. The plan has started.

Maria and I got up. Looking at her. The men turned to look at her. We all pretend to be in shock. She started throwing the tomatoes on the window. Taking the table and throwing it against the window. Dave shoved the table to the wall, where he ordered us to go and stay safe away from Rachel. Still the plan.

I felt my heart pumping hard. I am so nervous. This could go so wrong. Suddenly the plates were moved and the door was opened. An alien came in and headed towards Rachel. Dave immediately grabbed the table and smashed it down on the alien. They got into a fight, the table broke so Dave took a piece and hit it over and over again. The alien groaned. We ran towards the door. It was closed. There were buttons tho. Alex pressed the one he remembered the most from the day he was taken. It opened. Just as wanted to slip through the door closed on me and Dave. Dave got stuck between the door. It didn't do much. But the wall plates started moving to shut close. We heard the others scream from the other side. Nick and Rachel quickly taking over and running away with the other two.

The wall plates didn't stop. Dave screamed for help. I grabbed his arm and started to pull him, but his other arm was stuck in the door. He flexed it, twisted and turned it, but it was stuck. The wall finally came to a close. I screamed and looked away as a crunching noise emitted the room. I shut my eyes and held my ears with my hands that quickly let go of Dave. I looked at the ground. My back was turned to Dave. A puddle of blood came close to my shoes. I took away my hands from my ears. Listening if I could hear Dave speak or breath. Nothing. Silence.

I felt nauseous. I felt like I was about to drop dead myself. I couldn't bear looking back at him now. I dont want to see his crushed body. The alien that has been hit layed in front of me. Seemingly unconscious as he was still breathing. Defeated I sat down next to it. I couldn't even bear to sit on the bed now. I heard commotion behind me. The wall plates and door moving to open. Daves body hit the ground, before he was dragged out. When I was sure he was gone, I turned as well. Ther was no alien standing guard. So I jumped up and ran- but the unconscious alien grabbed my arm and jerked me right back down with one motion. He wasn't unconscious. He was pretending like we were. "Please let me go." I said, still trying to pull away but the alien was just too strong.

It got up. Its large frame hovering over me. It was wider than me too. His muscles seemed so large and its grip... two things that showed me that it could crush my skull easily if it wanted to. I was as well lifted up to stand. Another alien, unlike the one holding me, wore white instead of silver armor. The one now standing in the doorframe also seemed to wear more fabric. Was more covered. The one holding me seemed to wear the more basic armor or clothes. So I thought. They communicated in a tongue I couldn't understand. When they were done, the one holding me looked down to me, looking deeply into my eyes. I looked at it back. It's eyes shone yellow, against his dark, almost black and brown shades of reptile like skin.

I couldn't read its emotions. Out of no where it yanked me with it, dragging me god knows where. Are they going to put me down, out of my misery like the experiment animals that we maybe were? I was dragged out of the room, I jumped over the puddle of Daves blood. Feeling disgusted and being reminded about these sounds his body made. I'd never forget that. Hallways and hallways without end. We seemed to get into another testing facility. As it still dragged me, we passed embryos of various types of unrecognisable creatures kept in large tubes.

I didn't fully understand, couldn't grasp on it that quickly. Until we reached a empty room. It wasn't large. Maybe 10 feet in every direction. "Are you going to kill me?" I asked. The alien looked at me. It shook its head no. It could understand me. "What will you do then?" It tilted its head to the side. A deep voice, growling animalistic, started to speak. "Experiment." "Experiment?", I looked at it shocked. It could speak. But what does it mean? "What were you planning with my group?" It took a while until it could form another sentence, like as if it was trying to make sure it was using the right words. "Ooman social Experiment. But now they dead." It said in broken English.

I looked at it wide eyed. "You just wanted to observe our behaviour?" It nodded. "When ooman is entrapped, yes." "And then?"

"Let ooman free again, but oomans tried escape, now dead." My eyes widened even more. "You would have let us go??" A tear ran down my face, knowing we would have made it out alive anyways. "They're dead? I saw them run out!" "We killed." It said almost confident. I looked at it now with confusion. "So why not kill me, huh!?"

"Other experiment. I decide." I tilted my head now too. "Other experiment?" "Yes, but ooman will not get out of this." It said stepping closer to me. I took a step back, trying to create distance, it tried to grab my arms but I quickly turned and tried to get to the door. It did reach it, but I didn't know which button to press, neither did pressing all of them help. Or all of them at the same time, before it grabbed me by the waist, to slam me onto his frontal body. "No escape, ooman", it growled above my head. Not long after it placed its hands on my pants colar. I placed my hands on its arms, trying to get these arms away from there, knowing where this will go. My pants buttons were ripped right off, didn't matter how much I tried to get it away. It then pulled down all of that I wore underneath my waist. Now my bare ass and vagina were exposed to the cold air. One hand was placed right between my legs, cupping my vagina, while it's middle finger started working on my clit. It send out signals to my brain I didn't want. I yelped like a puppy. I saw how it threw a cloth to the side of us. I remember it, it was the cloth between its legs. That was seemingly worn as a type of pants.

I grabbed its arms, that was still cupping and working on my vagina, still trying to push it away, I clenched my legs together, making the feeling and every movement even more intense unwillingly. My yelps have turned into small gasps of air. I leaned back on its chest, looking up on it. "Please stop" I begged. It leaned down, so much so that I was made to bend over in the process. Its hand stopped cupping me. And the other was on my neck, its pressure on my neck and now waist made me arch my back. "Stay." It demanded. I whimpered, but I obeyed. Pleased that I stood still, I felt it part my fold with its fingers. If I wasn't sure if this alien was male before I was sure enough now.

Before I knew he placed the tip of his cock into my vagina, before grabbing my hips and slamming his length into me. A scream left my mouth. A pained one. It was something I never felt before. A girth what felt like almost 4 fingers wide and a length that hit my cervix on the first slam. And from what I could feel, he still had more, that just couldn't fit in. He leaned down back to me, so my back and his chest weren't ever to part. "Mate." He said. He started with a slow pace, i could feel more of his cocks texture. It seemed to have some kind of small knobs on it, on its shaft. My face felt hot. Almost burning. I didn't know where to place my hands, so i placed them on top of his. Almost grabbing him. "My mate." He growled even more as his breath seemed to picked up with his pace. Him hitting my cervix now harder made me squirm in pain, but at the same time it felt good. His pace got even more faster. My right hand traveled to his right side of his hip, trying to push him away, or at least to make him slow down. It was too much for me, as I let my head drop, my eyes roll back and soft moans now escaping my mouth, his pace dropped but his thrusts became more violent, as well as his grunts. Not long after he buried his cock as deep as he could, standing up straight and letting me feel his warm cum fill me, as he still held me in place with his hands on my hips.

I saw it drip down along my thighs, it was a glowing greenish substance. "My mate." It repeatedly muttered. My heart pace calmed down after a while. As well as my body seemed to as well. So he pulled out. "Ah'kun", he said, pointing to himself, before he put back on his cloth covering his dick. He left the room without a word.

I stood there trembling, unsure what to do now. How to even process what just happened or throughout the whole day to be exact. Ah'kun did come back after a while. Bringing another cloth, almost looking like fancy panties, with sumo like cloth in the front and back. He held it infrong of my feet. He wanted me to step in so he could make me wear it? I guess so. So i did. He pulled it up. It was almost a bit too tight. But it should do for now. In the same motion as he pulled up my new panties or pants, he undid my shirt and bra. Of course I tried to go against it, but he just didn't bother. He was still stronger. He disposed all of my clothes with a trashcan that came out by pressing something on an empty wall. Right after he dragged me out. I was now wearing nothing but these weird panties. "Forgot..." He said. Taking a necklace of his neck and binding it around mine. "What is that?" I asked, looking at the necklace seemingly made out of bones. "Shows everyone your mate. My mate."

I look at him. At this point, I wasn't a experiment to him anymore, wasn't I? He took my silence for an answer, that was good enough for him. As we stepped outside into the daylight, we were right. We were on a planet. A tropical one. With what almost looked like aztec pyramids. And it seemed to be normal that these aliens wore only these panties. Even the female ones. Only few wore armor. "Why don't they all have armor?" I looked at him, as he held my hand. "No hunters or warrior" he pointed at the majority that didn't wear armor. "And you?" I said, I looked back and forth at them and him. "I, elite hunter. You have luck, my mate." He started to get confident again.

"Why luck?" "Elite hunter, high status." He said even more confident. His ego definitely stroked. He dragged me down the stairs of the pyramid we were in. The lab pyramid I'm taking. As we stepped out of the shadow, it was even a smart idea of him to remove my warm clothing. Because the sun here was brutally hot.

We were walking for a bit, the other aliens looked at us, specifically me. Some talked with Ah'kun, in their native tongue of course. Giving him proud pats on the back. Was a human mate an achievement? A trophy? Who knows. I don't. We finally reached another pyramid, one of those many. "My home, you live now too, here."

He closed the door behind me. In here, the air was cool again. The decorations and furniture style felt similar to several antique human civilisations, but yet held their advanced alien touch. I looked everywhere. There was even an armor room. Where his helmets and other armor were displayed. A trophy room with several heads of all kinds of creatures.

I kept looking. I found everything you'd expect from an house. Bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, living room. And empty or barely filled rooms. "What's all the empty rooms for?" "Storage. And little ones." I tilted my head. "Little ones?" He nodded. Did he mean kids? Was I even able to give that to him? What was I thinking. When did I start to be okay with this? This isn't my planet. In that moment it dawned on me. Was this my life now? I started crying. Not just because of the fact that I was here, but because of all of this.

Ah'kun patted me caringly on the back. "You will be good mom, no worry."

[moon7jay]

Pent up (l.hs, p.sh)

Read pt.2 here

Warnings : Non con, dub con(?), morally grey plot obviously (what do u even expect from me), filth, smut

Heeseung could feel the familiar itch in his chest and palms... and somewhere else. Well his dick to be precise.

He was horny. Inexplicably and utterly horny. could you blame him? His fanbase was majorly comprised of females. Hot females. But they weren't allowed to mingle with fans and that heightened his yearning more. Like craving the taste of a forbidden fruit.

He rubbed an exasperating hand over his sweaty face, breathing heavily through his nose to get in as much oxygen as he could, the testosterone was high in the hotel room, everyone still riding the adrenaline rush from the concert even though it had been done and over an hour ago. The tension was high in their bodies still and he could feel himself buzzing with it.

He knew it was practically impossible to get pussy at this hour, especially with the whole NDA thing and it agitated him further. His balls were heavy and in a desperate need to be drained empty by a tight warm pussy or mouth, he didn't even care, he just needed release.

He mentally thanked God for being the oldest and having the solo room privileges cuz it seemed like hardcore porn and his hand would have to do for the night. He was so ready to jerk off till his dick ached.

"Gonna head to my room" he informed Jay, who was sitting beside him on the spacious couch, just in case their manager started panicking upon not finding him with the rest of the boys.

Jay gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement and went back to whatever he was doing on his phone. Probably texting his girlfriend. That lucky fucker, heeseung thought. Jay's girlfriend was hot, heeseung had checked her out shamelessly on multiple occasions, even tried to get into her personal space a lot of times until Jay strictly told him to back off. Well, his bad, but what could he do? He was just a man who thought with his dick most of the time.

You heard him before you saw him, the sudden click of the door opening startling you enough to make you jump and turn around towards it. With the air freshener still in your hands, you came face to face with the most gorgeous man you had ever seen.

First thing you noticed about him was how tall he was, looking down at you even from a distance. His messy hairs fell over his forehead , his entire body clad in a casual black shirt and sweats attire. You gulped cuz this wasn't a part of the job. You were told to ready up the rooms for some very important people who would be staying at the hotel tonight but no one was supposed to be here for another hour or two. or maybe you messed up the timings again. Oh you were fucked.

The gorgeous man raised an amused eyebrow at your deer caught in the headlights stance and that's what finally made you break out of your inner monologue and you bowed to him, body on autopilot to do damage control

"I'm so sorry for the inconvenience sir, i wasn't aware you would get here this fast, I just need to fix the bed and I'll be done" you stuttered out, hoping a quick apology would be enough and turned back around to quickly fix the sheets, spraying the freshening spray around, hoping you won't be reported to the manager for this blunder.

What you failed to notice in your inner panic was how heeseung turned the lock of the door, setting the bolt in place, basically locking you in the room with him.

You didn't notice how his eyes scanned your figure while you apologized to him, or how his blood ran hot when the word "sir" came out from between those tempting, glossed lips of yours.

You didn't notice how his eyes ran shamelessly over your exposed legs, his tongue coming out to wet his lower lip while he ogled the curve of your ass as you bent over to fix the bed sheets.

Damn, heeseung thought, his dick twitching in interest, already leaking in his pants with how excited he was becoming at the sight of you.

You jumped upon feeling two large palms grabbing your sides, a squeak falling from your lips at the unwelcome touch

"What the fuck" was the first thing that came out of your mouth, caught too off gaurd to even react properly.

You tried to turn around to push him away but before you could even move he was twisting your body, manhandling you onto the bed. Your mouth opened to scream but a large palm stopped your attempt, your eyes widened in terror upon feeling his large body settle over yours, one tight grip on both of your wrists, trapping your hands above your head while his hand covered your mouth.

Heeseung was ecstatic, he could feel how soft you were against his hard body,your tiny figure squirming underneath his harsh hold, wide scared eyes staring up at him through wet lashes, he wanted to coo, you looked so adorable like this. Just ready to be fucked.

"You know I could easily get you fired sweetheart, just don't fight this" He threatened subtly, his calm voice oddly did the trick and you halted your struggling body.

You were a broke college student barely making ends meet. Your younger siblings depended on you for everything and so just the thought of getting fired was enough to chill your bones. That just wasn't something that you could afford. Tears flowed down your cheeks but you complied. Accepting your fate.

His eyes pivoted to your heaving chest, the open button at the top of your dress shirt giving him a peak of your perky mounds, driving him crazy with his rising lust for your body.

"Going to remove my hand but only if you'll be a good girl" he whispered, his hot breath fanned your face and you nodded too enthusiastically, making him chuckle and remove his hold on your mouth. His hand instantly moved to unbutton your shirt, making you sniffle into yourself. You closed your eyes in disgust, not wanting to see what was happening to your body, a sharp gasp leaving your lips when his rough hand squeezed your chest harshly.

An excited "fuck" fell from his lips upon feeling your soft tits, hardening him further in his pants. He duck down to run his nose along your clavicle, breathing you in while he groped the sensitive flesh of your boobs mercilessly. He traced the length of your neck and jaw, leaving small kisses and bites, eventually coming face to face with you.

"Open your pretty eyes I want you to see me do this to you" he whispered on your lips, taking the bottom one between his teeth. His nails dug into your mounds when you didn't listen, making you cry out in pain and giving into his wishes.

Your tear strained eyes looked into his lust blown hazy ones, watching how he suckled on your bottom lip, opening your mouth pliantly when he thrust his tongue into your mouth, licking and sucking, lewd noises coming from him at the taste of your tongue.

Heeseung was painfully hard. And as much as he wanted to take his time exploring your body, he was too fucking impatient to do so. His dick was weeping to get inside your warm fuck hole and he was not going to deprive himself of the much needed relief of your body any longer.

He moaned into your mouth, licking deeper while his hand travelled down between your legs, moving under your dress skirt to probe at your pussy from above your panties, making you gasp into his hungry mouth. That breathless gasp and the feel of your cunt was what did him in.

Removing himself from your body he climbed down the bed while you watched him petrified. Nerves frozen in anticipation of his next move.

"Take off your panties" He instructed you while he undressed his lower half, hastily taking off his sweats and boxers, exposing his hard and leaking dick to your terrified eyes.

You sobbed, your thighs closing upon the sight of his member, it was so big and you could already imagine the pain it was going to put you in. You saw how his jaw clenched at your lack of action, sharp and annoyed eyes staring daggers at your face

"we can both enjoy this if you don't fight me baby, or I can enjoy this alone I don't fucking mind it either way" He gritted through his teeth, climbing back on top of you. Before he could reach for your clothes your small hands were stopping him, sniffing softly as you took a good look at him. His inquisitive eyes watched you impatiently.

"O-okay" You whispered and slowly reached down to take off your panties, opening your legs for him. A weird tingling feeling was starting to build up in between your legs upon seeing his leaking length. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn't gotten laid in a while or maybe you were a freak but you could feel the moisture starting to accumulate in your pussy.

He bit his lower lip upon seeing you so pliant and ready to take him. God he needed to fuck the shit out of you. "That's a good fucking girl" he whispered.

He didn't wait any longer to aim his cock at your entrance, parting your pussy lips and breaching the opening of your cunt, a pained moan leaving your lips while he groaned in satisfaction at the feeling of your snug walls.

Your hands held onto his shoulders, your back arching at the feeling of him forcing himself inside of you so roughly, burying himself in your womb to the hilt.

"fuck yeah baby" He groaned upon feeling his balls slap your asscheeks, finally fitting his entire dick inside your warm and tight pussy.

He didn't give you time to adjust, his hips moving on pure animal instinct to fuck. You screamed in pain at his brutal movements but the constant bumping of his dick into your cervix was making your eyes roll back into your head.

His hips moved against yours roughly, pelvic smacking sounds filling up your senses. Heeseung's mind was focused on the singular thought of your pussy, brows furrowed and mouth open as he moved his dick in and out of you, enjoying the tight clench of your walls, giving him so much pleasure his entire body was on fire

"your cunt is making me feel so good" he panted on your face, his movements never ceasing, you could feel every drag of his veiny cock against your gummy walls, making you moan in pure pleasure

"You're getting wetter the more we fuck baby" He chuckled through strained voice, hoisting your legs over his shoulders, taking you deeper, penetrating his cock way past your womb.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, moaning helplessly as he grinded his lower body into yours, your colliding sexes making a mess now that you were leaking onto the sheets

"That's right-fuck-enjoy it with me, a little fun never hurt anybody" He grunted, increasing his pace, desperately chasing the friction your pussy was giving him

"Oh my god-" you screamed when he continued to beat your insides raw, bumping continuously against your g spot.

"Yeah? feels good doesn't it baby? giving it to you so good yeah?" he spoke, his thrusts merciless. Railing you into the bed.

Your hips chased his own, opening your legs further for him, enjoying the sex more than you were supposed to. If this was happening to you, you might as well enjoy it right?

Your lips attached themselves to his throat and he moaned, lust blown eyes staring down at you

"You are getting off to this you little fucking slut, fuck yeah " He spat at you in disgust but the twitch of his dick inside your womb didn't go unnoticed by you.

"You like when men force themselves inside your slutty little cunt yeah? makes you feel so good doesn't it baby?" His words only made you wetter, your juices leaking onto his balls.

