#he's going to explain the process to every husband he knows and they have no choice but to listen

[stiltonbasket]

JC finally gets his act together and gets married? yzh and wwx are being little shits and giving him all sorts of embarrassing advice on being married. they're very proud of him and it shows, but they're going to roast the hell out of him. Jiang-furen shows up at some point and watches with xianxia popcorn.

Lan Wangji is also there with xianxia popcorn (aka, popped lotus seeds fried in oil and spices) to educate Jiang Cheng about remodeling an existing residence to accommodate a wife + children. Along with the popped lotus seeds, he brings the newlyweds a set of before-and-after blueprints of the Jingshi and a book about extending rooms built over water, so that Jiang-furen can pick a layout for Lihua's new bedroom.

[sttoru]

‘and if i only could, i’d make a deal with god, and i’d get him to swap our places. .’ — kate bush

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. gojo satoru x wife!reader. fluff to angst (no comfort). spoilers chapter 261. reader’s pregnant. major character death. mentions of blood, death. nicknames ‘pretty, sweets’. not proofread bcs i couldn't through the tears. i cried nine times writing this so.. good luck! wc: 3.6k

“he’s kicking again,” satoru chuckles excitedly. he’s been clinging onto you ever since you got back from your doctor’s appointment. your baby boy is growing up healthy and there don’t seem to be any complications.

you smile and rest back against the velvety pillows. you’re enjoying the affection you’re receiving, the kisses and nuzzles against your swollen tummy makes every bit of suffering worth it. your husband is going to be an amazing dad, that you can tell.

“hey, little guy—don’t give ya mommy a tough time,” satoru huffs and gently taps the side of your stomach that was last kicked by the unborn baby, “that’s my wife, y’know?” you giggle at the scene in front of you and close your eyes, relaxing your body.

a comfortable silence hangs in the room. satoru’s warm hands cupping and rubbing your round stomach add to the tranquil atmosphere. the weight of your husband’s head presses onto the front of your plump belly—ear pressed against the stretched skin as if expecting to hear your baby boy talk.

after a while, you open your eyes. you hear a sniff and then the usual silence follows. you look down at satoru settled between your legs, hugging your waist and resting his cheek on your tummy. he’s awfully quiet and you’re unable to see his eyes because of his bangs.

“toru, everything okay?” you carefully ask. your voice comforts him for the next couple seconds, before his muscles tense up once more. satoru tries his best to seem unaffected by the many thoughts scurrying through his head.

“mhm,” your husband nods and forces a small smile. though, he can’t keep the facade up any longer. the longer you’re pregnant, the more worried he gets about a certain something; something that’s been bothering him ever since.

it’s the reason why he doubted even having kids in the first place.

“i—well. i don’t know, sweets,” satoru sighs. a deep sigh that shatters the mask he’s had on for so long. his brows furrow and his eyes dart from one place to the other. his fingers stop their movements on your stomach. they curl around the material of your shirt instead; showing a clear sense of vulnerability.

satoru seems. . . afraid, yet also angry. perhaps at himself, perhaps at the world. you don’t utter a single word. if there’s anything you want, it’s for your husband to speak about his inner turmoil freely. you’re the only person who he can have such emotional conversations with—the only person he can be himself with.

the real gojo satoru.

not the strongest.

that’s why you’re not surprised when satoru opens his mouth to confess the inevitable to you. “i’m scared,” his voice cracks. it’s a faint change in tone, but it is noticeable to you. you’ve been his lover for long enough to notice every minuscule thing.

the white-haired man lets out another sigh. you brush his soft bangs out of his eyes and instantly notice the sudden weariness in them. normally, those beautiful blue eyes shine brightly, yet that light has now dimmed.

you pat his head and satoru immediately leans into your touch. you allow him to process his own emotions and words before speaking up.

“scared?” you ask quietly and carefully, giving your husband space to explain.

satoru nods. there are a thousand thoughts running through his mind. all those thoughts he’s tried to suppress since the day you’ve announced your pregnancy. maybe even before that—at the day of your wedding.

he’s sat down with you a few months into the marriage, to have the talk about kids. he seemed to be delighted to have children with you, however there have always been some dark and hidden thoughts lingering in the back of his mind.

the sorcerer has chosen to ignore them for the longest time. he’s been trying to convince himself that he has nothing to worry about. you’re going to be fantastic parents and your children are going to be extremely loved.

the day you surprised him with your pregnancy, was like a dream. satoru cried - which he rarely does - so it was an emotional night for both of you. neither of you could wait to meet your child—happy with whatever gender.

despite all of the optimism and enthusiasm, satoru’s struggles with his inner thoughts have not yet ended. he doesn’t want to bother you with it. you seem so content and he does not want to ruin that at all.

but even the strongest without limits has to reach a breaking point.

“yeah,” satoru speaks up, his voice hoarse. he kisses your belly button, hoping his child doesn’t pick up on his distress somehow. your husband closes his eyes as he places his forehead against your tummy, praying that the heavens above hear his pleas, “i don’t want our kid to inherit my cursed techniques. at all.”

your hand doesn’t stop stroking satoru’s hair. you don’t flinch at his words, nor do you immediately discard his worries. in all honestly, you’ve shared the same feelings before getting pregnant.

you know how satoru’s treated by the jujutsu society. it’s dehumanising how he’s seen as a weapon of some sorts. a weapon that could solve all problems—one that cannot rest until its duty is done.

you despise it. you’ve told satoru about your hatred for the toxic society, even going as far as asking him to move to a different country without telling anyone. you’re sick and tired. you can’t recall the amount of times that you’ve cried alone, in the bathroom, after you’ve seen the state your lover comes back home in.

the white-haired man always seems so tired. his eyes and head hurt because of them overusing his cursed techniques. there are even days where satoru doesn’t put his blindfold or sunglasses off at home.

and when you try to talk to him about it, satoru simply assures you that ‘he’ll be fine’. you believe him in the moment, but you don’t know for how long you’ll be able to keep that trust.

you’re letting him break, slowly yet surely, right in front of you. he’s working himself to his demise. it’s nothing out of the ordinary to not want the same for your child.

though, you’re sure that it’ll be fine even if your baby boy inherits satoru’s techniques. that’s because you two are going to protect him with all you have. no one is going to treat your child like a weapon—not while the both of you are still alive.

“i don’t want our child to take over the burden i carry,” satoru continues. his brows are furrowed and his lips are pressed into a thin line. he’s already thinking about all the possibilities that can follow with the birth of your son.

he can hide his child from the world, but wouldn’t that be too restrictive? he can keep an eye on him every second of the day, but wouldn’t that be overprotective?

you notice satoru’s internal state of panic increasing, so you quickly cup his face. you lean down and press a firm kiss against his lips, to which he instantly responds. his breath hitches and he sits up on the mattress, deepening the kiss as his hands hold you by the back of your head.

he needs this—you—more than anything else in the world. if it wasn’t for you, he’d have lost his sanity long ago.

you pull back after a good minute and pant. you chuckle as you notice the slight pout on satoru’s lips. he never seems satisfied with just one kiss, which is adorable. you coo and pepper his face with small pecks, “aww.”

it’s comforting to the sorcerer. he closes his eyes and his mouth forms a small smile. you’re doing an amazing job at calming him down. satoru’s muscles relax and he finds himself nestled between your legs soon enough.

you realise that he’s still somewhat afraid for the future of his child by the way he’s playing with your shirt. his head lays on your chest and his long fingers trace shapes on your exposed skin.

“i know, honey, i know,” you murmur against the top of his head. you massage satoru’s scalp gently, nearly making him purr because of how incredible that feels. you stare at the ceiling and continue your little talk.

“i’ve thought about all of it too,” your fingers find his undercut, playing with the little hairs. all you can hope for is that your partner stresses less about the outcome of your pregnancy.

if you can do one thing for him, it’d be that. reassuring him that you’ll both do your best for your child will surely put him at ease. your husband has enough to worry about anyway.

you want to share that burden. you don’t want him to carry the world on his shoulders alone—he’s got you for that now.

“but i think that our son will be fine. why? because he’s got you,” you smile and kiss satoru’s forehead. it’s his favorite type of kiss and it works wonders when you comfort him. his ocean eyes regain their sparkle, both because of your unconditional love and trust in his parenting skills, “our boy will grow up fine and protected because he’s got you as his amazing dad, yeah?”

satoru takes some time to let your words sink in. your trust in him is a beautiful thing. of course, he’ll protect his kid no matter what. both you and his kid will be safe for as long as he’s alive. you’re going to be a happy family—one that he’s always dreamed of having.

he isn’t going to raise his child to be the strongest. he isn’t going to raise his child as an heir to the throne. he isn’t going to raise his child as his legacy. he isn’t going to raise his child as a tool.

his son will have a normal childhood and he will guarantee that. satoru will give his kid what he didn’t have as a child himself;

unconditional love and support for whatever his son wishes to become.

satoru raises his head and leans in to kiss you, hugging you to himself. he adores you so much, you’re all he needs to feel like he can do anything and everything all at once.

carrying the world on his shoulders so you can live peacefully in it is all satoru does it for.