He was busy pounding you into the sheets, the bed creaking loudly, skin slapping sounds so deafening you didn't hear the lock jingling and the door opening.

"Mhmm fuck, busy enjoying alone?" a manly voice interrupted your pleasure filled haze, your eyes darting to the side as a tall and even more gorgeous figure came in your field of vision. His eyes were focused on you and how heeseung was railing you.

Even though you wanted to hide away from his gaze, the lust filled phase your mind was in was turning you on more.

Heeseung didn't cease his movements, smirking at the spare key in sunghoon's hand, he sighed in pleasure at the way your pussy was clenching rapidly around his dick, excited at the prospect of someone watching you fuck

"little slut, she likes that you're here" he panted, folding your body in half and fastening his hips, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten.

"fuck keep clenching on me baby, I'm so fucking close" He groaned, his movements incessant, holding your hips and moving rapidly against you, harsh breaths fell from his lips, eyes focused on yours. He slotted his mouth against yours and moaned out loud, his hips stilling inside you while he filled you with his fuck cream,moaning in satisfaction.

His subtle grinds were frustrating you, needing more friction to reach your own high. Heeseung felt your hips pushing up from the bed to chase his dick and chuckled in disbelief

"you want more dick?" he asked pulling out of you with a pop and watching his thick cum leak out of your hole. You nodded, your hand moving down to circle on your clit, arching into your own touch like a literal sex hungry slut.

"fuck that's hot" sunghoon groaned and your eyes moved to him, his hand squeezed his bulge from above his pants while he watched your movements with hungry eyes. In your sex drunk haze you had forgotten he was even there. You opened your legs further, showing him what you were doing.

"You can stick it inside of her you know, bet she wants it bad" heeseung taunted at him, climbing down the bed and taking a seat on the couch across from it.

Sunghoon was scurrying to unzip his pants as soon as he understood the meaning of heeseung's words and before you knew he was settling over your body, rubbing his dick against your slit, making you bite your lower lip in anticipation of getting dicked down again.

"Where did you even find her, I thought we weren't supposed to fuck fans" He asked looking over at heeseung briefly before pushing himself inside you with a pained groan. You screamed at the sudden penetration, body squirming.

"so fucking tight" he let out through gritted teeth, snapping his hips into yours impatiently.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and arched your body into him. God he was so much bigger than heeseung, your pussy felt so full, you could already feel your high approaching.

"She's not a fan" heeseung groaned gruffly, making you glance over at him, your pussy clenched crazily upon seeing how he sat manspreading on the couch, his dick in his palm, jerking off while he watched you.

Sunghoon didn't question him further, at this point he couldn't care less about who you were, he just wanted to fuck your pussy and that's all that mattered to him.

His hands moved down to help you wrap your legs around his waist and he started thrusting inside of you, a pleasurable groan leaving him upon feeling your wet snatch

"warm and wet, she's like every guy's fucking wet dream" He grunted, his hips snapping rapidly into yours, fucking his dick into your fuck hole in a frenzy. He wasn't going to last long.

"she is isn't she, fucking slut, fuck her pussy , beat it till it's red and raw" Heeseung panted through gritted teeth, his movements fastening on his dick, squeezing his balls and sighing in the overwhelming pleasure.

"fuck yeah" sunghoon groaned and adjusted his hips to reach inside you deeper, making you moan in pleasure, incoherent words falling from your lips, you could taste your orgasm on the the tip of your tongue. "Such good pussy fuck yeah you should get paid for it" He chuckled breathlessly and you moaned at his words. No one had ever talked to you this way.

Your hips chased his dick desperately, fucking yourself back on him

"Yeah you like this don't you? - holy shit-like when men use your tight little cunt to jerk off their dicks don't u baby?" sunghoon panted on your face and you moaned, nodding your head while he pounded you into the sheets

"Cum In her hoon, fill that filthy pussy to the brim" heeseung moaned, his hips lifting off the couch as he watched your grinding bodies fucking like animals on the bed. Hot pleasure was running through his viens and he could feel himself close to another release.

"Shit yeah, so good, feels so good, yeah mhmmnfuck" sunghoon rambled burying his nose into the crook of your neck as his hips grinded into yours, feeling so close, so close, so-

A gutteral moan ripped from his throat and he was coming undone inside of your cunt,the feeling of his warm cum pushing you over the edge, moans and groans filling up the room

"fuck, fuck, fuck ugh God" Heeseung gasped, spilling his cum all over his hand and thighs, his stomach clenching and caving upon feeling such mind numbing pleasure.

Sunghoon's body fell upon yours, grinding a few times to properly fill you with his cum and then he was pulling out of your abused cunt. Groaning upon seeing the mess you were making on the sheets.

Your head lulled to the side in exhaustion, body so sore and mind so numb that you didn't even notice the flash going off as sunghoon captured the sight of your leaking pussy on his phone, saving it in his jerk off folder. He was quick to adjust his dick inside his pants and climb down the bed

"thanks man I needed that" He said and winked at heeseung. Heeseung nodded at him and watched as he left the room fully satisfied. His eyes fell on your spent and naked figure on the bed and he could feel his dick twitch in interest again. Fuck.

Before he could decide against it, he was picking up his phone and dialing jake's number

"Hello?" came jake's muffled voice from the speaker

"Come over to my room and bring Jay with you, I've got the perfect thing for you to relieve the pent up tension"

"Is it your ps5? Because I don't-

"It's a pussy"

Heeseung smiled upon hearing the instant scurrying he could hear over the speaker and he faintly heard jake calling jay's name before he hung up on him.

The night was going to be so so long.

[nikovraskol]

What were the reactions from the family in the original timeline where reader died?

masterlist - crack baby

if u saw alfred being mentioned .. no u didnt i forgot he was dead oopsy poopsy

soul crushing guilt.

the moon is high in the sky, and everyone's gearing up for patrol, though they can each tell that there's a strange blanket of silence around the manor.

bruce is perplexed, but it's fine -- he's probably just tired, it's probably nothing.

then he sees your lifeless body in an alley and he's fighting tears, his stomach churning as he gazes down at you -- his poor baby, lying in a pool of your own blood, your eyes glazed over, lifeless.

when jason died, he vowed to never let another one of his children die ever again, not like this. so why? you weren't even a vigilante, you were just.

he dives himself into work, searching for the bastards responsible for your death, when he finds them -- he'll give them a firm beating, he'll convey his anger, not as batman but as bruce wayne.

dick is absolutely devasted, he can't bring himself to look at your body, his poor baby. you must've felt soso alone, scared as you bleed out. he wishes he could've spent more time with you, wishes that he took you out for dinner that one time. he buries himself in hero work, much like bruce, trying to distract himself -- but it doesn't work! everything reminds him of you. he wishes he could've seen you smile so widely at him, just one more time.

jason, on the other hand, doesn't try to distract himself. he reaches forward and searches for the murderes with a deep sense of rage. he understands you, he does! he knows what it feels like to be neglected, forgotten -- pushed aside as an afterthought as bruce pushes in another sibling in a place that should've been yours, you could've opened up to him, he could've looked back at you. he feels a burning hot rage, an itch for revenge -- but beneath his anger is a deep sense of vulnerability. of the knowledge that he failed you, his precious sibling. he doesn't think he can forgive himself.

tim doesn't believe it at first. you got shot on your way home from work? what a silly joke. and then he takes in the sullen expression on bruce's face and he faced with a deep sense of hopelessness. how .. unexpected. he doesn't know how to move on, you didn't play an intengral role in his life but as the days pass he's acutely aware of the small things you did that affected him, the way you would boil water before you went to bed for him, or how you'd leave some painkillers on the counter -- all those small things that seemed to meaningless to him, he's forced to acknowledge his own shortcomings as your brother. he doesn't know how to move on, he doesn't want to move on.

damian, poor damian, he's crushed. you're dead? you? his older sibling? sure, he may have bullied you since the moment you stepped into the manor, not once did he show you positive affection. but he cares for you! in his own, twisted way! he's faced with crushing guilt, unable to look in the mirror without seeing you -- without seeing the resigned expression on your lifeless face. he always knew you were weak, but dying to a few bullets? that's--.. he can't bring himself to belittle you, not anymore, not with the suffocating guilt he's forced to face.

they have no memories of you, aside from the small child you were, shyly observing from afar -- to the lifeless body you are now. they scavange for every picture they could find, anything they can to remember you by!

if only they had a chance to redo it, to show you just how much you mean to them. :(

[navybrat817]

On the Rocks

Pairing: Bartender!Ari Levinson x Female Reader

Summary: You're not sure why Ari doesn't seem to like you, but you two have to work together.

Word Count: Over 2.4k

Warnings: Tension, coworkers, bit of grumpy and sunshine, misunderstanding, future smut, Ari Levinson and he's slightly rude at first (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: More Beach Fun Nonsense! Hope you lovelies enjoy this intro to my Gin and Bear It AU. @spectre-posts requested bartender!Ari to Go for a Swim (smut) with prompt #13 in bold. TECHNICALLY not smut, but there will be smut in future parts. 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!

You weren't one to brag, but you were good at your job. You showed up on time and stayed late if necessary. Never dropped a tray or drink. Didn't skip out on cleaning or any other tasks. And not only were you attentive with your customers, you showed just enough skin to keep it professional and never went home with anyone at the end of the night. Your work ethic helped you earn the respect of just about everyone at the establishment.

Except for Ari Levinson.

You eyed the gorgeous bearded man behind the bar, your blood rushing faster through your veins. He didn't spare you a glance. He hardly ever did. Everyone else who worked there got a smile from him. Even a smirk. But you? An unimpressed look was what you got on a good day. You chalked it up to you being a new member of the staff, until the barback who started after you received kinder treatment from him.

To be fair, it wasn't like Ari hated you. He didn't seem to particularly like you either. For the life of you, you couldn't figure out why. Maybe there wasn't a specific reason. Some people just didn't mesh well. It didn't stop you from treating him like every other coworker. The two of you had to work together whether he liked it or not.

“Hey,” you smiled as you stopped at the bar and set your tray down. You waited a second for him to acknowledge you, but he kept drying glasses. “Three Jack and Cokes, please.”

That got Ari's attention. He didn't have to greet you, but you both had a job to do. You waited in silence while he made the drinks. He didn't look at you, but you looked at him.

He was in good shape. Great shape, in fact. With his large and somewhat intimidating size, you were surprised he wasn't a bouncer. He was a good bartender though. He wouldn't have a job there if he wasn't.

It wasn't right how attracted you were to him since he never seemed to give you the time of day.

“Thanks,” you said when he set the drinks on the tray for you.

He grunted and turned to put the bottle back.

“You know, we’ve been working together for almost three months. One of these days you may actually carry on a conversation with me instead of answering me with random sounds,” you teased.

“I'm here to work, not chat,” he said over his shoulder, his deep voice sending a wonderful shiver down your spine despite his statement. “You should do the same.”

You sighed when you picked up the tray. “I’m just trying to be friendly.”

Like always.

“Don't need friends.”

It was a bit of an odd statement. You said friendly, not friends specifically. “Aren't Steve and Bucky your friends?” You asked. They were two of the other bartenders. Best friends and good to the rest of the staff. Protective, too, always quick to jump in if a customer got mouthy or handsy.

Ari’s jaw clenched as he faced you, but you didn't cower. “Yeah, they are.”

You may not have cowered under his gaze, but you sure as hell felt small the longer he looked at you. “But you don't want to be my friend,” you said.

“I don't need more friends,” he said dismissively as your stomach dropped. You wished it didn't hurt to hear that and you had to blink rapidly when you felt a familiar telltale burning in your eyes. “Anything else?”

Plastering a smile back on your face that didn't quite reach your eyes, you straightened up. “Noted. We aren't and won't be friends,” you said before you added with more bite than you intended, “And don't worry, Ari. I don't need anything from you.”

He must've noticed the shift in your tone, too, since his jaw clenched harder than before. You walked off before he had a chance to say anything, cursing yourself inwardly at your tone. You shouldn't have let his dismissal get under your skin. Besides, he was right. You were there to work and your customers needed their drinks.

So, why did it bother you so much that Ari didn't want to be your friend? It shouldn't matter. There were lots of people who worked together who never talked or saw each other outside of their jobs. You wished he would've given you a chance, but you’d respect his decision.

For the rest of the night though, you planned to avoid him like the plague.

As your shift went on, you felt Ari’s eyes on you. Instead of looking back at him or giving him a smile like usual, you ignored him or acted like he wasn't there. You didn't stop at his end of the bar, going instead to Steve to get your drinks. For the first time since you started working there, you had Ari's full attention.

And for once, you didn't want it.

By the end of your shift once you wrapped up just about all of your tasks, you were ready to get out of there. “Any plans after closing?” You asked Steve, counting out tips for him.

“I might be seeing someone,” he smiled gently, his gaze flickering to a woman sitting alone at a table.

You raised an eyebrow. Patrons hit on the guys all the time, but it was rare for them to take anyone home. “Well, I hope you have a good time,” you said before nodding over to Bucky who was sitting at the bar, too. “Isn't it your night off?”

Bucky smiled softly. “It is, but my girl should be here in a few minutes. We won't stay long.” His girl has gone through some heartbreak before she rolled into town and the brunette quickly became her knight in shining armor.

“You have fun, too,” you said, sliding off the stool with a sigh.

Steve’s brows pinched. “You okay?”

“I will be,” you said, not wanting to lie to him and pretend you were fine. You also didn't want to get into what was going on. Feeling sorry for yourself didn't do you any good and everything would be okay tomorrow.

“You sure?” Steve swung his head toward Ari. “You think I didn't notice that you haven't been back to that end of the bar?”

You glanced in that direction, inhaling sharply as you met Ari’s gaze. He crossed his as he stared you down, tension as thick as fog. All you could see were the blue of his eyes and you had to look away so you didn't lose yourself.

“Just an off night. Nothing to worry about,” you said, pushing over Steve’s cut. “And I’m out for the night unless you need anything else.”

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look. “Need one of us to walk you out?” Bucky offered.

“No, I’m good,” you said, sighing again when you realized you’d have to pass by Ari to leave. You also had to give him his tips. “Enjoy the rest of the night.”

Ari stood in the same spot as you walked toward him, your heart beating erratically. One day he may not make your heart race like that. “Night,” you smiled sadly, setting his tips down on the bar and walking on.

You grabbed your bag from the backroom and headed out for the evening with your keys in hand, shivering at the slight chill in the air. It wasn't until you were about halfway to your car that you heard footsteps behind you, making you tense up. Maybe you should've had someone walk you out.

“Hey.” It was Ari. “Wait up.”

You stopped and turned to face him with a quizzical look. “Why? Do you need something?”

Ari looked up at the night sky and ran a hand through his long hair, but didn't reply. You were two seconds away from walking to your car when you heard above a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” You asked when he met your eye. “Sorry for what exactly?”

“I was an asshole to you earlier,” he replied, surprising you as he took a step forward. “Been kind of an asshole to you since day one when you've been nothing but friendly.”

“Yeah, I know,” you said. Why did it matter now?

A stricken look crossed his features before he put up his mask again. “Why were you so nice to me then when I was an asshole to you?”

You shrugged, trying to convey that it wasn't a big deal. “Because I had no reason to be rude to you, Ari,” you replied. It was that simple. “I was upset earlier though and I did avoid your side of the bar, but it’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“But-”

“You don't have to like me. You really don't,” you told him, the words bittersweet. “But we do have to work together. So as long as we’re civil to each other, it’s fine.”

You fought the urge to step back when Ari took another step forward. There was usually a bar between the two of you when you stood near him. Up close with nothing between you showed just how large he was. And he smelled good, too, because of course he did. “I never said I didn't like you.”

“Maybe not with words, but your actions kind of said it for you. Seriously, there’s an obvious difference in your demeanor with me versus everyone else,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, there is,” he agreed, his blue eyes full of regret. At least he acknowledged that.

“Not to mention, you just said tonight that you didn't need more friends. Between that and your attitude, the natural assumption is that you don't like me,” you said. What else were you meant to think?

He nodded. “I can see why you’d think that, but I'm sorry.”

Both of you stayed quiet for a moment. You weren't exactly sure what to say. “Okay, well. Apology accepted, I guess. Good night.”

“Wait,” he said when you began to turn away. “Do you really wanna know what I thought about you when you started working here?”

The skeptical look was back on your face. “I’ll admit I'm curious, but I won't just stand here if you’ll continue to be an asshole to me.”

He chuckled. Did you actually make him laugh? “I wouldn't expect you to,” he said, taking a breath. “This might get me fired if you complain.”

“Just say it, please,” you half begged. “Whatever it is, it can't be-”

“I wanted to bend you over the bar and fuck you ‘til you screamed my name.”

You sputtered, an embarrassing sort of sound. It wasn't what you expected to hear. Ari Levinson wanted to fuck you? Since the moment you met?

“You what?” You asked, wanting to hear him say it again.

“I want you and I’ve imagined fucking you all over the bar every day since you started working here. The tables, the booths, the office, against the wall, even in the bathroom stalls,” he spoke, his voice deep and confident as you tried not to whimper. How were you already wet? “But not just that.”

You bit your lip. “What else?”

His gaze softened. “I think about your smile. You have such a beautiful smile.” You did whimper this time. Since when was praise so important? “And how you giggle at bad jokes. And how you sway your hips to the songs you like. And how you're just so fucking kind, even to those who don't deserve it.”

“You like me?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

You held up a hand, your head spinning from his confession. “Wait. Hold on,” you said, trying to get your bearings and not throw yourself into his arms. You needed to have some self respect. “You’ve been an asshole to me because you like me?”

Why do men do dumb things?

Ari winced. “Not my smartest plan, I’ll admit, but I thought pushing you away before anything happened was the best move.”

“Why though? Why push me away?” You asked.

He clenched and unclenched his fists. “I don't like to mix business with pleasure. Been there, done that.” It wasn't a secret that Ari was single, but there was a story there. “But that doesn't excuse being cold toward you. And if you’re willing, I’d like to start over.”

You searched his gaze for sincerity and found it. “So would I.”

His expression softened more, relieved. The fact that he wanted to try gave you hope for things moving forward. “And maybe we can grab a coffee at the diner? Just talk?”

Your eyes rounded. Was Ari asking you out? “When? Now?” You asked.

He smiled. “If you’re free.”

You smiled back and shook your head. “Nope. Sorry, Ari.”

Ari's smile fell immediately. “No?” He repeated the word in disbelief. You were in disbelief yourself. “No you aren't free or no you don't want to hang out with me?”

“Any other day, I’d love to have a coffee with you and talk or for you to make good on that promise of bending me over the bar and making me scream your name. But tonight?” You batted your eyes for good measure. “No, I don't.”