“heh, damn right. i’ll be the best husband and dad ever.”

. . .

but in the end, your dreams are just dreams, right?

an escape from reality, that’s all dreams really are. all those times you’ve sat together to pick the furniture you want to place in the nursery, to paint the room a baby blue, to buy clothes and toys, diapers and carriers, to giggle about the places you would love to visit as a family, to think about possible baby names, to joke about whether your son will say ‘dada’ or ‘mama’ first — all of it were naive, hopeful dreams.

perhaps you were too caught up in them to realise that reality will hit when least expected.

satoru and you have lived in your own bubble—your own little fantasy world where tragic fates does not exist. no one in this planet would suffer if life worked that way.

no one on this planet would have to pick up the phone and have their world shatter, their dream bubble pop. to have all hope lost in the span of a second.

grief is a scary thing. it’s devastating and it will consume you whole. you don’t realise that until you experience it firsthand. losing someone close to you will break you in half. it’s a punch to the gut.

especially if it’s your husband. someone you considered your partner—who’s promised you to be together forever. maybe those promises were also a part of your fantasy.

maybe they were also but a beautiful lie.

your footsteps feel heavy. you don’t have any energy left in you. every drop has been drained from you the moment you heard the news over the phone. your eyes and head hurt, both feeling like they’re going to burst. you don’t want to accept any of this.

the faces of the people around you are a blur. they’re all holding their head low, their hands gathered in front of them to show respect. no one speaks—all the room is filled with are your sobs. the loud cries you let out in hopes that they wake you up from this absolute nightmare.

you drag your feet to the examination table in the middle of the room. tears continue to blur your vision, though surely, you can confirm the outline of the body laying underneath the blanket.

how could you not recognise the person you thought you’d spend eternity with?

it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. it’s unfair. . .

“satoru.” your voice is barely audible. your hands are shaking and your face is stained with endless streams of tears. you stand at the side of the table and you instantly curl your fingers around the edge.

seeing that face from up close hits different. usually, it’d have your stomach fill with a feeling of delight, yet now all you feel when looking at it is unimaginable dread.

the blood on the corners of his mouth. the blanket that’s hiding whatever is left of him from below the waist. the dull eyes that once stared at you with hope and love. those dried lips that normally shone with a layer of gloss.

god, it’s awful. you don’t want this to be true. you’re still waiting to be woken up by your husband. so he can hold you close and hug you, whisper sweet nothings and reassure you that he’d never leave you alone in a savage world like this.

your shaky fingers reach out to his right hand. his skin feels cold and his hand doesn’t hold yours back. your breath hitches and you let out a long, devastating cry. it sounds like a scream for help as your body crumbles—falling to your knees whilst you tightly grip your lover’s limp hand.

“no, god no, please!” you cover your mouth with your free hand, nearly hyperventilating from pure pain. you feel like your heart is going to give up on you. it’s breaking into a million pieces, as does your future. you can’t live without him—you can't do it.

satoru is the sole reason you’ve held out for so long. you were each other’s support system. you can’t do any of this on your own. you can’t breathe properly—your body doesn’t let you.

not until you feel a hand on your back, rubbing it gently. you can guess that it’s shoko, but you’re too distraught to even pay attention to her. you lift yourself up by holding onto the edge of the table, your legs shaking. you sniffle and sob uncontrollably.

you reach out to touch satoru’s lifeless face, as gentle as you always do. you flinch when you feel just how cold his body is—the usual warmth that would comfort you gone, nowhere to be found. you don’t get a reaction from him when you touch his cheeks.

it only serves to remind you of the tragic events that unveiled. you’re still in denial, but the moment feels real. your brain is slowly yet surely processing the information. though, you don’t want it to. you want to live in a world where you grow old with your husband.

where your child is going to grow up with a father figure at home.

“satoru, come back to me.. to us, please,” you beg and beg, hoping he smiles and sits up, telling you that it’s just one of his silly pranks again. when none of that happens, you feel yourself become more hopeless. you hunch over him and cup his face. the same face that would light up whenever you’d touch it.

you hiccup and wail, unable to breathe. you rub his cheekbones with your thumbs, settling your forehead against his. your tears fall underneath his eyes and slide down his temples, making it seem like he’s crying with you.

you wait for satoru to respond, but he doesn’t. there’s an eerie silence on his part and you’re panicking. you need him to comfort you, but he isn’t there to do that anymore. you’re left alone, all alone.

“i can’t do this without you—we can’t do this without you,” you stammer between sobs. you can’t go through life, knowing satoru isn’t going to be there for you. he isn’t going to come home anymore. he isn’t going to cuddle you to sleep anymore. he isn’t going to experience what it’s like to have a family of his own. he isn't going to be able to hold his child and to play with him.

you blame life for being unfair—always taking away the people who don’t deserve it. satoru hasn’t done anything to deserve this. he just.. existed. his fate of becoming the strongest, decided at his birth, is what has lead to his death.

you continue to sob to yourself. you refuse to acknowledge anything or anyone else in the room. you’re solely focused on your husband. or rather, what’s left of him.

remembering how excited satoru was to spend the rest of his life with you and your future children pains you all the more. he’s been stripped from a normal life. you’ve tried your hardest to give him that said normal life, yet your hopeful dreams have gotten you nowhere.

you wipe your tears away for the first time in a while. your grief is making you delusional—disoriented to the point you try to make yourself feel better. you force a smile and hold tightly onto satoru’s limp hand, trying to speak through your quiet sniffles.

“o-our boy is gonna be born soon,” you chuckle bitterly and place satoru’s hand on your belly. it’s gotten bigger over the months and you’re already eight months along. he was so close to meeting your child—so close. yet his tragic destiny did not allow him to.

you hope he’s been happy with you for as long as he lived. you hope you’ve somewhat relieved him from his misery for as long as he lived. that burden he carried, the world he carried on his shoulders. . . it doesn’t seem to want to detach from him. even after death.

you press a deep kiss against his forehead. satoru’s favorite spot to be kissed at, you remember. you wish he feels it in the afterlife; wherever he may he. as long as he’s in a better place now, one that treats him well. this current world has been too cruel on him. it doesn’t deserve to home someone like your husband.

“i wish you were here to see your son. to see our baby grow up, you'd be so proud, honey,” you kiss satoru’s forehead again. it’s all you can do stop yourself from losing it completely. you know satoru would tell you to be strong, for his sake. for your unborn son.

“i’m going to tell him all about you, ‘kay? i'm going to tell him about how awesome his dad was,” your voice breaks for the nth time. you’re still in the first stage of grief, though you try to seem strong in case satoru is watching from somewhere.

that’s what he did when he was the one going through a tough time. he’d act brave and fine, putting on a mask to make you worry less, telling you all kinds of reassuring words while he was suffering internally.

now it’s your turn to safely send his soul off to the afterlife. to let satoru pass away in peace, with him knowing that you’re going to live on for him and for your child. it’s the least you can do at the moment.

you put on a brave face, staring into his lifeless eyes, smiling through the unbearable pain. you’re sure he’s still listening to you from somewhere. satoru’s always told you that your voice is soothing, so you do your best to calm his soul and reassure him that it’s fine for him to rest.

“i’ll do my best to raise him, yeah? so you.. you just rest.”

rest was a foreign word to the sorcerer. this world didn’t give him an ounce of peace. he’d either be overworked by his family or the jujutsu society, and if it isn’t work, his inherited techniques were slowly killing his brain and body.

you’re praying that satoru has none of that in the afterlife. you’re praying that he can live a normal life, eternally. so that when you join him one day, you both won’t have to suffer nor share the burden. you can live out your dreams without anyone interrupting.

not even fate.

“you deserve to rest. you really do,” you sigh.

soon enough, you feel yourself crumble again. you burst out in tears once you realise that he’s actually never coming back to you in this life. you bury your face in the crook of his neck and sob loudly, not holding back your emotions anymore. you just can’t—you can’t act brave when your second half has been taken away from you so suddenly.

you hope that you succeeded into sending him off without any worries. you can’t help but continue rambling to yourself, “i’m going to miss you s’much. oh, my baby.”

you lift your head back and stare into satoru’s eyes once more. did he think about you when he was on his deathbed? did he see his life flash before his eyes, including his many memories with you? did he see what could have been?

it’s unfair.

you give him one last bright smile and gently close his eyelids for him, hoping his lost soul saw your face before you did so. with one last kiss on his lips, you whisper your final words;

“please wait for me on the other side, my love.”