“Oh.” Ari blinked and cleared his throat. “I guess that makes sense after how I acted.”

“It makes perfect sense. A quick apology doesn't get you off scott free for how you treated me,” you told him, taking a step closer yourself this time. “So change my mind.”

“Change your mind?”

“Yeah. Let's start over like you suggested and you find a way to change my mind. I'm not saying you have to be overly friendly during our shifts, but treat me a little better. Show me why I should give you a chance and ask me again later,” you answered, gliding your fingers along his forearm once you were close enough. “And I'll still be nice to you. I promise.”

“So, you want me to woo you?” He smirked after a moment, one that nearly made your panties melt. “I can do that.”

You giggled. “I think I deserve it.”

“You do. And my first step in mending things,” he said, offering his arm as he stepped back. “How about I walk you to your car?”

“You may,” you smiled, linking your arm with his. You felt him flex a bit and you almost giggled again, a spring in your step as you walked. One day you’d feel him pin you down with that strength. You’d be patient though.

After all, he promised to woo you first.

How do we think he'll make it up to you? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[anastasia12]

Simon "Ghost" Riley NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of spanking, mentions of knife play, mentions of somnophilia, mentions of bondage, possessive Ghost, mentions of masturbation, mentions of breeding kink, mentions of being mugged, marking, just general smut

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

This man will NOT rest until you are satisfied, both during and after sex.

You name it - a bath, massage, satin bedsheets and chocolate - it's yours.

He knows how hard it is to take all of him given both his sheer size and how rough he can be, so he knows you deserve nothing less than the best for your service.

He never thought he'd be on the giving end of the whole "Thank you for your service" speech.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His: His legs, particularly his thighs. Loves how strong they are and how much you like them, too.

Have been many occasions where you've called him "dummy thick", thus leading to him actually acknowledging how large his thighs are.

Enjoys bending you over his thigh and spanking you. Period.

Yours: Anything he can mark. Which is everything.

Man will find a way to make sure you look like you've been JUMPED by how many hickeys he leaves on your body.

And if it weren't for their placement - on your neck, chest and between your thighs - people would likely assume you had been mugged.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Will cum inside you at any given opportunity.

After fucking you raw for the first time, he can't go back to wearing condoms now.

He will if you ask him, but you both enjoy the feeling when he doesn't.

Will absolutely cover you in his cum btw. And I mean c o v e r - for therapeutic purpuses.

"Therapeutic" meaning he wants to show you who owns you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Takes a pair of your underwear with him when he's called back on duty.

They remind him of your touch, your body. Make him feel a little less closer to you.

Also uses them to jack off; man is busting a fat nut whenever he's holding your underwear in one hand and milking himself with the other.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

In theory, very, but he's had few-to-no chances of getting to exercise his galaxy brain knowledge.

That said, he knows exactly which buttons to press to have you crying under him. And is not ashamed to abuse that power.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

If you're AFAB: Missionary. Loves watching his cock bulge in your stomach as he ploughs into you. Your parted lips and pleading sobs are a source of intoxicating validation for him that he is the only man you'll ever want or need. He's just making sure you know that, too.

If you're AMAB: Doggy style. He threads one hand through your hand and grips it, pulling your head back to whisper obscenities in your ear. He's pushing down on the small of your back with his other hand, making sure you're not getting away from him that easily.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Dead serious.

If y'all fucking, it's either because he's showing you the most vulnerable, exposed corners of his love for you, and humour has no place in the bedroom at a time like this; or he's angry. Either way, the only smile he's cracking is one of sheer love or absolute cruelty.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

When he's away, he doesn't need to keep himself trimmed or presentable since no-one's going to be seeing that part of him.

When he's home, however, he'll get himself into hair and makeup if that's your preference. But there will be times when he forgets or simply can't be bothered, but he'll try his best :-).

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

In the bedroom, nothing else exists aside from you and him.

He'll pour his soul out to you through physical touch rather than words, unless he's feeling particularly sentimental and needs you to hear how much you mean to him, how good you make him feel (both sexually and non-sexually).

Makes intense eye contact with you throughout, half-lidded and eyes glazed with the impenetrable sheen of lust and love.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he's away, he'll jack off once every 2-3 days, his line of work making it difficult for him to have enough time alone to: 1.) get hard, and 2.) jack off.

When he's home, he rarely does it because he doesn't need to. He has you, and you've never turned him down, nor has he you. But if you've fallen asleep and he's still horny, and you didn't agree to partaking in somnophilia or he doesn't want to wake you, he'll deal with the issue himself.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Oh boy, here we go *cracks knuckles*.

Breeding kink - he wants complete ownership of you, and having part of him literally inside you is the best way he goes about it. That, and he just wants to have a happy family (aww).

Somnophilia (as previously discussed) - just something about you trusting him enough to handle your unconscious body sends him feral.

Size kink - man's massive, you're not. Likes having his ego stroked by seeing his cock bulging inside you. Need there be more said?

Knife kink - again with the trust; it means a lot to him.

Bondage - please see above. This man is a top through and through and he thrives off people being at his mercy.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

At home, in the bedroom, shower, living room - anywhere familiar enough that he feels safe.

Not just for his sake, but for yours, too.

He needs to be somewhere secure so he can protect you.

He knows the layout of the house and so feels most confident there. Means he can relax and take his time with you.

Also means nobody else will have their prying eyes all over you

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Just you.

But if you do something that makes him remember just how special you make him feel (so basically anything), he is down horrendous.

Will not let you go until you've felt the full extent of his love.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Any form of bodily harm.

He's terrified of hurting you.

With knife play, it's different because he can control his strength and knows he's not going to cut you deep enough (if at all) to leave any permanent scars or damage).

And thus will avoid any possible scenario where he could end up breaking that streak.

Also wouldn't have a threesome or a couple swap.

You're his and his alone, and his soul belongs to you.

He wouldn't see anyone else as a threat and more so a mockery, and trust that Ghost does not like his ego being injured.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves receiving and giving.

He's a simple man; he sees an opportunity for head, he takes it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on the mood.

He usually enjoys going slow and pressing scorching kisses to your body if you or him want to. But when he's angry or wants to finish, he'll go fast and rough (given that you want it and can stand it).

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Doesn't partake in them.

He likes to take his time with you, even if he's angry-fucking.

He'll draw out the entire experience for as long as you can stay awake to feel it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's open-minded and will try anything you want to and will perform it to the best of his ability.

Unless it's anything to do with involving someone else.

He will not share you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Too many.

He'll outlast you by a good three rounds given his rigorous military training, patience, and behemoth build.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Doesn't own many, if any, since you've only ever needed each other to be satisfied.

Would be open-minded if you wanted to experiment, though.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If he's feeling patient, he'll refuse to penetrate you, instead poking and prodding and stroking anywhere but where you need him most.

After that, he'll just edge you for hours until he knows you can't take it anymore.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Can be vocal but will usually grunt or groan.

Isn't a natural moaner like Konig or Alejandro, but that doesn't mean your touch doesn't drive him to the edge of insanity.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You are the light of his life and will not hesitate to stop if he thinks he's hurt you in a way you're not into.

You'll have to reassure him many times before you can continue that yes, you're okay. No, you don't need an ice pack.

He only does it because he has the upmost respect for you and loves you with every fibre the universe has to offer.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

8 inches, very girthy.

Struggles fitting it in sometimes; it burns when he pushes into you if you don't have time to be warmed up, but that doesn't stop the two of you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

When he's away: he's in dangerous situations more often than not, so he doesn't really get the chance to havea sex drive. However, as mentioned earlier, he'll jack off every 2-3 days, so pretty average.

When he's at home: he can and will go at any time. If you want to spend the whole day in bed, then so be it; Ghost's not one to say no to someone in peril.

Would spend every day with you like that if he could.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends on if you want or need aftercare after the fact.

If you don't, he'll wait until you've fallen asleep and join you.

But if he's giving you aftercare, he'll wait until you're tucked in bed and wait until you fall asleep.

[godsfavdarling]

waiting for the day to end

my masterlist, part 2

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader summary: You and Spencer come back to his apartment, and your boyfriend’s drunken state brings old wounds to the surface. words: 2,3k warnings: angst, panic attack, drunk Spencer, mentions reader's ex-bf who was an alcoholic, no y/n a/n: I'm imagining later seasons Spence but I am not gonna yuck anybody's yum!

You smoothly place the keys in the lock of his apartment and quickly turn them twice to unlock the door. The dark room abruptly brightens when you flick the light switch on.

Spencer, who has been leaning against the wall near you, stumbles into the room right behind you.

The door slams shut behind him, the thud reverberating through the room.

You flinch, spinning around at the jarring sound.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbles, a bit unsteady.

He throws himself onto the armchair with a heavy sigh, his head lolling back as he closes his eyes.

You murmur under your breath, “I’ll get you some water,” and head toward the kitchen, your heels clacking against the floor. 

In the quiet, you take a few deep breaths to steady yourself before filling two glasses of water. 

When you bring them back, you hand one to Spencer, urging him to drink. He gulps it down immediately, nearly draining the glass in one go.

You’ve never really seen him like this.

Spencer rarely—almost never—drinks. But tonight, it’s obvious just how far gone he is. He’s coherent enough to hold himself up, and his words still make sense, but you can tell he isn’t fully present. 

He was already fading hours ago, just an hour into dinner at Rossi's when his team had convinced him to relax and celebrate Garcia’s birthday with a few drinks.

Now, he’s staring off into space, eyes glassy, a faint smile still lingering from whatever joke had last drifted through his mind. You swallow, feeling the anxiety tug at you.

You felt it early on. But you tried to ignore it.

Spencer was different. 

He was responsible and careful. He liked being sober and in control. He was someone who avoided excess.

He was not a drunk. 

You knew all this and tried to stay rational. 

After his third drink, though, all that rationality flew out the window. With the last gulp of his third drink, you decided to excuse yourself, claiming you weren't feeling well, and spent most of the evening outside. The poker game was so intense that no one really questioned you or bothered to check on you.

You had thought, knowing Spencer’s sharp observation skills, that he would come find you shortly and ask what was wrong. He always did. He could always tell when something was off and always wanted to know. But tonight, he didn’t.

You waited, each minute stretching longer than the last, hoping he’d realize and come find you, that he’d be his usual self. But as the laughter and clinking glasses carried on from inside, you realized he was somewhere you couldn’t reach him tonight.

As you watched him now, slouched in the armchair with you far away from him sitting on the edge of the couch, your heart ached. 

This wasn’t the Spencer you knew. He was lost in his thoughts, barely acknowledging your presence. You handed him your glass of water, and he took it with a mumbled "thanks", sipping it more slowly this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” you finally asked, unable to keep the concern out of your voice.

He looked up at you, his eyes a bit clearer but still distant. “Yeah, just... tired,” he replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You nodded, but the anxiety still sat inside you.

Stop!

Spencer is not him! 

He is nothing like him!

You keep staring at him, fidgeting with your fingers and the hem of your black velvet dress, feeling helpless as you try to guess what he wants. 

Is he going to stay here for a while? Does he need more water? Is he going to shower, or maybe just head to bed?

Finally, Spencer glances up, his gaze focusing on you as if for the first time tonight. His brows knit together as he notices the anxious look in your eyes. 

"What’s wrong?" he asks, his voice soft but tinged with confusion.

You swallow, feeling a rush of emotions you’ve been holding back all evening. He’s looking at you now, really looking, like he usually does, but something about his unsteady, drunken state makes you hesitate. 

He’s here, yet somehow not fully here, and you’re not sure how to answer.

You force a smile, shrugging as if it’s nothing, but your heart pounds. "Just… tired, I guess."

Spencer’s gaze doesn’t waver, and you know he sees through your answer, even in his state. 

Now he sees. 

He’s silent, watching you with a slight frown like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. The quiet stretches between you, heavy and thick.

You glance away, twisting the hem of your dress tighter. 

"Maybe you should get some rest," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. You try to keep the tremor out, but it’s there. A lot of it.

He’s never seen you like this—not this vulnerable, this close to tears. You’ve not been dating that long. A lot of things are still unknown, unsaid, unshared and the toxic, drunk but highly functioning, unpredictable boyfriends have not yet come out in any conversation.

"I’ll be fine," Spencer mutters, rubbing his face with one hand as he sinks further into the chair.

His words are gentle, but they’re not the reassurance you’re aching for. 

You wish he’d tell you he’d never do this again, that he understands why this is hard for you. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, distant and hazy.

A lump forms in your throat as the silence presses down on you. You stand up, needing some distance, and force a tight smile. "I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll go… take a walk or something."

As you turn to leave, Spencer reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice soft but unsteady. "It’s like 2 AM. You’re not going anywhere alone."

You stop, frozen, a tightness forming in your chest. You want to say it’s fine, that you just need space, but the words feel like they’re stuck in your throat. Instead, he continues, unaware of how badly his presence is affecting you right now.

“Let’s take a walk together. It’ll help,” he offers, his voice tinged with concern, though still a little slurred.

You turn sharply, frustration and something darker bubbling up in your chest. “No!” you snap, louder than you intended, the word echoing in the quiet room. You instantly regret it, but the hurt is too raw, too overwhelming. You try to swallow the sudden surge of emotion, but it’s too much.

You finally realize that his hand in on your arm, and the realization hits like a cold wave. You feel an intense rush of discomfort. You don’t want him near you right now. 

The feeling of his fingers on your skin, even though they’re meant to comfort, feels wrong.

You can’t breathe. You can’t handle his touch, not like this, not after everything that’s happened. You jerk away, backing up, your heart hammering.

Without a word, you turn and storm toward the bathroom. You lock the door behind you and lean against it for a second, trying to steady your breath. 

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the anger and fear swirling inside you until you can hardly tell the difference between the two.

It’s not his fault, you think, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside your chest.

He’s just drunk, he’ll be sober soon, but... why does it still feel so wrong?

You press your hands to your face, feeling the tears already starting to form.

I’m not that person anymore. I’m not going to let this take me back. I can’t let it.

Your thoughts race, but you force yourself to focus, turning the shower on. The sound of the water helps. 

You quickly but clumsily step out of the dress and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the tiles. 

You step under the hot spray, closing your eyes, letting the warmth soothe the tension in your muscles.

Just wash it off, just wash it off, you tell yourself as if the water could cleanse more than just your skin.

You’re lost in the sensation of the water for long minutes when there’s a gentle knock on the bathroom door. 

You freeze. Your heart skipping a beat.

“Hey… uh… I really need to pee,” Spencer calls out, his voice even softer than before.

You swallow, fighting the panic rising in your throat, and quickly shut off the water. You wrap a towel around your body and open the door just enough for you to slip past him. Without a word, you go into the bedroom and gracelessly put on one of the shirts you left in his drawer.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow everything will be fine, you think, climbing into bed, curling up under the covers. 

You just want this day to end. You need it to end.

Then it hits you—you’re in his bed.

You stand up and then sit again on the edge.

You should go home. You should be in your own bed. You want to get up, gather your things, get dressed, and leave, but you're paralyzed. You're overwhelmed. You can’t breathe. You can’t move.

Then Spencer walks into the room, his gaze landing on you. As if he can read the turmoil in your mind, he says softly, "It's late. Stay here tonight. Take the bed. I’ll take the couch."

You don’t say anything, unable to find the words.

He pauses, watching you for a moment, before quietly pulling his pajamas from the closet and heading into the bathroom.

You just need to sleep. You’ll sleep it off, and when you wake up, things will make sense again. Maybe Spencer will apologize. 

Apologize for what?

He didn’t do anything wrong.

He’ll be sober. Everything will go back to normal.

But sleep doesn’t come. The bed feels cold, and the silence in the room is suffocating. You can’t shake the thoughts in your head.

What if he doesn’t remember?

What if he won’t leave it and you’ll have to explain and he’ll be angry?

Why are you angry?

Why are you upset?

Just as you're about to give up on sleep altogether, you hear the soft creak of the door opening. Spencer slips into the room quietly, his footsteps hesitant. He walks to the bed, sitting down beside you without saying anything at first.

"Are you asleep?" he asks quietly, his voice gentle, almost too careful. You feel his gaze on you, even though you’re facing the window, your back to him.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t want to talk to him right now. You don’t want to explain why everything feels broken. You don’t want him to ask.

But you can feel him there, his presence. 

Finally, he speaks again, his voice low but steady. “Please... can we talk? I don't wanna go to bed with you upset and angry.”

You don’t move, staring into the dark. You wish you could say the right thing. You wish you could fix it, but all you feel is a dull ache in your chest, and the thought that maybe nothing will ever be the same again.

Spencer’s hand reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as he hesitates for a moment before gently moving toward you. "Hey, I—" His voice cracks, and you can hear the sorrow in it, the regret, the helplessness.

But as his arms come closer, something inside you recoils. You can’t have him near you right now. Not like this. Not when everything feels so wrong.

You flinch, turning away from him instinctively, the words coming out before you even have a chance to stop them. “Please don’t touch me.”

The words hang between you like a heavyweight. 

Spencer freezes, his hand hovering in mid-air, and for a second, everything is still. You can hear his breathing — shallow, uneven — as if he’s trying to understand, trying to process what just happened.

You don’t want him to feel hurt, but you can’t help it. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a raw nerve, and his touch, even if it's meant to comfort, feels suffocating.

“Okay,” Spencer finally says, his voice small, resigned. He pulls his hand back slowly, as though giving you space to breathe. 

You don’t look at him. You can’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice distant now, like he’s trying to find his footing again. “I just... I’m not sure what happened. I know hurt you. I don’t know how but I’m sorry.”

The silence lingers, thick and uncomfortable, wrapping itself around both of you. Spencer hesitates for a long moment, unsure of what to do or say next. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t lift yours. 

Finally, he clears his throat softly.

“I’ll... I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” he says, his voice gentle and careful like he’s trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

“It’s okay. If you want to talk... or anything... just come and tell me. I’ll be here.”

You don’t say anything. You still don’t look at him. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice, the aching honesty of it.

If only his words, his willingness to be there even when you’ve pushed him away could make things better.

But you don’t answer him, because you don’t have the strength to. You don’t know what to say.

Spencer sighs quietly, almost like a final surrender, and then you hear his footsteps moving away from you.

The door opens and closes softly behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence of the room once more.

Spencer’s words echo in your mind, but they don’t bring comfort. Not yet. 

[fairysluna]

Hi! Could I please request another threesome with Cregan, reader and Jace. Maybe they get jealous when they see reader with another men and want to teach her a lesson? Thank you and love your blog!

i get drunk on jealousy.

Modern!AU — After they've ignored you for a week, you were desperate to have their attention back. Flirting with a random guy might not be the best idea.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader x Jacaerys Velaryon.