[tremendouscreationperson]

Logan x Reader pt.1

Again spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine

Many of y'all liked my little DP/W idea so here is more, I tried to keep it GN so there isn't smut but it does sorta allude to it

Part 2 >> Masterlist

Wade has just woke up, he yet again sees Logan drinking and asks 'where they are and how they got here'. Logan vaguely points to the door and three people walk through. It's Elektra, Blade and Gambit. There are some not-so-pleasantries and eventually Laura makes herself known.

"We're missing Johnny and Y/N." Gambit drawls.

Wade makes a joke and turns back to Logan who looks like he's shat himself. "Peanut?"

"You said Y/N?" Logan settles his drink onto the first available surface and runs a hand through his hair. "We saw Johnny but not Y/N."

~~

Later on he had slumped down and made a fire. He didn't want to be part of the heroics, he couldn't be. He wasn't worth it. Laura had tried to convince him in her unique way. He could see himself in her, see why he'd fight for her.

Logan took another swig and stared off into the treeline. It was unclear how long he just sat but eventually he noticed movement.

Wolverine stood, ready to protect the others. Why was he ready to protect the others?

Then he saw you.

You were wide eyed. Your suit was practically undamaged except for a little cut on your thigh. Not a hair out of place. There was dirt on your face and body but you were beautiful.

"Y/N." He involuntarily took a step towards you.

You stayed completely still. Wary. Why were you wary of him? “Logan.” Your voice was barely above a whisper but he heard it. Would always hear you. You were the main voice rattling around his adamantium skull.

“Y/N.” He took another step forward and tried to erase his frown, tried to ease his expression into something you wouldn't be wary of. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

Your eyes scanned him and the trees behind before you gave a nod and slowly approached, favouring your right leg.

“It's been a while.” The fire light bounced gloriously off your skin, illuminating your very being as though you were an angel. Well you were. You were perfect. Are perfect.

“For me as well.” He nodded too enthusiastically, too eager to be speaking to you. He didn't deserve this.

You lowered yourself onto a patch of grass, crossing your legs to the best of your ability, pupils glued to the flames. They danced along and lit up your eyes. Surely, you couldn't be more beautiful. Logan hadn't even realised but he had sat himself back down on his perch across from you. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn't help it, his frown was back in full force. What could you possibly have to apologise for? “I don-”

“You're not the first Wolverine to come sniffing me out.” You explained. “There's been others and they've- they've not all been friendly.”

What the fuck had he done? “I swear, I am not here to hurt you.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I promise.”

“I know. I just- it's not often you see your husband's-” Husband? “- face and he doesn't know you or is feral or-” You took a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. “You at least recognise me.”

“Of course I do.”

“Okay, that's good.” You nod mostly to yourself before asking, “what happened in your world?”

“My world?”

You nod again.

“We're X-Men. I'm shitty. You're perfect. Scott nags me. Storm married a king and moved away, visits every so often. Jean was in the process of taking over from Charles…” If he didn't tell you they all died, maybe they didn't. Maybe they could live in your head. Maybe he wasn't a monster. “Yours?”

“Much the same really.” One shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “‘cept you weren't shitty. You were just you. Sabertooth was the shitty Howlett.”

Logan chuckled at that.

“Did you have a Laura? Or a Gabby?”

He shook his head. “Uh, no. But I've met Laura. She's nice. Fierce.”

“She's your DNA spliced with some poor unfortunate ladies. Essentially your offspring.” You informed. “Gabby is a clone of a clone. She's lovely though. Friends with Wa-Deadpool.”

“He's here.” Logan scratched his chin. “He's the reason I am.”

“Oh, you're friends as well?”

“God, no.” He shook his head. “Kinda just thrust together.”

“He always wanted to hang with you but usually just ended up with Spidey.”

Logan had heard of Spidey -Spiderman- but he hadn't met the guy, yet. If he hung out with Wade he was probably just as mad.

You both fell into a fairly comfortable silence but he didn't like that. You were here. He could actually talk to you. Actually be around you. “What happened to your leg?” He motioned to it as you carefully repositioned yourself.

“Angel.” You whispered darkly.

“Warren?”

“Yeah. Sometimes your friends aren't your friends. He had metal wings and weird tattoos. I called out to him and he just attacked. He was so quick I couldn't put up a forcefield in time.”

“I'm sorry.” It was a lame response but he had nothing else. You merely sat there, watching him, scanning his reactions. “I don't know how to convince you I am your friend. But I am. I won't harm you.”

You gave him a small lopsided smile. And he remembered.

“Wait. I do know how.” Logan rummaged around his very tiny suit pockets. He knew it was somewhere. He made sure it was always on him. Hidden away where no one would find it. Tucked into a sleeve that he kept safe by his ankle, usually people hit his torso, they don't always go for feet so he felt secure in it's position. Well, he did until he fought Wade in that fucking Honda.

Logan found it. It was scrappy and definitely worse for wear but the picture was clear. He stood and slowly walked around the fire to your side. You didn't back away but he caught your involuntary shoulder flinch.

“Here.”

You delicately took the piece of paper from his hands. It felt glossy, like magazine print. It was folded and on the visible side was a photo of you smiling wide, proud, in front of the X mansion. You unfolded it to see Logan standing next to you with a barely-there smirk. He looked almost bored but you knew him. Knew he was smiling, it was in his eyes, the softness in his face.

You were confused because he was smiling yet it was clear that he folded it to hide himself.

“Why have you folded it like that?”

Because I look awful. Because you are perfect and happy and brilliant and I pretended I didn't want the photo. Because it's the only faculty photo of me they ever took. Because they all knew I was sweet on you when you stopped me for a photo and I agreed. Because I had to take this from a yearbook after the school was raided. Because it's the only photo of us that I have and I hate that I'm in it. “Easier to fit the little pocket.”

“I have a similar one.” You confessed, knowing he was lying but that's okay. You all had secrets. “It's with my other bits, in the base.”

He felt his cheeks warm so looked away to the base. “Speaking of, it's late and you're hurt. They were planning on leaving at sun up, but I'm not sure that's still happening.”

“Why are we leaving?”

“We're storming Cassandra Nova’s lair.”

You let out a full body laugh. The noise was heavenly. “Fuck off, you come here and suddenly talk them into a full frontal assault? Brilliant.”

He rolled his eyes at you but extended a hand. “Come on, bub, let's get you updated and checked out.”

It wasn't much really, not to a bystander, but you actually accepting his hand meant the world to him and you. Both for similar and completely different reasons.

He definitely didn't need to but insisted on helping you to the base. It was hardly worth it but being back in his arms was lovely. It felt like home. He was maybe a few inches taller and definitely a little older looking than you recalled but he was your Logan. And a helpful one. He wasn't chasing you like a wild dog because you smelt nice. He was helping you limp back.

“Y/N.” Elektra spoke as soon as you entered the threshold.

“El.” You smiled widely.

She gave you a subtle look - raising her eyebrows a fraction and flickering her eyes at Logan - before taking your hand and leading you out of his arms. “We were worried.”

“You shouldn't have worried.” Rolling your eyes. “You know me.”

“That is why I was worried.”

She gave you a quick hug and assessed your leg. You had known her for five years. She had been here longer than you, travelling with Blade, and quickly intervened when she saw a Ghost Rider trying to lasso you. You three had met Johnny, who had been here a while too, and eventually met Laura. She was the only familiar face to you, it was a breath of fresh air to see her. It was a shame she didn't know you but you explained who you were and where she was and she slowly came around to trusting you. Gambit was the newest addition to your ragtag gang. He, bless him, tried to be as useful as possible and you're sure he was but there were times when you had no idea what went on in his mind. He was his own enigma.

The cut wasn't awful, a fact you had said multiple times, but Elektra still insisted on using alcohol to clean and one of the rags you recycled from an old duvet to wrap it, explaining the idiotic plan that you were all taking part of as she went.

“Oh!” Wade loudly exclaimed as Elektra tightened the makeshift bandage. “The self insert! I can't believe it, the movie’s been out like three days!”

You exchanged a glance with El and gave him an odd look as you greeted the man. “Hiya Wade.”

“Y/N.” He bowed. “I'm a little star struck.”

“Why?” Elektra stood to her full height and quickly made an exit, this wasn't the first Deadpool she had seen but this was one of the high energy ones.

“Well, you're Logan's thing.” The man behind perked up, his shoulders tense. He had been watching you the whole time and clearly wasn't a fan of DP rambling. “You're his reason to keep on. One of the reasons my Logan saved Laura. To keep his promise to you or something like that, I don't know the writing is a bit clunky.”

“Right.” You nodded, not quite understanding. But it was funny to see the mortified expression Logan was wearing. “So I'm Logan's ‘thing’.”

“Well, duh-”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Logan ordered.

“Gosh, was he always this snappy?” Wade chirped.

“I dunno, Lo always had a soft spot for me so..”