TAGS — polyrelationship/polyamorous, m/m/f, smut (p in v, clit play, handjob, oral sex, creampie, spitting, cum eating, male on male action), jace x cregan, use of alcohol and drugs, kind of drunk sex, dom!cregan, switch!jace, sub!reader, jealousy, cursing. If something is missing let me know!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE — Don't expect so much of this fic, I saw this picture, I saw a vision, and basically my horniness wrote this by itself. Not my best work, but fuck it, this is just for fun. Also, this made me realize that I'm unable to write dom!Jace if Cregan is there too, oops??? I guess??? NO BETA, WE DIE LIKE MEN.

I took this request as an excuse to write this fic so... thank you for sending it and hope you enjoy this!🤍

WORD COUNT — 3.1k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤenglish is not my first language.

Most people on Campus knew about your strange relationship with Cregan and Jacaerys. Some guys would often call you a whore behind your back, while some girls would prefer the term ‘lucky bitch’; it was no secret that the both of them were quite known for being handsome and gallant, almost acting like real life prince-charmings. Every girl would drool for them, acknowledging their chivalry and politeness. Of course, they already knew about the attention that they received from the opposite sex, they knew about how many girls would love to be in your position. Which is why they didn't understand why you were so eager to act like a brat.

Jace tapped Cregan's shoulder as he saw you chatting with some random guy that suddenly appeared next to you on the couch. Neither of them had seen him before, he was probably a freshman or someone that sneaked into the party without invitation. Both pairs of eyes were intently staring at you, watching every move you make. They knew you weren't oblivious enough to not see it; he was obviously flirting with you, and you were clearly enjoying every moment of it. Jacaerys, being the most jealous out of the three of you, tightened his grip around his bottle of beer, his fingertips turning white as Cregan turned to look at him.

“Don't do anything stupid,” he warned him. “She'll deal with us later.”

“But look at her!” Jace snapped, his breathing ragged.

“She's doing it to piss us off,” Cregan attempted to calm him down. “She won't do anything with that guy. Just wait until the party's over and we'll take care of it, okay?”

He looked at him, obediently nodding as he took a long sil out of his beer to calm down a bit. Jace forbade himself to turn your way, ignoring your desperate attempt to make them jealous. Cregan, being a lot less hotheaded than Jace, acted nonchalantly toward your attitude, pretending you were doing nothing wrong, even when he wanted to grab your arm and take you right in that couch just to clarify that you belong to them.

Cregan knew your purpose, you both had spoken about it earlier that day after one of your classes together. They both have been ignoring you, neglecting your needs and spending more time alone — without you. At first you didn't mind it, thinking that they were busy with the final exams and their final projects of the semester; however, when you knew they were using all that time to plan this stupid party you got pissed, almost screaming at him in the middle of the campus, frustrated. Now here you were, sitting with a freshman trying to get in your pants, all while they were still ignoring you.

Both guys spent the rest of the night drinking, playing some games with other members of the fraternity and having a blast while you were standing in a corner, alone and bored; your two lovers out of your sight. Perhaps that was why you couldn't see Jace searching for you everytime he could, unable to control the jealousy that had grown within him. He couldn't find you anywhere around, which made his mind overthink about where you were, and with whom. Cregan would try to calm him down, offering him his blunt which Jace would accept in order to relax.

Hours passed, it was 4am when the music stopped and everyone passed out in random parts of the fraternity house. Cregan and Jace were stumbling their way up to their dorm, the effects of the alcohol still lingering in their bodies as they struggled to reach for their room. They both were holding onto each other until they opened the door and saw you standing in front of the mirror, wiping off your make up and getting ready to sleep. They noticed you had moved their beds together, making a bigger one as you usually do whenever you stayed with them.

They entered the room in silence, and while Cregan was closing the door and turning the lock, Jace stood closer to you almost drooling once he saw you were wearing one of his shirts. He wrapped his arms around your waist and hid his face on the crock of your neck, leaving wet kisses all over your skin and completely forgetting about the fact that he was supposed to be ignoring you.

“You're so fucking weak, Jace,” Cregan scolded him, removing his shoes and shirt, getting ready to bed.

You turned to look at the eldest guy, who just ignored your intense gaze.

“You're mad?” you dared to ask.

“We both are, actually,” Jacaerys murmured against your skin.

“And why would you be mad? I should be the angry one!”

“Oh, really?” Cregan finally turned, stepping closer to you. “Why is that?”

“You know why! We talked about this and you decided to keep ignoring me!”

Stark laughed dryly, his gray eyes getting darker as he narrowed them. “Is that why you've been acting like a fucking whore tonight? Trying to get into a freshman's pants to get our attention. Fucking pathetic.” He took a step close enough to grab your jaw and force you to look at him. You tried to squirm away from him, but Jace's arms tightened their grip around your body, and you had no escape. “Jace couldn't even enjoy the fucking party because he thought you were sucking another guy's cock. You think that's fair? To make him feel like shit the entire night because you were just needy of attention?”

“I- I didn't-”

“You broke my heart tonight, sweetheart,” Jace whispered in your ear as his fingers reached the hem of your shirt. “You need to pay for what you've done…”

“I'm- I'm sorry, I never meant to-”

“It seems like you need a lesson,” Cregan interrupted you, tightening his grip on your face and making you whine. “Something to remind you that you belong to us.”

Jacaerys' hand cupping your core with one of his hands, burying his fingers between your folds and covering them with your growing slick. He giggled, “she's not wearing panties…” he informed, smiling up at Cregan who clenched his jaw.

“Get her on her knees,” he commanded, and the youngest obeyed immediately, letting you go from his firm grip.

You fell to your knees, scratching them with the raspy carpet beneath you. Jace removed his shirt as Cregan started to unbutton his pants until they pooled around his ankles along with his underwear. You whimpered once you saw his cock starting to get hard under your haze, your mouth watering as you leaned towards his side.

“Get on the bed,” he pointed at Jace. You tried to stand up and follow the instructions too, yet he stopped you by gripping the front of your head and pulling it back. “Not you,” he sternly said. “Open up.”

Obediently, you did as you were told, opening your mouth and letting him press his tip on your tongue. He gave it a few taps, teasing before ge finally decided to start fucking your mouth. Cregan grabbed the sides of your head to keep you still in your position, and his hips started to snap against your throat without further warning. You found stability when you placed your cold hands on his thighs, grasping onto them so you wouldn't lose balance as he had no mercy with you.

You looked up teary eyed, gagging and gulping loudly as you heard his moans slipping out of his plump lips. The small eye contact suddenly became too much for him, so he leaned his head back as he closed his eyes. “Such a delicious mouth,” he praised you, “taking my cock so fucking well.”

His grip around your head started to hurt a bit, his fingertips burying in you as he fastened his pace. It wasn't hard for you to become a mess; your own drool was falling down the corners of your lips as you cried out, your whines being muffled by him inside your mouth, and your slick already starting to leak out of you. Your arousal only grew once he buried himself completely in your mouth, grabbed the back of your head and forced you to stay there for a few seconds, with his length fully sheathed in your throat. Your nose brushed against his pelvis as the air started to escape from your lungs.

“Come on now, baby,” he murmured with a strained voice, feeling his cock pulsing inside your mouth. “Take it… take it all…”

He chuckled softly as you started to tap on his thigh, and he quickly let you go. You gasped once he pulled out of your mouth, gasping for the air your lungs desperately needed. He moaned softly once he saw you; tears on your face, drool falling down your swollen lips — you looked so pretty he even thought about letting you go unpunished and just please you, but then he turned to see Jace; his cock was achingly hard, his ruddy tip leaking as he desperately fucked his fist; he had been so good to you, and you made him feel so bad throughout the night; he deserved a reward, and you deserved a punishment.

Before you could react, Cregan grabbed your body with ease, lifting you up from the ground and carelessly carrying you towards the bed. You moaned with his touch, so needy of him that even his roughness made you squirm out of pleasure. He moved your body around as if you were a ragdoll, shifting your position in bed until you were sitting on top of Jace's pelvis, his cock right between your legs. For a second you thought it was finally the time for them to fuck you, but you were so wrong.

“Grab her hips,” he commanded, using that mandatory tone that drove you and Jace insane. “Don't let her move.”

He positioned himself between the boy's legs, leaving you more confused than before. “What- what are you-?”

“I'm teaching you a lesson,” he stopped you before you could finish your question. “You'll see what happens when you behave and when you don't.”

You saw him leaning down, his plump lips wrapping the tip of Jace's cock and making him squirm beneath your body. Your mouth dropped as you looked at Cregan taking him entirely, his haze fixed in you as the frustration in your body grew even more. The youngest had his nails buried in the flesh of your hips, you heard him moan so prettily that you could even feel the slick oozing out of you, even when you were untouched. It was such a sinful image to witness, especially when Cregan's eyes became teary once he gagged around Jace.

“Oh, fuck…” you mumbled, tears of despair gathering in your eyes as your breathing became ragged. “P-please touch me…”

Jace's hand attempted to reach for your throbbing clit, but the older grabbed his hand and pushed it away. “I'll stop if you touch her,” he warned him. All you could do was cry out.

Cregan's ragged breathing would reach your folds, causing shivers all over your spine. You would try to move your hips to at least rub yourself against Jace's skin, but he didn't allow it, holding you down so tightly that you were certain it would leave a bruise.

The moans turned into whines as Jace started to quickly feel the orgasm coming. His skin was burning as Cregan fervently sucked on his tip, using his tongue to clean up the precum spilling from his slit. Whenever you would cry out or move on top of him he would feel closer to the edge, his body burning inside. “I'm so fucking close, baby,” he whimpered, “keep sucking my cock, I'm- I'm gonna fucking cum… f-fuuck.”

You saw Cregan hollowing his cheeks, milking Jace dry as he came inside his mouth. Drops of the pearly seed escaped from his lips and you felt the need to lick them both clean. You needed a taste, anything that would make you feel some kind of relief.

He sat back up, and as soon as he laid his hazy eyes on you, he grabbed your neck pulling you closer towards him. As if it was a reflex, you opened your mouth while you stared at him through your glossy eyes. He let his spit fall onto your mouth, to then pull you close and fervently kiss you. The salty taste of Jace's release lingered in your mouths as you devoured each other, you would whine against his lips, still sobbing as your pussy was already aching for the lack of attention.

That's when the boy beneath you wrapped you between his arms, forcing you to lay on top of his chest. He didn't even let you catch a break before you felt his cock slowly making his way inside of you, and you gasped out of relief. He stretched you out, providing you with that sweet sting of pain that drove you insane. His hands grabbed your thighs, folding you in half as he started to thrust upwards.

“Don't ever forget who you belong to,” he grunted against your ear as you struggled to keep it quiet. Probably the whole house knew what you were doing, and maybe that was their purpose all along. “You're fucking ours, baby. This tight pussy belongs to us, do you hear me?”

Cregan's hand fell hard on your throbbing clit as you remained silent. A whine left your lips as Jace kept bullying your gummy, wet walls with his girth.

“Answer him,” he demanded, getting closer to you and placing his leaking cock on top of your swollen pearl. You felt the room spinning.

“Yes! Yes! I'm- fuck… I'm fucking yours,” you sobbed.

The whole situation became overwhelming, while one was burying himself in the deepest part of you, the other was rubbing himself on your sensitive flesh, searching for his own release as he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“Fuck, you're fucking squeezing me so tight, baby,” Jace moaned, breathlessly as he felt the mixture of your slick falling down his sack. The lewd sounds of your folds getting stretched by his thickness almost making him cum again. “So fuckin delicious…”

“We've just started and we already fucked her silly,” Cregan chuckled. “She's a fucking mess for us…”

A layer of sweat covered your body; you felt the blood burning inside your veins, the orgasm approaching you embarrassingly fast as they were stimulating your senses. Your eyes rolled back, the desperate pleads slipping out of your lips as you were begging them to make you cum. You were shaking, your face covered in tears as the moans were ripped out of your throat.

“So loud,” the older teased you, “gonna wake up the whole fucking house…”

“I- I need to… please, I need to cum!”

Cregan leaned towards you, and Jace instinctively fastened his pace, burying himself deeper and harder; you had a hard time thinking straight as the older’s hands tightened around your neck. “Ow, poor girl, wants to cum. I don't think you deserve it.”

“P-please, Cregan…”

“Work for it,” he demanded. “Make Jace cum and then you're free to do it too.”

Almost as if it was an instinct, you started to move your hips up and down Jace's cock, making the thrusts more intense and deeper. The younger moaned loudly, already feeling overstimulated by your movements and feeling his sack heavy with a new load of his release. He thought about how pretty you would look with your legs spreaded and his seed falling from your weeping hole; that image alone almost made him peak right in the spot.

“Jacey, please!” you whined, already growing tired. “Please, please, cum in me!”

“Want me to fill your pretty cunny, baby? Mhm? Want my cum inside of you?” he teased, and you rolled your eyes as your walls clenched with his filthy words.

“Yes… yes, please… give it to me, please…”

As a spectator, Cregan groaned loudly, quickly rubbing his hands around his shaft with his eyes fixed in the way Jace was filling you up, bewitched by that bulge in your belly that grew each time that he would bury himself deep inside of you, touching your sweet spot over and over until your head feel dizzy and all that left your mouth were incoherent mumbling.

“I can't… I can't hold it…” you sobbed.

“Come on, baby, I'm so fucking close, just wait for me,” Jace whimpered, his movements getting more desperate and sloppier.

“I can't! I can't! F-fuck…”

Everything came to a breaking point once your release gushed out of you, spurring all over them and making a complete mess. Neither of them could hold back after such an obscene view in front of them, and they were quick to follow. Jacaerys finally spilled himself in you, his seed painting your walls and filling you to the brim. Lastly, Cregan stained your shirt and flesh with his pearly drops, moaning so beautifully that it made you feel butterflies in your belly.

You hissed when Jace pulled out of you, feeling your legs shake while Cregan struggled to stand up from the bed and looking for something to clean you up while you laid against the younger’s body, who softly wiped the tears out of your face.

“Shh… it's okay, you did so good for us, my love,” he cooes, so gently. “So, so good.”

“I'm- I'm sorry,” you mumbled while Cregan returned to your side with a towel in his hand. With soft brushes he started to clean your thighs, your belly and the raw flesh between your legs. “I- I never meant to make you two feel bad… I was- I was being so selfish-”

“Hey,” Cregan stopped you, holding your face with gentleness; so different from his previous touch. “It's already behind us, okay?”

Once he finished cleaning you up, your body fell into Jace's embrace as he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you closer to him and cuddling with you. He hid his face on the crook of your neck and softly hummed when the remains of your sweet perfume reached his nose.

“We love you so much,” he whispered, “please, don't ever do that to us again…”

You grabbed your face only to see his puppy, brown eyes. A gentle, soft kiss was shared as you felt Cregan laying down behind you and fondling your body, soon you three had your limbs tangled as you kissed and caressed each other without shame. Loving touches that relaxed all of you.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered again to the both of them. “I'll never do that again.”

“Do you promise?” Cregan asked.

“I promise,” you softly nodded.

The Northern boy leaned to leave a soft kiss on your cheek, you both shared a gentle smile which let you know that the anger that was once within him was now fully gone.

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[envy-of-the-apple]

Monsoon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

10.1k wc

Synopsis: Four years after Toji Fushiguro died, Satoru decided to give his widow a visit

(Warnings: age difference (nothing underaged), dark content, AFAB reader, pregnancy kink, non con, overstimulation, piv sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, rough sex)

It was raining when Gojo Satoru entered your flat. 

Not particularly harshly, but more than enough for a scare. You weren't in the mood for visitors; the rain made you drowsy, and it was coincidentally your one day off. You wanted to lean against the window and watch the droplets fall against the pavement with a warm blanket. You did not want to exchange pleasantries with some kid. 

The only reason you didn't slam the door in his face was because he said your husband's name. 

It was why you were bringing tea to someone who clearly couldn't care less about it as he lounged on the sofa. You sat on the other end, staring at the scuffed coffee table. Out of anxiety, you play with the ring wrapped around your finger. 

"...He's dead?" 

It's a question, but you already know the answer. Gojo doesn't even bother to reply, humming, taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid. You still stare at the coffee table. It's slightly crooked. One of the legs was broken. Toji promised he'd fix it. 

That was four years ago. You hadn't seen him since. 

You should have expected this. You knew the kind of man Toji was even before he stuck that flimsy ring on your finger. The kinds of people he hung out with. The suspicious amounts of money he would shower you with. There would have never been a happy end for the two of you. 

You can still feel your throat close up, bile rise from your belly. You can't do anything but watch the old table you never threw out because he promised he'd come back and fix it. 

The only reason you close your eyes, sucked in a tight breath, was because you still had a guest over. One that clearly wouldn't care about your crocodile tears. 

You've never seen someone his age so apathetic before. That temperament was associated with the people of your generation. The people who've already been in the workforce, who carried stress on their backs and hips. You can't see his eyes, but the slouch in his posture is indicative enough. Maybe all kids his age were like this. Uncaring, indifferent, subtly disrespectful. 

Because he was a kid. It didn't matter how tall he was, how much bigger than you he was. A single look was all you needed to know that this boy was at least a decade younger than you. Unkept white hair, sunglasses despite the weather, a cocky smile, a voice oozing with misplaced confidence.

You don't acknowledge it; it's clear he didn't come here just to tell you your husband is dead. 

"How old's your kid? Eight?" Gojo tilts his head. "You gotta' know what that means, right?" 

You do. Even if you weren't steeped into the world your husband willfully left, you know enough. You know how important your son is. 

It's why you stop Gojo before he can make his offer. You've already heard this before, a week ago when men with Zenin as their last names knocked on your door. 

"Thank you for your concern," you tell him as calmly and respectfully as you can. For the first time, the man straightens up, as if your answer wasn't what he expected. You can sense he isn't used to being told no. 

 You keep your smile neutral, pleasant, final. 

"But we're fine as we are."

Moments later, when he's about to leave, you offer an umbrella, insistent on him taking it. It was raining after all. He takes it with him without any protest. 

You don't notice that, despite the downpour, he was perfectly dry when he stepped into your home.

☔︎︎

Megumi was always special. 

Every mother thinks that for their child. You're no exception. As soon as he was born, tiny in your arms, swaddled in blankets, something shifted within you. You'd always wanted children, but the concrete feeling of your child in your arms when he's so vulnerable. You'd never felt anything more right. 

To you, Megumi was always special. But when Megumi turned 5, he became special to the entire world. 