“Awwwww.” He clasped his hands and held them at his heart. “Did you hear that she said ‘Lo’?” Wade had just turned to see the man in question but Wolverine was behind him and quickly dragging the Merc away, not quite whispering another ‘shut your fucking mouth’.

Blade, who was one to skulk hidden in corners before making himself known, had watched the interaction and gave you a fright as he stepped from the shadows. “So that's him, huh?”

“Jesus!” You whisper-yelled. “How many times have I asked you to not do that?”

“Daywalker, can't help it.” He shrugged and sat next to you on the sofa. It was old and ugly but so so comfortable.

You gave a sigh, holding your hammering heart. “Yes. He's Logan. A version of him. That actually doesn't wanna kill me.”

“Maybe you should let it play out.”

“And maybe I shouldn't.” You counter. “We'll all be dead tomorrow anyway.”

“All the more reason to."

He was correct of course. You had missed Logan so much and this one clearly had missed you. It would be folly to not spend the last night you may be alive together. In whatever way you were both comfortable with. But you didnt want to give him the satisfaction of being right, so merely huffed in response.

"Elektra told you the plan?”

“Well, Laura hardly speaks and I can't understand Gambit.”

Blade let out a low laugh. He was one of the coolest people you'd ever met, even his chuckle was cool. You were so envious.

Logan came back with red cheeks and quickly apologised. “I'm sorry, he talks so much and I don't think he actually hears himself.”

You waved him off. “It's fine.”

“No, he embarrassed you.” Logan sighed, his jaw set like he was biting the inside of his cheek.

“Logan, really. Don't worry.” You could see that he wasn't going to 'not worry' so decided to just remove yourself from the situation. Clapping Blade’s leg you stood. “Right, bed time. Big day tomorrow.”

“You aren't coming.” Logan replied immediately.

“Uhm. Pretty sure I am.”

“No, you're injured.” He stated as though that was obvious.

“This is literally the smallest injury I've had out here.”

“But you are hurt.”

“Logan.”

“Y/N.”

Blade watched the back and forth with a smirk, you were both clearly a married couple.

“I think you two should take this to Y/N’s room.” Your eyes widened dramatically. “You can argue all night when the door is shut and no one else can hear you.” The sly bastard.

“Okay.” Logan agreed. “I'll convince you to stay, where's your room?”

You let out a few noises, dying arguments, and then the biggest sigh. “Fuck my life. This way.”

The base was an old temple. You had wondered who it belonged to. The statues of her were beautiful. You had yet to see a variant of whoever this was, maybe that was a good thing. She might not take lightly to you guys using her sacred temple as a hotel. There were a few corridors you had to walk down to get to your room. You'd dragged an old mattress into it and made sure to keep the room dust free. There weren't a lot of luxuries in this world but you had an orb that when touched lit up delicately. There were a few sets of clothes you'd scavenged so you kept yourself clean and had a set of ‘pjs’. Your room was covered in marks where you had flung a knife or practised a forcefield. He assumed there weren't that many guns here, or if there were ammo was rare.

“You can't fight.” Logan started.

Oh. You were actually going to argue. “Logan, I could fight you right now.”

“Go on then.” He called your bluff.

You gave him a playful smirk. “You really wanna fight? It could be our last day alive and you wanna spend it fighting?”

“I know you can't fight with that leg.” He was so sure of himself. You couldn't wait to prove him wrong.

With a twitch of your hand you flung him towards you with a forcefield, side stepping out of his way. It took him by surprise how strong you had gotten and he had to catch himself before he hit the wall.

Logan twisted around to find you at his throat with a small blade in your hand. Your chest pressed into his, causing his back to hit the wall. “That was over pretty quick, Lo.”

Logan was in awe of your swift moves. You were tenfold who he knew. God could you get more attractive? He felt himself get warm and not from embarrassment. You were making him hot, you holding a knife to his throat was making him horny. What did that say about him?

Your eyebrows pinched minutely as you observed him swallow. “You like this, don't you?”

Was there a point in lying? “Maybe.”

“Well... Maybe I do, too.”

God he was ruined.

You were literally amazing.

How could he be so lucky? He really didn't deserve this.

Logan glanced down to your lips and you smirked. "Go on." He didn't need any other invitations. He captured your lips and kissed you with the full force of his years of loneliness.

He loved you, by god, he did.

Logan's left hand found your nape whilst his right landed on your ass. He growled as you pushed into him a fraction more.

Your leg moved by itself, wrapping around his waist as you took advantage of his growl. Kissing the exposed areas of his neck. You'd missed this. You'd missed him.