Toji was never tight-lipped about the world he came from. Shamans, sorcerers, shikigami, curses. You weren't an expert, but you certainly knew more than the average person. He'd often tell you things, when he was drunk, pulling you against his bare chest, underneath cheap blankets. You always heard the bitterness in his voice. That world had rejected him. It would reject anyone who wasn't special enough. Special people were rare. 

It's why you were convinced Megumi would never have to deal with any of that. His father wasn't a sorcerer, neither were you. He'd live a normal life and would only be special to you. 

"It's on your other shoulder." 

You switched hands, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. Like always, you couldn't feel anything. There was no weight on your skin, nothing tangible that you could grab and toss. There was just this small feeling of dread. A small ache in your bones. 

He waves a tiny hand. Instantly, the feeling of dread is gone. The ache lifts and you roll your shoulders. 

"Thank you," you tell him with a strained, but grateful smile. He nods, turning back to his food. 

"You're getting more, now," he simply says. 

"Haha, sorry," you reply instinctively because even though he's eight, you feel like you've burdened him. 

"It's okay," he mutters, quiet as always. His gaze flicks back up at you, before glancing back down. He takes a second to gnaw on his lip. 

"Are...are you okay?" 

You're being so obvious even your own son could see it. 

Your smile feels more forced as you placate him with the usual lie of 'Mommy's just tired, long day at work'. He doesn't buy it, but he doesn't say anything back. He's so much like his father in these moments. Truthfully, you didn't think Megumi got a single thing from you. His black hair is Toji's, his blue eyes are Toji's, his pale skin is Toji's, and even his forever-present scowl is your late husband's. You supposed that should have been the first sign: Megumi would be anything but normal. 

You hadn't told him about the visits. You're his parent, you had justified to yourself. He's a child. He doesn't need to know about the visits. Especially, considering you decided for him. Megumi would be raised out of the jujutsu world, away from curses, and sorcerers. 

You can't have your son taken away from you like his father was.

('Special Grade', Gojo had told you. A powerful cursed spirit. You hadn't gotten closure until you let him in. No body was ever recovered.)

You can't let your son end up like that. 

But was this the right life for him? You watch as Megumi's gaze trails up, like he's tracing the movement of a fly or something bigger that you would never see. 

You can't relate to Megumi. You don't have cursed energy. You can't see the things he can. As much as you loved him, you'd never be able to understand what he is. None of his classmates can. None of his teachers. It sounds lonely. Isolating. 

Only a handful of people that could ever give Megumi that connection exist. And they're willing to accept him with open arms. 

He had been an older man, flanked by another. They eyed your home with relative disgust; you, with mild derision. It'd been their words that echo in your head today. How much happier Megumi would be surrounded by his own kind. How the clan would welcome him and teach him to hone his technique. 

They were words that would sate the parent of a lonely boy, but you couldn't help but remember the disregard in his voice. Their words made Megumi sound like a tool, instead of a child. 

The offer of payment for your son was enough to turn them away. 

Was Gojo Satoru any better? From your brief encounter, you couldn't tell. There was always a smile on his lips whenever he talked about Megumi's future and Jujutsu Tech. The lilt of his voice felt fake, artificial. But at least he didn't ask to outright buy your son. 

When Megumi's tucked into bed, you pace around the living room. You glance at the slip of paper he'd left behind. The scrawl of numbers in neat handwriting. The thing he slipped into your unsuspecting hand. You've had a glass of wine before, maybe that's why your hands are a little more steady when you punch in the numbers. 

He picks up after the second ring. It oddly feels like he was waiting for your call. 

"Can jujutsu sorcerers live normal lives?"

There's a laugh on the other end. Light. Amused. 

"No," his response is cold, even when his tone isn't, "Even if they leave the jujutsu world, they will never have normal lives." 

The answer you were afraid of, but you weren't surprised. Special people rarely live normal lives. You knew what this meant: trying to protect Megumi from his father's fate would be pointless. No matter how far you run, no matter how far you take him, it will never be enough. 

"Does it really matter, then?" you ask, "who Megumi goes with." 

"In that sense, no, not really," his voice crackles back, "But I think you've already made your decision." 

You had days ago. You were just wasting time, picking up the phone only to drop it just as quickly. As much as you'd wanted to keep your son away from the jujutsu world, you knew, even before they knocked on your door, it was a failed endeavor. Megumi was special. Megumi was too special for you to hide. He shone too brightly. 

The Zenin clan would extinguish that. You knew it. Toji knew it too. It's why he took on your name. 

It's silent again. You bite your lip. You've been doing that a lot lately. 

"Gojo, may I ask a favor?" He gives a hum. 

"Please, don't tell him about Toji." 

There's a beat of silence. The line clicks. 

Two days later, Megumi meets the strongest sorcerer of the modern era. 

☔︎

There was always something clinical about Megumi's and Gojo's relationship. 

You wouldn't call them father-son, let alone brotherly. It was strictly student and teacher. From the start, it was clear Megumi wasn't impressed with the sorcerer. His scowl would somehow get deeper whenever the young man was around. 

Gojo didn't seem all that impressed either. He wasn't as blatant, but you could sense that it was a chore for him, rather than anything else. You don't think you can blame him. He's barely twenty. He should be doing other things. Living his youth, and continuing his education. 

Gojo grew up too fast. You can see it in his face. He's never not smiling, but it's never truly sincere. It's not clinical either. It looks exhausted. You wonder-if he wasn't wearing those glasses all the time-if you'd see dark circles. 

He's too young to be running around this much. He's too young to carry the entire world of jujutsu sorcery on his back. He's too young to be an educator. A mentor. 

Yet he is. Yet he does. All with a smile on his face. 

You're less intense nowadays to him. When Megumi comes home, clearly a bit more roughed up than when he left, you criticize Gojo less harshly. When you make lunch for Megumi, you ask if he'd like anything as well. Gojo has a bigger sweet tooth than your eight-year-old son does. You never nag him for it. 

The change doesn't fully happen until that fateful conversation. It's an offhanded remark he makes about him not being there to train Megumi for a few weeks because of a mission. 

"A curse?" you ask, as if they aren't all around you. 

Gojo grins because you've discovered he likes talking. "Reports are coming down from Sendai. The running bet currently is special grade." 

You frown. "Oh. Well, be careful." 

He freezes at that. You think he's staring at you, but you're not too sure. His glasses give away nothing. Your fingers dance with nerves. Had you said something wrong?

"What?" 

You tilt your head. "Oh! Uh, 'be careful'. Stay safe." You end your sentence awkwardly. 

Eventually, Gojo recovers. "Yeah. Well, obviously." He smiles. 

You watch him leave, keeping your eye on him until he disappears into the sleek black car. 

It doesn't occur to you until much later that Gojo probably hasn't had someone worry about him before. 

☔︎︎

Whenever Megumi's training continues much later in the evenings, you go to the Gojo estate to pick him up yourself. 

It's a grand house. Practically a mansion. You've never felt so embarrassed about your humble apartment until you saw the lavishness Satoru lived in. A part of you is now even more impressed by Megumi's stubbornness. Children are the first to fall for the affluent. 

It's big, but you've never quite gotten over how empty it looks. Every time you visit, there's always just Satoru. You haven't seen his mom, his dad, any siblings. It looks like a family home, but he's the only one who's ever there. 

He's never mentioned any family. You wonder what happened to them. Where they are now. 

Somedays, you arrive a bit earlier than needed. During that time, you tend to stroll through the gardens. They're so beautiful. Large and expansive. They're empty, however, just like that grand house. No flowers. Not even weeds. It's just a bunch of dirt and stones, plainly stacked on top of each other. It disappoints you a bit. The grounds had so much potential. 

"Whatcha' got for me this time?" You jump, whirling around. Satoru is right behind you, a teasing grin on his face. 

You give him a disapproving look, though it lacks any real heat. "I told you to stop doing that." 

"Doing what?" Though he may be twenty, he acts like he's younger than your son. Speaking of your child:

"Where's Megumi?" You prod, glancing behind Satoru, as though your grumpy child would pop up behind him. No such thing happens. Satoru's incriminating smile grows wider. 

"Homework," he cryptically replies, "also, he didn't want to disturb us adults having our grown-up conversations." 

"Of course he did," is all you say, but you acquiesce regardless, digging through your bag. 

You've always been taught to bring something when visiting another person's home. You found it rude not to, despite how casual Satoru acts around you. You discovered he liked sweets the most, so you have tried your best to satisfy his sweet tooth. He seems happy with whatever you give him. One thing you like about Satoru is how he cherishes all the gifts he's received from you without any complaint. You spotted the umbrella you'd given him all those weeks ago, sitting right by the door. He'd never given it back. You'd never asked for it. 

You try to ignore the feeling that the only reason he gets excited about your gifts is that it's rare for him to receive anything at all. Satoru doesn't need to be pitied. 

It's nothing too big, just a bag of saltwater taffy from an Americanized store. He's already ripping the package open, pulling one out of the wrapper to stick it in his mouth. 

You blink when he extends his hand, another piece of candy between his fingers. 

"Say 'ah'!" 

"Oh no, I'm fine. They're for you—" Satoru interrupts you by popping the piece right in your mouth. Your lips instinctively close. 

"Oh." You say after you taste the sweet. "Peppermint." 

He laughs, taking another one out for himself. You follow him through the abandoned gardens. 

"So, how's Megumi's-"

"Nuh-uh," Satoru immediately stops you, "enough about work. Let's talk about something else!" 

You roll your eyes, but your smile is too affectionate. You ask him about his latest trip overseas. He tells you about the country he visited, the curse he exorcised, practically giddy from excitement. Conversation starts there before moving onto other things, small talk, your job. 

"It's a shame the gardens are so empty," you say when the conversation reaches a lull. 

He stares at the bare patches of dirt with you. "When I was younger, the gardeners would take care of 'em for us. Flowers would bloom every spring." 

You feel him recoil. Satoru does that sometimes. Say something too intimate, hissing when it's too late to take them back. For his sake, you don't comment on it. 

"It must have looked beautiful." Is all you respond. Understanding, but closed enough to give him relief. 

You stand there in silence for a couple of seconds. In the dirt, you can see a tiny ant carrying a grain of sand. 

"Roleplay time!" Satoru suddenly exclaims. You whirl your head to look at him. "Imagine you become the great Gojo Satoru." You stifle a laugh at that. His grin only gets wider. "What kind of flowers would you choose?" 

Toji always thought bouquets were stupid. 'There's no point' he'd always say 'the weeds will just die anyway, why you somethin' like that?'. But sometimes, he'd bring home these tiny, golden flowers. Simple. Pretty. He'd tuck it behind your ear, grinning at his work. You'd kiss him in return. 

"Marigolds," you say at last. 

Satoru only hums in response. A few seconds later, he's leading you out of the garden, rambling about how expensive sushi was overseas. 

A few days later, you see men with barrels of soil, combing through the garden. 

A week after, tiny golden flowers start poking through the dirt. Simple. Pretty. 

☔︎︎

You had that same dream again. The day Toji left. 

It's rare to have these dreams. They wouldn't leave you alone the first year he'd disappeared. Back when you thought he'd gotten bored of you and your son, like he'd finally decided he was sick of the family life. 

They come back sporadically, nowadays. You can't sleep after you have them, so you often find yourself curled up in the living room, looking at the window. It was raining. Heavy droplets thud on the glass. The violence seems desperate somehow. Like the weather is begging to be let in, to snuggle underneath the warm blankets too. 

On nights like this, it's a habit to stare at the tiny golden band on your finger. You slip it off, holding it in your palm. It's nothing extravagant—tiny with a simple design—but it's the last thing you have of him. Toji was never that sentimental. 

It's not really a dream. Dreams are more whimsical, cloudy. You can remember everything, down to the outfit he'd been wearing, the fly that had been buzzing around your door. It was like you were there all over again, begging him not to go. 

"You promised you'd stop." 

"This is different," Toji said and you flinched when he tucks away his gun. You thought he'd gotten rid of it. 

"The money?" You're pressing, "we have enough money, you-" 

"This isn't about fuckin' cash," his voice cuts through you, sharper than any blade he carried. 

"It's somethin' else. Somethin' you wouldn't understand. It goes beyond money." 

Your gaze lowers, curling your fists on the table. You can't understand, not when he refuses to tell you. Not when he barely explains why he's going back to his old ways in the first place. 

Sensing he's upset you, Toji sighs. You can hear him place something down on the dining table, metallic and clanky. Calloused, rough fingers brush your cheek, your jaw, coaxing you to look at him. You don't, forcing him to lean forward, giving a chaste kiss on your cheek. His lips are rough, cracked, but overwhelmingly gentle on your skin. 

"I love you," Toji mutters into your skin. 

You don't respond. You wish you had, you wish you'd gotten over your pride and told him because maybe then he'd still be here with you. He's giving another sigh, tucking your hair into place before he's leaving. He closes the door behind him. 

That day, you told yourself you wouldn't forgive him. Whenever he came back, you'd tell him you were done. You'd take Megumi and you'd leave. 

Now, you think you would have forgiven him. Eventually. It would have taken a while, a lot more than measly flowers and apologies. But, if he had come back, you would have let him back into your heart.

"Couldn't sleep?" you ask. 

Megumi blinks his eyes. It's past his bedtime, but you aren't going to nag him for it. You place the cup of steaming tea down on the coffee table, clicking your tongue when it wobbles. Right, four years later and you still hadn't fixed it,

"The rain was too loud." He gives. 

Wordlessly, you invite him into the cocoon you'd nestled yourself into. The sofa sinks under his weight as he settles next to you, leaning against your side. You tuck the warm blanket around his tiny body. He's still small enough to fully wrap your arm around him, bringing him even closer. You take advantage of it. You don't know how much time you have until he's too big to cuddle with anymore. 

His breaths are even and slow. He's a boy of few words, but even you think he's asleep until he's mumbling something into your ear. 

"I hate him." 

You give a confused hum, leaning down, resting your head on top of his. The coffee table looks even more uneven at this angle. It burns to even look at, these days.

"He makes you cry, even when he's not around anymore." 

You laugh at that. It's a quiet huff. When you glance down, you think you spot a faint smile on the boy's lips. He’s so much like his fathers, in the little things. You don’t think you will ever tell Megumi that. You don’t think he’ll take that observation well.

"I wasn't crying.” You tell him. “I was just thinking.”

He doesn't give a response after that. A few minutes later when you look down again, his eyes are closed, and he's drooling against your shoulder. You laugh again before gently gathering your son in your arms and settling him down to bed. 

The next day, you notice the monstrous amount of duct tape wrapped around the leg of the coffee table. When you ask Megumi about it, he just shrugs, his ears twinging a bright red. 

You throw the coffee table away. It's replaced by a new one the following week. 

☔︎︎

Satoru didn't like talking about Toji. 

You only tried prying once or twice. He was tight-lipped about it. Not quite cold, but he'd shut the conversation down quickly, more than eager to talk about something else. You missed it the first few times, but it became clear that Satoru disdained even the mention of your late husband. You can't tell if it's whether Satoru admired Toji enough that the mere mention of his name sends him into grief, or if it's something a lot more complicated. 

Now that you think of it, you barely even knew the relationship Gojo had with Toji. Had they been close? Was he just an acquaintance? Satoru had always been so cryptic about it. 

Toji hadn't. 

"He's called the strongest man?" you ask, amusement twinged in your voice, "I thought he was 12." 

"They don't care about age when giving titles," Toji replied.

You were leaning onto his shoulder, watching your son sleep in his crib. Only three months old and he had this permanent frown on his face, as if he was already sick of the world. 'He already acts like you' you once told your husband. He'd scoffed, but he didn't disagree. 

"That's a little funny," you find yourself saying. "What, can he lift a car? Does he benchpress 200?" 

Toji doesn't find the image of a child casually lifting 150lb weights as funny. He only grunts, drawing you closer. 

"I met him once," he says after a beat of silence, "back when he was barely older than a toddler." 

"Hm?" you prodded, still mesmerized by a sleeping Megumi, "what'd you think?" 

"Power," Toji responds, "more power than I'd ever have." 

You tear your gaze away from your son, glancing at your husband. Toji's eyes were looking somewhere, farther than you could see. It's the envy in his voice that you can't help but keep. A mere child already has everything Toji could ever want. Strength, a name, honor. 

You should have realized then that Toji would never belong to you. Not truly. His heart, whether or not he swore up and down otherwise, would always belong to the Jujujtsu world. It's a tragedy. Someplace that he always longed for acceptance, will never truly see him. Even when he died for it. 

Satoru will probably never answer your questions about Toji, but perhaps you could get close. 

"Why did you do it?" 

It was after dinner. Satoru had dropped your son off, and you had practically dragged the white-haired man inside with you, sitting him down on the dining table. He'd complained, but you know he secretly liked being coddled. He didn't deny the second helpings, nor the thirds. Sometimes you wondered if he was a man or a black hole. 

Megumi had already gone to bed, and you supposed he had enough of Satoru for one day. It left you and him in the kitchen, putting away the dishes. Rather, you put away the dishes, and Satoru watched. Not that you minded. It was nice to have company. 

"Hm?" He was typing away at his phone, blearily turning back to look at you. You couldn't get why he didn't just go home if he was so uninterested. 

"Why did you interfere when the Zenin came?" You repeat your question, putting the last of the plates in the dishwasher. 

Looking back, things could have gone much differently for you. For your son. You didn't realize how much power the Zenin clan had back then. Had Satoru not stepped in, had you kept rejecting them, you honestly wonder what sorts of drastic measures men like them would take for the sake of power. 

"Are you upset?" He asks, tilting his head. 

"Of course not." You smile. You were grateful for Satoru, you always have been. He's helped your family out in more ways than you could imagine. After all he's helped Megumi with, there was nothing Satoru could do to get you mad at him, hate him, not truly. 

"I was just wondering. It's not like you had an obligation to." 

You close the dishwasher with a soft click. The machine starts with a soft hum. He doesn't reply, not for a long while, when you look up, you see him staring back at you. His sunglasses were off, folded, tucked under his collar. 

"Clans are bullshit." You're surprised by the venom in his voice. There's a cinch in his jaw. You wonder how many years his hatred has been festering like this. 

"The entire Jujujstu world is, honestly. But clans are the worst of all. The hierarchy. Traditions. All dogshit. They'd gobble the kid and spit him back out. I-I didn't want him-" He stops with a hiss, like he'd said too much.

This time, you don't let him run away. 

"...you didn't want him to end up like you." You finish. 

It clicks, fits together like a jigsaw piece. The Gojo name had ruined Satoru, turned him into something he was too young to be. The name forced him to grow up faster, stronger. The name forced him to be isolated, lonely.

That conversation with Toji curls up inside of you. Back then, you'd only empathized with Toji's pain, but what about Satoru's pain? What about the amount of expectations that had been piled on top of a 12-year-old boy? What about the responsibilities he's forced to carry, each weight growing heavier and heavier but he can't break because he is Gojo? 

Satoru stands before you, but you can easily picture him as Megumi. Tiny, small Megumi who didn't speak much but whose heart was bigger than anyone you knew. He could end up like Satoru. Standing at the top of the mountain. All powerful. All alone. 

You don't want Megumi to be alone. 

You don't want Satoru to be alone. 

"Satoru." You step forward. "Could...could I give you a hug?" 

He doesn't respond. You step closer. No barrier. 

When you wrap your arms around him, you think you can feel him tremble. It takes a moment for him to catch up, for his arms to drape across your back. You clutch onto him tighter, silently promising not to let go until he does. 

He doesn't, not for a long while. 

☔︎︎

Satoru had a mission on his twenty-second birthday. So, you celebrate five days after he turns twenty-two. 

"Again," you say for the nth time, "If-if you have other plans, or anything else, I don't have to stay-" 

"Will you stop it, already," Satoru interrupts, "You're gonna make me depressed. I already told you, I got no other plans." 

 "Well," you frown, "if you change your mind, and you'd rather spend time with your friends..." 

"What other friends? You're the only one I got." 

You frown at that. He smiles, barely lingering on his loneliness. He does that a lot lately, brush it off. Perhaps it's become easier to. Perhaps it's because you're here now. 

The sun had already set on the Gojo estate. The stars were already out. Typically, you would have been antsy staying too late over, especially when Megumi was still home, but your son was a few cities over. He was training with another sorcerer, his new mentor stating that your son wouldn't be back for a couple more days. 

Wait, now that you think of it. 

"Satoru," you say, your voice heavy with disapproval, "Did you send Megumi off purely because it was your birthday?”

He grins wider, showing off his pearly whites. "No idea what you’re talking about." 

You frown harder. He clicks his tongue in distaste.

"It's not like the kid would wanna come celebrate anyway, and now you can focus on me! Two birds one stone." He flops on the couch.

"Satoru." 

"Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake!" Satoru chants, as if that'll distract you. 

Unfortunately, it does. You roll your eyes, but you lean down, pulling out the pastry out of the bag. It's nothing special, and you do not consider yourself an expert in baking. It certainly isn't fancy, but you were still a little proud. Simple, a small chocolate cake, perfect for two.

Satoru stares. 

"I know it isn't much-" 

"I love it," he says and you can't tell if he's joking or not, "I'm gonna make it a family heirloom." 

You laugh at that. It shakes your shoulders. 

"I don't think cakes are built to last that long. How about you just eat it, instead." 

"Much better plan," Satoru responds, grabbing a fork, eager to dig in. 

He yelps when you slap his hand away as you give him a stern look. You touched his skin. You try not to linger at that, at the fact that he let you touch him. 

"Not now," you say, but you still smile, "you need to blow out the candles first." 

He huffs but doesn't protest when you stick two candles into the soft frosting. It takes a while to work the old lighter; you have to shoo him away when he tries to snatch it from you. You force Satoru to sit there for at least a minute as you sing the dreadful happy birthday song. He doesn't seem to mind, a mean grin growing on his face, letting you finish up the lyrics. 

Toji was mortified every time you managed to stick a birthday hat onto him, dragging him to the living room for his cake. He'd hold his infant son in his arms, his frown even less amused. Even then, he never interrupted the stupid tradition you put him through. He'd sit through the entire ceremony, Megumi asleep on his chest. A scowl would twitch on his lips whenever you managed to smear a dab of frosting on his nose.

You clap when Satoru blows out the candles. 

"What did you wish for?" You ask minutes later, swallowing down a bite of frosting. He was already on his third piece. You know you should tell him to slow down but you don't think it will do much. 

"If I tell you, it won't come true," Satoru responds, his tone light.

"That's a myth," you point out, "but keep your secrets if you must." 

You set your plate down when Satoru speaks the next time. 

"I wished for us to do this again." 

His voice is shallow, echoing throughout the empty house. You look at him, his white hair, his pink lips, his blue eyes. Everything that encompasses Gojo Satoru is focused entirely on you.

"That next year, we'll celebrate the exact same way." 

He sounded so small, as though he were younger than 22. Perhaps, a part of him was. A gentle smile spreads on your face. 

"Of course we will," you assure, before your voice gets teasing, "the next year, the year after that, and the next year until you get sick of me." You laugh. He doesn't laugh back. It's silent again, the kind of quiet that's full and meaningful. Distantly, you hear a clock ticking somewhere. It's a nice night. Peaceful. God, you were so tired from all the stressing you did for the cake. Satoru wanted to watch a movie after the cake cutting, but you wonder if he'll forgive you if you fell asleep during the film. You were exhausted. 

That's why it takes you a second to register his lips are on yours. 

The kiss is soft, and patient. His mouth moves slowly against yours. You can taste the chocolate. It takes a second to understand what Satoru was doing that he wasn't Toji before your hands are moving, reaching up to his shoulders, keeping him there as you shy away, breaking the kiss. You two stay like that for a few more moments, still touching. You can hear your breath, feel your heartbeat. A little while later, he moves closer, intent on following your mouth, before your brain kicks in and you're shutting him down, standing up. 

Satoru blinks up at you, the realization of rejection sinking into his eyes before you stumble over yourself to apologize because, dear god, you should have seen this coming. 

"I'm so sorry, Satoru," your voice is coming out in clumps, "I never meant to... I always thought...I'm a decade older than you." 

The ocean eyes crystalize, turning into cold tanzanite. You're too muddled with guilt and self-hatred to notice. Of course, Satoru would take things the wrong way. Of course, he'd misunderstand. You always thought he was wise for his age, but he's still in his early twenties. You should have been better and made your boundaries known. God, you were so stupid. 

"So?" he asks, but his voice lacks the usual snark. "Who cares how old you are?" 

You resist the urge to say something accidentally condescending. 'You'll understand when you're older' stings in the back of your tongue, and you wonder if it's fair to say considering how you acted when you were younger than Satoru­­-- when Toji was an older man who found you amusing enough for dinner and a warm bed. 

It's different now. You were older, wiser. Toji had been a mistake. A mistake you miss every day. 

"Of course, you don't," you say, and despite it all, a laugh fumbles out your throat. Shaky, delirious. "Again, I'm so sorry. It's entirely my fault-I-I should have communicated things better."  

"Why does any of that matter?." It's his turn to stand up, and it makes everything so much worse because Satoru's taller than you. "It doesn't, not to me. I lo-" 

"Stop."

It's not a yell, but it's the harshest tone you've ever used on him. Still, it's enough for his breath to falter, to give you a moment of reprieve because the only other person who said that to you and meant it died six years ago. You touch the cold metal of your ring. You twist it around your finger. When Satoru's eyes gaze down, following your movements, you force yourself to stop self-soothing. 

The ticking of the clock starts back up again. You want to smash it. 

"I should go."

You already know it's a bad idea. You shouldn't leave Satoru alone. You should stay, sort things out, mend his heart, but you're human. You want to run, sort yourself out first. You want to take the cowards' way out. Satoru doesn't stop you. You can't bear to look at him, not when it's so much to even be here. Your mind is already being thrown into disarray and you're barely remembering to grab your purse. 

Your hands rest on the door when you pause. You don't bother turning around. You know he's already looking at you. 

"Happy birthday, Satoru." 

For some reason, you cry the entire ride home. 

☔︎︎

Surprisingly, it's Megumi who asks about it. 

It'd been a week since you'd last spoken to Satoru. Communication stills, and stops completely. It goes both ways, he doesn't randomly pop by anymore, scaring the daylights out of you. You no longer buy strange-sounding sweets because you know you won't be seeing him later. One week ago, Satoru was there. The next, he wasn't. 

"Has he said sorry yet?" 

You jolt up, staring at your son. Megumi is still glowering at the vegetables you'd put on his plate. At this point, you know he doesn't hate the food. He just always looks like that. 

"What?" 

"He obviously did something to you." He mutters. "Did he at least say sorry?" 

No matter how uninterested your son always portrayed himself as, he was very observant. Of course, he would. As much as you loved Megumi, you wish he'd be just 10 percent less attentive. 

You force yourself to laugh anyway. "Satoru didn't do anything." You assure. "What makes you say that?" 

"The idiot's been sulking all week," Megumi responds, "everyone's been wondering what's up with him." 

You give him a disapproving look, but you doubt it did anything. Instead, you glance down, mindlessly poking at your plate. 

"Don't call him that," you say softly.

Megumi only shrugs. Despite everything, you still have this strange urge to defend Satoru, if only to save your own dignity of fighting with someone 10 years younger than you.

"Nothing happened. It-it was a misunderstanding, that's all." You hope your smile doesn't look uncertain. He's only ten, but he's already so perceptive. You don't think it's enough to convince him. Your smile drops. You roll your shoulders. 

Another thing you should have seen coming. Of course, Megumi would notice. Despite how annoyed Megumi acts around him, there's still a sort of bond between the two boys. A connection between two sorcerers, something you will never have with your son. You were wrong about your initial assessment about their relationship. They were much closer than you thought. Satoru cared about Megumi, as did Megumi about Satoru. Your souring relationship with Satoru might break that. . 

Your actions have consequences. To everyone, not just yourself. 

"I'll talk to him soon about it, I promise." As if to placate him further, you reach over, patting his hair. He frowns deeper but doesn't make a move to shove you off. 

To your chagrin, soon comes later that evening. Satoru breaks the ice first with a single text. 

you free tomorrow

It's nothing like him. No emoticons. No exclamation marks. You say yes, regardless. The next evening, you step out of the taxi, thanking the driver before stepping onto the Gojo property. 

It was raining, barely a drizzle, not enough to make you want to bring an umbrella. Still, the air was chilly, just enough so that you clutched the coat covering your body tighter. You carefully avoid the puddles adorning the sidewalk. 

You agreed to come here, but it's hard to keep that in mind as you climb the patio steps. You stand in front of the door for an entire minute, counting each second, before you knock. 

"Finally! Took you long enough." 

It's hard to look at him. Already, your gaze threatens to waver. You force yourself not to wrap your arms around your sides. For once, you're glad he wears those sunglasses of his. 

Satoru, on the other hand, barely looks affected by the encounter. He's dressed well, in a white collared shirt and black pants. He smiles cheerily, widening the door so you can step inside. You thank him when he wordlessly mentions for your coat. 

Your eyes catch the living room, along with the coffee table. There'd been a half-eaten birthday cake the last time you'd been here. Now the table is completely clean. You wonder what Satoru had done with it. You hoped he threw it away because the thought of him sitting there, alone, finishing the pastry filled you with so much guilt you could almost feel sick. 

"Did you see the weather just an hour ago?" He asks offhandedly, "thought the rain would smash through my windows, from how loud it was." 

"Oh?" You ask genuinely because you honestly hadn't noticed anything regarding the weather. You'd been stressing about the reunion, mind too preoccupied to care about the skies. 

"'hope the violets survived. I just planted 'em yesterday." He glances out the window as though he could see through the sheets of rain. You hum, already feeling out of place. The silence is only accompanied by the rain lightly patting on the windows. 

"You still love him." When you don't answer right away, Satoru turns back. "That Zenin guy. You love him." 

It catches you so off guard that you can't help but tell the truth. You nod once. 

He's still smiling, but the air feels off somehow. Like you're passing unmarked territory. It's a silly thought, and you brush it off immediately. Despite how strained your relationship is currently, Satoru isn't dangerous. He never will be. 

"Yeah," he responds, "I just don't get why, y'know?" 

You try to smile, but it's like pulling teeth. "I-I don't see how-" 

"It just doesn't make sense. You and him, I mean. You two are so different." 

You couldn't argue with that. Toji and you were on opposite ends. He was from a world that you would never be able to reach, let alone touch. You were a regular woman. He was a man who fought curses on a regular basis. A man who died from it. 

Satoru's laughing; it takes you a moment to realize you might have said some of that out loud. 

"Right. Fuck I keep forgetting that's what I told you." Satoru leans against the counter. "A special grade killed Zenin." 

"I mean, technically, I didn't lie, right? A special grade did kill him. A special grade sorcerer." 

Your brain stops. You can only stare. Satoru reaches up, taking off his glasses, folding them before neatly placing them on the counter. His eyes were always so breathtaking; now they look empty. Soulness. 

You laugh. It sounds delirious. "But-but you said you were one of the only special grade sorcerers around." 

"Yeah." Satoru nods along. 

"Satoru...you're not making any sense..." 

"Really?" Satoru tilts his head. "What part of 'I killed your husband' is confusing for you?" 

He continues at your silence. "I mean, it wasn't like it wasn't for a good reason. The guy shot a junior high girl for cash. Knowing him, he's probably done worse. If you're asking me, I did a good thing by killing him--oh." Satoru pauses at your expression: horrified, broken.

He's smiling. You think that's the worst part. It's the same smile he's always worn. Playful and mischievous. 

"C'mon, you seriously didn't know what he was up to. I can't tell whether you're that stupid or if he was that good at hiding it." 

You should have denied it. You should have said Toji would never do the heinous act Satoru just accused him off, but can you? Could you honestly say that? You knew Toji was in bad shit. You'd always known that. He told you about the gambling, the drugs, the money. After he married you, he promised he walked away from that life, he was walking away with you. One last job, he'd said. Just one last job and he was done forever. 

Something that goes beyond money, Toji had said, something you would never understand. 

You can hardly breathe, sinking against the wall behind you as you collapse onto the floor. Your hands are pressed against your mouth, muffling your sobs as your eyes are filled with tears. Every interaction you've ever had with Toji is flitting through your mind. You can feel the bile in your stomach, threatening to leave your lips, splatter across the floor. 

Your husband was a murderer. 

Your husband was a monster. 

His fingers are cold as he firmly pushes your hands away from your face. You glance up. Satoru stares right back. His smile is gone, replaced by a frown. He squats before you, idly tracing his pointer figure around your cheeks, catching your falling tears. 

"He took everything from me, y'know," he says, quiet, low enough that the rain almost drowns his voice, "in just a day, my entire life changed. Someone died. A person I thought would be by my side my entire life disappeared." 

"But, I gotta' thank him. Without his help, I wouldn't have become stronger, and I wouldn't have you." 

You suck in a breath at that, but Satoru isn't paying attention. His hand traces down to your neck, feeling the skin. 

"I like to think that he gave me you as an apology of sorts. It's nice to think of it that way, right?" 

You look at him, absolutely horrified at how casual he was being. 

Your husband was a monster. 

And he’d left you with another one. 

Immediately, you slap his hands away. 

"Stop." You say, a weak hiss, "don't-don't touch me. Never ever touch me-" 

"Yeah," he interrupts, ignoring your wavering voice, "I didn't think you would jump into my arms after what I said, either. But, hey, a guy can dream, right?" 

What? And before you can think, he's pressing his lips against yours. 

It's not like his first kiss. Before, when it was soft and sweet and he barely pushed, like he was savoring you. This kiss was harsh. Filled with teeth and lust and endless greed. You can taste the inexperience, and the thought that this might be the second time Satoru’s ever kissed someone fills your head. The fight is almost pathetic as you sink into his hold, helpless to do anything but wilt until he's had enough of his fill. You push against his chest, but he only leaves on his terms.

You're both panting, but you're more frazzled. His lips are blushing pink, and there's a string of saliva that stretches before snapping apart. You can feel the way his hands are positioned on your hips. Disgust and self-hatred wells up within you.

"I meant what I said that day: I love you." You squeeze your eyes at his confession. "I mean, what's there not to love? You're sweet; you're hot."

His hands play with the hem of your shirt. You stiffen as you try to claw them off of you, but it doesn't help. You don't want to look, but you just can't help yourself. It's morbid curiosity. Looking at a car crash. Your eyes open and you stare at Satoru. 

"But I think the thing I love about you the most is that you'll never hate me." 

Two glowing blue eyes stare back at you. He looks ethereal like this. Even when he's kneeling, he's still taller than you. He's always been above you. Not just in height, you're slowly starting to realize. 

You always thought Satoru hated his last name. You always thought he blamed his lineage for his loneliness, his isolation. He grew up too fast, forced to become something for the sake of others. It's why you tried so hard to treat him like an equal, as though he were another human. 

When he leans in to kiss you again, you finally understand that Gojo never wanted to part from his last name. Why would he? It was always a part of him. It was your fault for trying to humanize and connect with him. You fought for years to see him as an equal that you neglected to ask if he even wanted to be on the same plane as you. 

Perhaps, once he did. Back when candlelight illuminated his face. When chocolate was the only thing you could taste.

"You can't hate me." He smiles against your lips. "You feel too sorry for me." 

"No matter what I do to you, you'll never hate me." 

You start crying again. Satoru hushes you, wiping away your tears in a way that suggests he's not used to being soft and delicate. Yet, he's trying to be. Soon, his gentleness fades, and his impatience seeps in again. It's all too easy for Satoru to haul you to your feet. He was the strongest, after all. You struggle anyway because you're human and your heart is filled with foolish hope. He laughs at your meager attempts to push him away, and you feel that this is all a game for him. Maybe it always was. 

"Satoru-Satoru," you're begging as he pulls you through his empty house, "you don't have to do this. Please just-" 

"See? You still aren't getting it." Satoru sighs, like he's disappointed before he's tossing you in a room. You flail against the bed, your chest pressed against the cushions before he's flipping you onto your back. It's worse when he's hovering over you, both hands on either side of your head, caging you in. 

"I'm not doing anything I don't want to do. I never have." 

You expect Satoru to kiss you again, that disgusting display where he rips you apart with his teeth, consuming you whole. Instead his pretty blue eyes flit to your clenched hand. He snatches up your wrist, easily unfurling your hand.

You react too late, only reaching up to stop him when he’s done pulling the ring off your finger. Satoru barely gives it an unimpressed look before he’s tossing it aside. You can only stare in the direction of it, watching as the last thing you had of him drops into the darkness. There’s two metallic clinks before it’s rolling to a stop. And then, you hear nothing.

He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved, dipping his head into the crook of your neck.

“I was so sick of looking at that.” He mumbles into your skin, giving it a playful nip. “Parading that thing around in front of another man like that. It’s kinda’ rude, y'know?”

You give another sob when his hands dig underneath your shirt. He presses on the softness of your belly, burying his face deeper into your neck, inhaling your scent.

“Fuck, you smell so good.” He groans into your neck. You can feel something press against your thigh.

You know what he was planning on doing, he made it clear ever since he dug himself into your skin with fangs. But the evidence. The hands twitching up your shirt, groping and feeling. The bulge grinding against your thigh

You can’t fight him, you stopped trying. Instead, you clench your fists again, letting the last of your tears drip down your face, praying and praying that what Satoru said wasn’t true.

Satoru isn’t nice to your clothes. You don’t know why you thought he ever would be. When he’s done with feeling and not looking, he pushes your shirt up, letting it catch just over the swell of your chest. He’s pushing your bra down, leaning down to trace your skin with his hot, wet tongue.

You jolt at the contact. It’d been so long since you’ve last been touched. He’s barely done anything and yet you’re already so sensitive. Something between a gasp and a moan is pulled out of your lips when Satoru swirls his tongue around your nipple, before he takes it fully in his mouth.

He’s tasting you, savoring you in a way you’d only seen him do for his cherished candy. He’s messy with it too, drool and spit spilling onto your skin, making you feel even colder than you already were.

Satoru has never stopped with just one candy, has he? He’s greedy, popping another and another in his mouth until the bag is all empty. It’s his natural essence to take until there’s nothing left. That’s why his hand trails down to your skirt, pushing it down before you can even decipher what he wants next from you.

You gasp when his hand presses against your panties, pushing them between your folds. The fabric lightly brushes against your clit, not enough for you to have any kind of relief. Still, a tingle jolts up your back.

“You’re soaked!” Satoru’s exclaiming. His voice comes out in the form of a laugh, light and innocent. It hurts to hear him sound like that. You have no more tears to cry again.

You want to tell him that it wasn’t you, that you don’t want him, that it’s just your body, but you doubt he cares about any of that. He pushes your panties down, letting them sit against your thighs before he’s pushing a finger deep into your wet pussy.

You can’t stop the noises this time. It’s more of a yelp than a moan, but Satoru takes it in stride as he continues to finger fuck you. When he digs a second finger into your hole, there’s a wet squelch of a sound. You have to turn away, but you can feel his smile against your skin. Victorious.

His other hands comes, pushing in between your breasts to keep you on the bed as he plants butterfly kisses down your ribs, your stomach, your hips, all the way down until he’s practically on his knees.

You were right to assume his inexperience. He’s sloppy, spreading his saliva and your wetness all over your pussy. There’s no rhythm, no clear pattern as he’s trying everything at once--swirling his tongue around your sensitive clit before licking his way into your hole.

And yet, it’s working. Your battered cunt responds to his enthusiasm, and your walls squeeze his fingers.

You can’t stop your noises. You don’t think he’s trying to stop his. His voice is muffled by your pussy, but he’s moaning and groaning so loudly. You think he’s saying something, but you can hear anything over the wet sounds of your cunt, the throbbing between your ears.

Your orgasm was inevitable, but you’re still surprised when it hits. Ramming into you like a train. Your back arches, and your thighs are involuntarily squeezing Satoru’s head. Keeping him there.

There’s a hum of satisfaction coming from him, but he doesn’t pull away. He folds your thighs, pushing them up into your chest so he can get more access to your pussy, sucking even harder on your clit. You were so far out of it that you can barely remember that this isn’t for you. It’s all for him. Satoru is greedy. It’s his natural essence to take and take until you’re nothing more than an empty bag, once filled with something sweet.

He doesn’t stop until you’ve come around his fingers and tongue a second time, when your cries are on the brink of overstimulation. When Satoru finally pulls away, the bottom half of his face is shiny. He keeps his eyes on you, messily wiping the remnants of you off his face before his leaning forward to kiss you, letting you taste yourself.

Unlike you, he doesn’t bother undressing himself. He’s unraveling his belt from his waist, pushing his pants down enough that he’s able to untuck his cock from his briefs. He’s already hard, giving his dick two cursory pumps before he’s settling his on either side of your body, keeping you there.

He’s big. Big enough that you worry he might actually succeed in breaking you. A semblance of rebellion, motivated by fear than anything else, stirs inside you. You push yourself up, elbows pressing against the mattress before he’s ending it.

There’s a grin, a flash of teeth, before he’s roughly pushing you down again.

“Satoru-“You start, you beg.

“Shut it,” he says, his smile too dangerous to be friendly, “if it isn’t begging me to fuck you, then I don’t wanna hear it.”

As though he’s taking the sight in himself, he hovers over you. The light from the window gently caresses his face in an angel kiss. His white hair is almost like halo, swathing him in an innocent shade of beauty.

When Satoru sinks his cock deep inside of you, you wonder if he’s defiling you or himself.

Just like before, he doesn’t bother letting you acclimate. He doesn’t wait, he doesn’t hold off. You can’t expect him too. Your pussy is squeezing him, edging him on. How could you expect him to not take it as a challenge and fuck you the way he’s dying to?

It’s exactly what he does as he bullies his cock deep inside your walls again and again. He whimpers, high and pitchy before he’s leaning down to bite and lick at your neck, your chest, leaving your skin with marks and bruises that will last for days.

Satoru loses his sharpness the more he’s inside of you. You cry when he leans down, circling his thumb across your clit.

“So good,” he’s mumbling into your sweaty skin, like a mantra, “so good so good. You’re so good. I love you I love you I love you-“

It’s torture to hear him say that over and over again and a part of you tries to force yourself to think of someone else to give you comfort. Scarred lips. Thick black hair.

You can’t.

Satoru has taken away everything, even your dreams.

There’s another gasp before he’s harshly gripping on your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are blown open, wide and manic.

“Say my name,” he’s begging but his grip is too tight to be anything but an order, “I-I need you to-fuck-say my name.”

“Sa-Satoru.” He lurches at that, almost collapsing into your chest.

“Again.”

“Satoru,” and then you say it again and again and again because your brain’s too muddled to do anything but listen to him.

His thumb is moving faster and faster on you clit, his thrusts are getting sloppier.

“Gonna-gonna fill you up,” An alarm of panic ring as he’s blabbering, words stilted and strained, “I gotta’—I just gotta’, can’t think of ‘nothing else—fuck fuck.” He adjusts your legs, folding your body in half so he can push that much deeper inside of you.

He smiles again. Wild. Unhinged. The monsoon that is Gojo Satoru. If you won’t wash away with him, then he is more than happy to drown you in his rain.

“Fuck,” he curses again, his voice a mix of a laugh and a groan, “think the kid would like a younger sibling?”

You can barely process his words. You don’t think Satoru could process his either. His orgasm triggers your own, and you’re both tipping over the edge together. His cum fills your pulsing cunt, searing your insides with white heat.

Satoru collapses on top of you, pressing you into the mattress of expensive sheets. You two stay like that, just the sounds of your harsh breathing fills the room. Satoru gives a shaky kiss on your lips, just as sweet and chaste as the first time.

He stays there for another minute, before he’s pushing himself up again. You can’t understand what he’s doing until you realize he’s still hard inside of you.

“Satoru—” it’s a plea, your voice overwrought with exhaustion, “Don’t—"

“One more, ‘kay?” he slurs, pushing his cock as deep as it could get inside of you, “Just—Just one more.”

You wake up hours later. It's pitch-black, the lights are gone. Distantly, you can feel Satoru's hand curled around your waist. He'd fallen asleep with his head buried in your neck. You can feel his rhythmic breathing against your skin. Outside, the rain beats on the windows, and thunder rattles in the sky. 

You wait for it—the anger, the hatred—for yourself to hate Gojo Satoru. 

He was right. Nothing came. 

[entitled-fangirl]

Horrid thoughts.

Cregan Stark x OCD wife!reader

Summary: the reader suffers from OCD, and Cregan tries to calm her.

Warnings: If your OCD is easily triggered, maybe shy away from this one.

A/n: my credentials you ask? I actually have OCD. And this is a short and sweet one cause it was a bit triggering for me I won’t lie😅

Masterlist

................................

She let out a small gasp, prompting Cregan to look over to her. 

"Something the matter?"

She stared down at the floor, a furrowing in her brow. 

He sighed and set his writing aside. He spoke her name out loud, almost begging for her attention.

And she heard it that time. Her head snapped up so her eyes could meet his. "Hmm?"

"The thoughts are coming back, aren't they?"

He knew he was right by the way her eyes watered. 

"You were doing so well. What changed?"

She shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear and moving back to staring at the floor. 

He should have known that the weather would affect her so badly. 

It had been the first fight in Winterfell that Cregan didn't have the advantage for. 

Only a few moons before, she had began to open up about these thoughts that appeared in her mind. They were always harsh and sometimes gory, an obvious thought she didn't want to have, but she couldn't stop it from slowly morphing into an obsession. 

And now that she had pointed it out, Cregan began to notice just how often it happened. 

"What is it? Tell me," he pressed.

She shook her head. She never did quite tell him, for fear that if it left her mouth, it would either come true, or he'd finally be convinced that she was mad. 

He stood and walked around the table to sit on the sofa with her. "Will you let me help you?"

That was usually his response. A soft assurance that he always wanted to help her, it was up to her to tell him how and to let him do so. 

"I want to leave," was her soft confession. 

He was confused. "The room? Or Winterfell?"

"The room. The room." That answer was much faster, an obvious feeling about the room getting to her.

Cregan grunted an acknowledgement before standing and offering his hand. "We'll take a walk. How does that sound for my brave girl?"

The idea didn't resonate with her as well as he had hoped, but she took it nonetheless, grabbing his arm. 

…

Additionally, the bad thoughts didn't just come and go. Some were more permanent. 

So permanent, that Cregan practically recognized her compulsions before she did. 

He stopped at the top of the staircase, knowing she would as well. 

Her eyes roamed over the stairs, counting them before doing quick math in her head. Then she stepped out with her left foot. 

They walked again like nothing had occurred until the next staircase neared. 

Before they could stop, Cregan's soft voice echoed in the corridor. "Right."

Her head snapped to him. "What?"

"Your right. C'mon," he said with a small tug to her hand. 

She hesitantly obeyed, stepping out with her right foot first this time. Honorable Cregan never lied, and he didn't then. For she finished the last step on the foot her mind told her to, and she felt instant relief. 

"How did you-"

"-I know you better than I know myself, sweet girl. Do not underestimate me. That," he tilted his head back and forth, "And I know the stair count for every set in Winterfell. Perks of being raised here."

Not long after that, she saw single chiseled letters by every staircase in the wall, either an L or R. A normal person would miss it, or not think twice about what it meant, but what had always filled her with dread now made her heart grow warm. Staircases weren't as frightening anymore. 

Especially when she knew he did that himself, not trusting another to count it just right. 

…

"What's that in your hand, lovely?" Cregan asked so softly he worried she didn't hear it. 

She looked down at her hand and back up, "my dagger."

"Why?"

She shook her head, just as she had before.

It always made Cregan rub at his forehead when he was meant with only more confusion. 

"Go back to bed," he quips softly. 

"Can't sleep."

"I'll walk you back," he offers.

She shakes her head again. "I couldn't if I wanted to."

A horrid thought must have occurred for her to abandon her bed to come to him. 

He rubbed at his hands in thought.

"If I guard you with Ice tonight, will you hand me your dagger so you may sleep peacefully?"

She contemplated his offer. "You'd do that?"

"Sweet girl, I'd do anything you need. You know that."

She looked down at the dagger and back to him. "I do."

"Alright," he said with his hand out, expecting the blade to be given to him.

She hesitated, then placed it in his large hand.

He threw it onto the desk then stood, taking her hand instead. "Let's get you to bed."

"What about-"

"-What about it?" He asked softly. "I'm here. Let me ease your mind."

"You're sure?"

His other hand rubbed at her bicep. "Very. C'mon."

…

"Cregan?"

He looked up, "Hmm?"

It was the early morning and he didn't think that she'd be up yet. 

"Love? What's wrong?"

She frowned. "I-I'm going to the Godswood."

He rubbed a hand over his chin. "You went yesterday."

She hummed.

"But you're going again today?" He questioned. 

She stared.

"This is the third day."

She stared.

"And it's too early."

She stared more.

"Sweet girl. You know what I'm going to say."

"Cregan-"

"Forgive me. I can't let you. I won't let you give in to this one."

She sniffled, "Why not?"

"This one is dangerous, my love. I can't let you go to the Godswood every day."

"Cregan, I have to."

"I'm sorry."

She sniffled again. "W- Please."

"That look causes a pain in my stomach, my heart." He grimaced at the sight of her tears. 

She reached up and wiped at her cheeks. "Oh. I-I'll go then. Forgive me for bothering you this morning."

"Wait," he commanded, standing and stomping to her. "Wait, my love." 

When he reached out for her hand, she flinched away from him, terrified of their skin touching. 

Cregan froze. "Sweet girl…"

Her hands shook. "I'm going to just… go back to my room."

"I didn't mean to upset you, my love. I know how your mind tends to-"

"I'm going to my room," she said firmly. But the firmness fell away just as quickly. "Do you think the gods can hear me from there?"

"I'm sure they can," he assured.

She wiped her hands on her skirt, as if rubbing off a bad feeling. "I'll be there then."

"Don't be angry with me."

She hummed and moved from the room.

…

A few hours, Cregan finally found time to go up to their chambers to make up for his behavior before.

That, and her handmaiden had told him that she refused food at supper.

So he entered their chamber with a small tray of food. 

She laid in the bed, a sullen look on her face. Her eyes were closed as her head rested against the headboard.

"Spent your entire day like this?" Cregan asked kindly.

She looked up at him, then relaxed again. "Yes. Is that bad of me?"

He sighed. "No. Not for you. Though, I heard you didn't take your usual walk in the courtyard. And denied food."

"Can't leave."

He set the tray on the bedside table. "I wish I could make sense of your mind."

"Me too."

"Want to tell me?"

"I'm not sure."

"That's alright." He sits down next to her, careful not to touch her. "Can I sit with you at least?"

She nodded.

The two sat in silence for a while.

"It started when I was younger," she finally said. "It felt like I finally had control of something. But… I don't feel like I have control anymore."

He listened vigilantly, careful to not interrupt her in any way.

"I get these thoughts that I can't force away. Horrid ones of things I don't wish to think of. Pain or death…"

"Ah."

"Do you think me mad?" She asked softly.

"No, sweet girl. I don't. Can I…?" He reached his hand out and let it hover over her leg. 

She grabbed his hand, making a warmth spread through him. "I'll spend the rest of the night with you, hm? We'll eat here and let the rest of the world be."

"You're probably busy-"

"I'm not. Now," he grabbed the tray and set it onto the bed, "Eat."

A genuine smile came to her face.

…

When the sun managed to appear in Winterfell after the season, so did her cheery disposition. 

Her horrid thoughts were gone. 

He noticed that she didn't even look at the walls of the staircases, stepping on either foot with no worry.

It made his heart burn with pride. 

She had control.

…......................................

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[futurepastme]

Unmatched

[Soulmate Au]

Fate had a weird sense of humor, Merlin thought as he traced the name scrawled across his left rib.

When he was a boy, Merlin couldn't wait to meet his soulmate. He would trace the words of his soulmark with care, imagining what his soulmate would look like, what their favorite game would be and if they would like Merlin.

Then he learned how to read, and the figure he'd imagined before got more detailed. He would picture a boy like him, that would climb trees and play in the forest. They would get in trouble together and be the closest friends ever, even closer than him and Will were.

And then Merlin got to an age where he could understand the importance of his soulmate's name. What it really meant to have that name on his skin, how dangerous it was. Merlin finally understood why his mother looked sad when he spoke of his soulmate, and why he wasn't allowed to tell anyone what name was engraved on his skin.

Now, Merlin sat at his new cot inside Gaius' chambers. Tracing the name that once upon a time was the source of joy and curiosity, and that now brought him confusion, sadness and disappointment.

Arthur Pendragon, the prince of Camelot, was nothing like what Merlin had imagined, and everything he feared he would be.

How could the Fates have matched him with someone so arrogant, so selfish. Someone that would pray on the weak the way the Prince was doing with his servant earlier.

That night Merlin mourned what he would never have; someone that would accept him as he was, someone that he could be himself with, no secrets and no lies. He mourned the love he would never have, all those dreams he’d had as a child, and the promised future that would never be his.

He tried to focus, instead, on the one good thing about his first day at Camelot.

Even though Arthur was Merlin's soulmate, Merlin clearly wasn't his. The lack of recognition of Merlin's name in the prince’s eyes was enough to know.

That was one less thing to deal with, and he tried to find comfort in the idea that he could dislike the prince at a distance and not be forced to be with someone like him.

Then the dragon happened, and the witch.

And Merlin saved Arthur's life. Again, and again, and again. And Arthur saved his.

He learned that Arthur was so much more than the idiot he was on Merlin's first day.

Eventually, Merlin started to mourn the fact they weren't a match.

Soon enough, Merlin realized how much he loved his prince and he tried to find comfort on the idea of being his friend. If that's all he could be, then he would take it.

Yet, deep down, his heart longed for what would never be.

Despite being his servant for a while, Merlin never learned the name of Arthur's soulmate.

Arthur insisted on bathing by himself and when Merlin got back, he had his trousers on.

One day, against his better judgment, Merlin found himself asking about it.

“Don't worry, it's not your name.”

Merlin winced. “I didn't think it was.” Of course he didn't, he knew it wasn't him. But to have the actual confirmation hurt him in a way he wasn't expecting.

Arthur continued, not noticing Merlin's reaction. “Besides, I'm sure your match will be more than happy to show you their mark once you find them.”

This time, Arthur was looking at him, and noticed how Merlin's posture grew tense.

Merlin tried to focus on the polishing he was doing, planning on dropping the subject. But he could feel the hint of tears threatening to flood his eyes, that longing he always shoved down trying to resurface.

“Merlin?” Arthur said softly, noticing Merlin's mood. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” He muttered, pushing away the sadness that had overcome him.

“You know we're friends, right? I mean, I know I don't acknowledge it often, but surely…”

Merlin risked a glance, and the concern he saw in Arthur's eyes warmed his heart. He couldn't help being honest for once. “I'm not a match with my soulmate.” He said quickly before turning his attention back to his task.

What the hell was he doing, telling Arthur this?

Arthur felt the shock of Merlin’s words hit him, and he froze in place. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

Non-matched soulmates were rare, usually one could rest assured that no matter what name they had on their skin, their owner would have your name on theirs. But there were those rare, unfortunate ones who would have the name of someone with a different match.

The idea that Merlin of all people would have a non-matched soulmark was unthinkable. The Fates couldn't be so cruel to make the sweetest, kindest, bravest, most loyal person Arthur has ever known, a non-matched. Unthinkable.

And yet, Arthur kept his gaze sharp on Merlin's body language as the boy fought back his sadness. Very cruel, indeed.

“For what it's worth, Merlin, I think anyone would be very lucky to have you as a partner.

Soulmate or not.”

Arthur saw an hesitant smile hinting to show on Merlin's lips before the boy glanced at him again, “Thanks, Arthur, it means a lot.”

Merlin thought this would be the end of it, that Arthur would let the subject go and they wouldn't talk about it again.

It took a while, but the subject did resurface.

One night, after Uther tried to marry Arthur off to some princess that wasn't his soulmate, Prince Arthur brought the subject up again. Softly, as he was tucked away in bed, with his back turned away from Merlin.

“What's your soulmate like?” The question was so quiet that Merlin almost didn't hear it.

He thought for a while if he should answer it – how much he could answer – but the way Arthur asked the question, like a curious child that was afraid of saying something wrong, made Merlin open up once again.

“Brave,” he started, and as Merlin stared from Arthur's back, back into the fire, the words started to spill out as easily as breathing. “Kind, strong, annoying,” he laughed, “smart, and very, very beautiful.”

He waited a second before continuing:

“I didn't like them at the beginning, you know?” Merlin smiled fondly at the fire as he recalled those first days in Camelot. “I thought the Fates had made a mistake by making them my soulmate.”

His smile faded slowly, until it turned into a frown. “I was actually glad that we weren't a match.”

Merlin turned his gaze back to Arthur and found the prince glancing back at him from over his shoulder. Merlin smiled as he continued, “that didn't last very long, by the end of the week I changed my opinion about them, and within the month there was nothing I wouldn't have done for them.”

“You're friends, then?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah. We're good friends, I think.” Merlin looked back to the fire and tried to keep his gaze there.

He heard the shoveling of the sheets as Arthur turned around. “What did they say when you told them?”

“Told them what?”

“That they were your soulmate.”

Merlin looked back to the prince with a frown of confusion. “I didn't tell them anything.”

This time Arthur was the confused one, “why not?”

Merlin stared at Arthur's eyes intensely, he took in Arthur's position – tucked in under the sheets, with only his head poking out – and his displeased stare. He looked cute, like an angry child upset with a grown up that denied him candy for dinner.

He felt his heart drown in that familiar longing that by now was almost an old friend.

“I can't do that to them, Arthur. I can't put them in that position.”

Arthur raised himself into one arm, “but, Merlin, they might choose to be with you regardless of what's on their skin.”

“No.”

“Yes, Merlin. I already told you once, anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

“You don't get it.” Merlin stood up from his place in front of the fireplace, and made his way to kneel on the floor beside Arthur.

Their heads were close enough to see every emotion displayed. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he should go that far, if it was worth the risk. But Arthur was always worth the risk, and he made a point to keep his eyes locked on his as he said: “I love my soulmate Arthur.”

Those words seemed to open tightly closed gates and Merlin was suddenly overwhelmed by his feelings. He felt the tears fill his eyes and a sad smile form on his lips. He never said it out loud before. The fact that Arthur was the first one to hear it, was just right.

Arthur saw the wave of emotions shown on Merlin's face, and waited in silence until he had a chance to recover.

Merlin was grateful for the prince's patience, and once he had his bearings again, he looked straight into Arthur's eyes as he continued;

“I could never make them choose.” Merlin felt his breath caught in his lungs as the tears threatened to show up again. “They have their own soulmate, they have the chance to find their match. I can't be the reason why they don't.”

Arthur opened his mouth to say something but Merlin didn't let him. Instead, he said in a soft voice still looking at Arthur's eyes: “I just want them to be happy, Arthur.”

Merlin paused. Arthur gave him a surprised look that made him look like a sad puppy.

“If I have to watch ‘em be happy from a distance then that's what I'm going to do, all it matters to me is that they are happy.”

“They should still have the option, Merlin.” Arthur said softly.

“There is no option, Arthur. You have no idea” he smiled sadly at his phrasing, “how important this whole soulmate thing is for them.”

“You know how it is,” he continued, “we spend our whole lives tracing the name on our skin, imagining the face that will go with it, what it will be like when we meet them.”

Arthur nodded and Merlin couldn't face him anymore. “I can't have them feeling like I felt, and I can't have them feeling like they have some type of obligation towards me, because they don't.”

He looked back at Arthur with a firm gaze. “My soulmate has no obligations towards me just because I have their name. I know them. They have a good heart, a noble one. They would do what they thought was right regardless of their own feelings, and I don't want them to do that. Not about this.”

He softened his gaze and managed to put up a sad smile. “I love them, they are my soulmate and they are my friend, and that's enough.”

“It doesn't look like it’s enough, Merlin.” Arthur whispered softly. He hadn't turned his gaze away from Merlin the whole time he had been talking and he’d watched the emotions dance around Merlin's face every time he dared to look up.

His heart ached for his friend’s fate and he had the sudden urge to either hug the sadness out of him, or raid the whole of Camelot after Merlin's soulmate and order them to give him a chance.

He did neither.

“I won't lie and say that that's the dream,” Merlin said with a heavy sigh. “You know what the soulmate dream is.”

Merlin threw all caution to the wind – if there was any left at this point – and raised a hand to Arthur's shoulder, landing it softly against the prince's nightshirt. He once again brought his eyes to meet the Prince's, and held it there, letting his barriers down and allowing his eyes to clearly show his feelings.

“It's not in my fate to live the soulmate dream, Arthur. I'm not gonna say it's fair, that I wouldn't wish it to be different,” he paused as he felt the tears coming back and his heart getting tight. “And I'm not going to say it doesn't hurt, because it does. It does and it did, and in a way it always will hurt.”

He felt thick tears running down his cheek, but somehow he kept his eyes soft and managed a kind smile that showed a little bit of his teeth. “My fate is not with them, but I'm glad I can still be in their life as a friend. And even if it hurts, I'll be happy when they find their match.”

The fire cracked loudly through the silence that had settled between them. Merlin took the chance to run his sleeve across his eyes, and settled down back into the ground, pulling his face and body away from Arthur. The longer the silence stretched, the faster Merlin's heart would beat, second-guessing his decision of opening up to his Prince.

Arthur took his time, his sharp gaze never left Merlin, but studied his every movement while repeating the whole conversation in his head.

After what it felt like an eternity to Merlin, Arthur finally broke the silence with a heavy sigh. “As your friend,” he said, eyes still firm on Merlin's. “I have to say you're an idiot for not giving yourself a chance with them. You should tell them, and give you both a chance to at least try this possibility.”

Merlin hunched down, he felt his breathing stutter when he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips tightly shut. He felt cold and breathless, and every heartbeat deafened him like they were warning bells resonating through his entire body.

“However,” Arthur continued, his hand itching to reach Merlin's chin and bring the boy’s blue eyes back to meet his own. “I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing.”

Merlin raised his gaze but let his head down, looking at Arthur through teared eyelashes.

“It's an impossible situation you find yourself in, Merlin. And while I don't believe you found the best outcome, I can see the nobility in it, and I can relate to it as well.”

Arthur gave a breathy hum, before continuing

“You know, I never really thought about you as the self-sacrificing idiot, but considering the amount of times you've made a stupid decision to try and save my life, I should've seen this coming.” He gave a side smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

Merlin huffed a laugh, it was half-hearted, but genuine enough, and Arthur felt satisfied when Merlin replied:

“I might be an idiot, but you'll always be a prat.”

“As long as that never changes.” He smiled, Merlin smiled back, and the thick atmosphere that had taken over Arthur's chambers dissipated just like that.

Merlin's eyes were still teared up, though they now shone with a small light that had dimmed down during their conversation before. This time, Arthur was the one to raise a hand to Merlin's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze that he hoped would comfort him somehow.

“Thank you, Merlin, for sharing so much with me. You didn't have to, and I appreciate your trust. Know that it has not been misplaced.”

“Prat.” Merlin's smile was genuine this time, and his eyes were soft again, though the usual light was still duller than normal, they shone brighter by the second.

Arthur nodded to himself and gave Merlin a last squeeze and a little shake, before pulling his hand away and dismissing him. “Go get some sleep, we have a long day tomorrow.”

Merlin nodded and collected himself, getting up off the floor and running his sleeve through his face one last time. He watched as Arthur lay back down on his pillow and couldn't resist the urge to tuck him in, fixing his covers where they had slipped down to his waist.

Arthur had the lost puppy eyes again, watching Merlin as he tucked him in. His body gave small goosebumps where Merlin's hand pressed when fixing the bedspread around him.

With a last pat on the cover, Merlin turned around and headed to the door.

“Good night, Arthur,” he muttered before closing the door.

“Good night, Merlin,” Arthur whispered softly to the empty room.

That night, Merlin slept like a log. The emotional exhaustion he felt in the past hours knocked him dead the moment his body hit his bed. He would have to process his feelings properly at some point but not today, today he slept and let the night wash his worries away.

That night, Arthur couldn't sleep. He kept replaying this night's discoveries in his head. Tossing and turning around in bed, he couldn't seem to relax. His hand would reach down to his inner thigh and trace the name he knew was there, like it had millions of times before, but this time the feeling that came with it wasn't reassuring nor hopeful. Not when his mind was filled with Merlin's sad eyes and teary face.

And as the phantom touch of Merlin's hands still warmed him, for the first time, Arthur prayed. To the new gods and the old ones, to the universe itself and to the Fates that decided men's destinies. He prayed for his friend's happiness and future. And most of all, he prayed and wished with all his heart that he could somehow find a way to help Merlin's heartache.

He hoped that the morning would bless him with the answer.

End of Act.1

Gods, I miss writing. My new job is sucking out my soul and I barely have time for existing anymore, but I did have this lost in my drafts and since I miss posting I decided to muster up the strength to finish this one up. I did copy and paste without editing, though, so I'm sorry for any mistakes and weird formatting.

Sorry it ends up like that, teehee, but had I posted the draft you would be hanging mid-dialog so I consider this a win, for me, that is.

Thank you for landing me your time, I hope you enjoyed it 💜

The good news is I do know where I'm going with this and I'll try to write more this next week. The bad news is I have no idea when I'll finish it or if I'll be able to write at all next week, but we'll see.

Happy ending is a promise, but we'll have more angst first. And hurt Merlin.

Keep warm, drink water and remember to take your medicine if you have one.

Ps: (and this is me being hopeful) I really don't know if or when I'm posting more so if anybody wants to be tagged when I do, please lmk

[gremlingottoosilly]

Ex-husband!König having shared custody over his child(ren) with reader. Him turning them into your mini bodyguards whenever you try bringing a new man home, because no one compares to their actual father!

Konig actually being a decent father if only to use your child to spy on you. Come on, you really thought that your little stunt would go unnoticed? Your ex-husband might not be the best parent out there, but his savings accounts and property are more than enough to sway the court into giving you shared custody - almost 50/50 if it weren't for his contracts. He can basically pick your kids up whenever you're not completely opposed to it...and you can't really deny them a father. It's not their fault he is an obsessive asshole who was seriously considering putting your children into online classes because he didn't want their dearest mommy to go out too much. You love Konig, this is the problem. He loves you three times more, and he loves your children - but his love is the main problem here. You want it, yes, somehow, but you don't want to spend the rest of your life explaining to your kids that mommy and daddy love each other, but if they ever find themselves in a similiar romantic situation, they'd need to call the police. Konig, however, makes loving him more and more difficult day after day. First, it was little meetings he'd establish - you somehow always end up in his bed, forgetting about new dumb boyfriend you tried to have, while your ex is too busy with his face buried in your cunt. You can't moan because the kids had just fell asleep. You try your best to look composed after, but your heart breaks every time you see hope in their eyes. Mommy and daddy are back together, or so it seems. And, well, your children are wonderful. They are chaotic, like all kids are, but they were never...difficult. Until now, apparently - they are good in daycare, they have friends and silly pets, they are by all means functional members of society...yet, every time you bring a new guy home, they become the most hateful, feral little gremlins. You have to drop them off to their father's place, and then Konig would ask why you're in such a rush, then you would get second thoughts about the date, then he would find his way to your lips and now you have your kids watching cartoons while their father is fucking you in the bedroom. Just like before... Somehow, you yourself started to believe that divorce was just a hysterical stunt and everyone, including your toddlers, knew you'd be back together. You just feel dumb being the last one to acknowledge this.

[egg-but-with-style]

Mmfhhh butcher ghost..

Part 2

He's big, he's scary, his apron is covered in blood. You just walked in and are immediately stunned by the look of him. He's wearing a mask, which you figure is to stop blood from getting into his mouth or nose, but something about him tells you he wouldn't mind it either way.

He's pretty focused on a bloody cut of steak at the moment, his knife slicing through with such ease and precision. The air smells of blood, leaving a tangy taste in your mouth, which is already dry from seeing him.

It's a good 30 seconds before he even sees you, his gaze trailing up to the counter, which he seemed to have completely forgotten about. He walks up, pulling off the bloody gloves he had on, throwing them into the trashcan.

That's when you see his fingers, scarred, worn, thick. You try not to stare, knowing that's rude and all. Normally you'd be fine, you're not small, you're not intimidated easily, but he's just so.. intriguing.

He's the first to pipe up, throwing out a gruff, "What can I help ya with?" He figures you're scared. The people that come in are always scared if they aren't used to him.

He watches you snap back to his eyes, your lips slightly parted in what he thought could only be fear, or awe. If he was being honest, he did like a woman who wouldn't break when he played rough. But he was supposed to be a professional, not a pervert.

You quickly snapped out of it. Pulling out your phone, being glad you had something else to look at other then his deep brown eyes. Like molasses. Focusing on the list on your phone, you quickly sputtered out your order, "Oh! I uh, I need two chickens.."

He hummed in acknowledgement, moving towards the display of packaged meat. He pulls out two chickens, the best of the bunch he had. He figured someone cute like you should have them. He placed them on the counter, near the register.

He cleared his throat and spoke again, "So, got any plans for the poor creatures?" He was hoping maybe he could prolong the conversation as much as he could. He wasn't sure if you were a local, and you were easy on the eyes, who could blame him?

You started to pull out your wallet and paused. Surprised a guy like him was talkative, you weren't complaining though. Not when his voice sounds like that.

"Oh, yeah. I'm going to my parents house for dinner tonight. My mom loves my chicken spadini"

"Well atleast they're going to a good cause. Maybe you could...bring me some."

It's been a long time since he had a meal cooked by another person, and if it was good enough for your mom, it would be good enough for him.

"I mean..yeah sure! There's always left overs and..well I like cooking for other people sometimes.."

It was hard to tell if he was being flirty, or if he genuinely wanted to try your cooking. He was just so deadpan.

He figured he should probably ring you up, not wanting to be even more forward then he was. He didn't wanna scare you off.

"That's gonna be 25.68"

"But it says-"

"It's a discount. I am getting free food after all"

You opened your mouth again to argue but, he seemed so stern about it. The 5 dollar discount was nice, but seemed a bit much just for chicken spadini. You figured it wasn't worth the trouble. You payed and took the sack, the two cold chickens weighing down the plastic bag.

He then handed you your receipt. You didn't think much of it, just stuffing it in with the chickens.

"Thank you, ..?"

You looked at his name tag. Simon

"Thank you, Simon"

"No problem. You be careful."

He was glad he was wearing the mask, otherwise you might've seen the slight red in his cheeks as you called him by his name. Something about the way your lips moved to form the words. Something about your voice

Then you waved goodbye, and out the door you went. He was a bit disappointed to see you leave. You walking out the door seeming to happen so quickly. He just hoped he hadn't scared you. But seeing your ass took his mind off the fear for a moment.

You hopped into your car, ready to drive to your parents, when curiosity got the better of you. Looking into the bag and checking the receipt. Seeing a phone number in your area code. Guess he was flirting.

Authors note: butcher ghost has been one of my favorite brainworms since I've gotten into the cod fandom. I think I have a type. I also don't know who originally made the butcher ghost au?? I know in lore he was a butchers apprentice before he enrolled in the army, so it maybe it wasn't made by a specific person. But yeah, thank you for reading, bye!!!!

[reshinless]

Kinich x fem! Reader childhood friends to lovers please? Some backstory of Kinich's childhood and reader being the only one who can give him great comfort

back when we were younger - grentperez ,, childhood lovers w/ kinich. purely fluff/romance.

when you both were younger, it'd often be just the two of you after the other kids went to their parents, or at least elsewhere. so you'd ask him things others usually wouldn't.

"hey, you!" your small figure suddenly showed up in the corner of his eye, he turned his head. "wanna play with me?" you took a seat beside him on the grass, the sun seemed like it was about to set, you both didn't have too much time left but... no harm in playing he supposed.

as you explained your little card game to him, you were honestly super proud, it was a game somewhat similar to the TCG you see nowadays in teyvat.

as much as he lost to you at first, he ended up winning right before he had to go. you waved him off with a soft genuine smile as he did the same in a more shy manner.

he always found comfort in anything you did for him. the time you spent with him, the effort you put into making him feel better after having lost to you, or those moments where he started to doubt his strength.

you made that same spot the place you both would always meet up at for years to come. always playing the same game and talking about hopes and dreams, but that was honestly mostly you. he liked hearing you talk.

he also liked other stuff about you though, like those moles on your thighs. or the acne that grew onto your face that one time, maybe even the times you've scolded him as you both grew into adults.

"kinich... you know we talked about this! stop being so careless!" you huffed and crossed your arms, the number of times you've scolded him over this, you still smacked his head like you did back when you'd win your little game.

"i know. 'm sorry." that day he was revived by the pyro archon, mavuika, acknowledging his strength and passion for his nation.

but.. why was he still surprised when you suddenly reached out to hug him? you've been friends for years, this should be nothing. he should be able to reciprocate it easy peasy... right?

yet it felt like his body was stuck, frozen even. your warmth quickly melted his cold exterior, causing him to shed a few tears. someone was worried about him. you slightly tackle him back down onto the grass.

"don' cry kin', i just- I don't want you to get hurt. I believe in your strength," you wipe off a few of his tears as you pull away from his arms. "but I don't want you to stop coming home... I don't want you to stop playing with me. you've made so many friends with me, we're supposed to be a package deal."

every word you uttered, you started to cry too. he brings you back into a hug.

ever since that day, he's tried to lessen the times he's had to die, but only further strengthening his will to fight and live to see another day. or more like to see you again.

it's been another two years since your little speech to him. you're finally already his significant other, and somewhat keeping it away from those who weren't close to you both.

before he could finally go home to you, he swung by the very same place you both would play your card game. tracing his fingertips on the wall nearby, looking at each of your scores back when you'd score them anyway.

"you wanted to come by here too, huh?" he turned his head almost immediately at the voice, he could recognize your tone from anywhere. you rounded a corner to take a look at the long list of tallies on the stone wall.

"you know, i always felt like we were something back then." you hum as you crouch to look at the measurements of heights for each year you both got older.

"pretty, you are aware we've been together for two years now, right?" "don't ruin our moment kin'!"

a small voice emits from nothingness; "can you two lovebirds keep it down?! a king needs his beauty sleep y'know?!"

"oh shut it, will you?!"