Logan hoisted you the rest of the way up and gazed into your eyes. You were looking down at him, lips plump and cheeks hot, you panted a little and fuck. He was going to fuck you. He wasn't sure he could actually pull himself away from you. You both should be sleeping, preparing for the fight tomorrow. No, you shouldn't be fighting. You should be safe. Somewhere safe and warm, waiting for him to return.

"Come with me." He begged.

"I'm sure I will." You winked.

"No, tomorrow, after the fight. Come with me, wherever I end up." He didn't want to go back but he would if you followed. If you came with him he could do it. Go anywhere. Be anyone.

"So you agree I'm fighting fit." You pecked his nose, playfully.

He huffed but found your lips again, leading you both to the mattress you called a bed.

He'd buy you a bed, a grand one. One worthy of you. He hated that you only had this. He needed to provide for you. Keep you warm, safe, loved, full. Keep you.

Logan was going to keep you and he didn't care how.

.

.

Part 2

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stray Kids Reaction || He Throws His Wedding Ring [Hyung Line] [Mafia Edition]

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - February 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of blood, killing, sex trafficking (not involving the reader) murder and fighting.

CHAN:

You couldn't even remember how the argument had and now you and Chan were standing in his living room staring at one another. Your breathing was rapid as you fought back the tears that were threatening to spill.

"Chan, I can't do this anymore. This life, the constant worrying and danger...Secrets...Not knowing if you're going to come home or not." You were exhausted from fighting with him, it had been going on for hours now and it felt as though he was never going to see your point of view behind this.

"This is who I am, Yn. You knew that when we got married, I can't just walk away from this."

"I didn't sign up for a life where I'm constantly worried if you'll come home alive! Or worried that someone will grab me!" You sniffled a little tears streaming down your cheeks.

"I want a normal life, a family without the fear of losing you every fucking day!" You finally yelled out but Chan scoffed at you like you were a child talking back to him.

"Normal? You think we can just walk away from this and be a normal couple?" He stared you down and shook his head at you, 

"It's not that simple. I have responsibilities, they won't just let us go." He grumbled at you, pouring himself a drink from the mini bar in the living room as you stared at the back of his head.

"Responsibilities?! Chan, you have a responsibility to me, you know...your wife! I won't be a widow before I'm at least 80!" You yelled at him finally losing your last bit of patience.

"You'll always put this life above me...Won't you?" You questioned, waiting for him to tell you that was crazy and that he loved you more than that,

"You knew when you married me that this was our life. Don't go trying to change the rules now." He downed the glass in one and you stared at him, the tears finally stopping as you felt nothing but anger for him now.

"Then maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I never should have married a man who thinks throwing his life away is honourable," The words flew from your lips before you had a chance to process them and the air turned thick and silent. You swore you could hear the faucet in the kitchen dripping, that's how quiet it was in the home now.

Chan silently twisted the ring around his finger before slipping it off and hurling it across the room, the ring clattered against the wall and onto the floor,

"There, happy now?! Is that what you wanted?!" He screamed at you, and your eyes searched him for any sign of your once-happy husband, the one you wanted to spend your life with.

"No, Chan. I wanted a husband, not some mafia boss..." You slowly slid the ring off your own finger and placed it down onto the coffee table,

"I can't sit here night after night waiting for that phone call to tell me you're not coming home." You wiped the tears from your face and walked toward the front door, Chan didn't stop you he just stared down at the wedding ring on the floor, the weight of his choices crushing him down onto the floor.

It had been two days since the huge blowout with Chan and you'd been hiding out in one of your friend's places for those two days, no phone or tracker for Chan to find you with which was why it was surprising to find him waiting for you at the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"Kat called," You scoffed a little, she'd been threatening to do it but you never thought she would. Whatever happened to the girl code?

"I'm not interested in fighting anymore. If you send divorce papers I'll sign, I don't want anything." You explained as you moved around him, unlocking the front door to head inside. You'd been apart and it killed you but anything was better than worrying every day about whether he was alive or not.

"Yn." He called out but you shook your head at him,

"You can keep everything,"

"I have nothing." The words stopped you in your tracks as you slowly turned to face him,

"What?"

"I walked away. Not without consequences but I did." It was then you noticed the sling around his arm, within seconds you were by his arm and inspecting it.

"It's just a minor break," He whispered as you stared up at him,.

"You walked away?" You whispered in shock, staring down at the ring that was back on his finger.

"Given the choice between that life and the love of my life? I needed to." He held out your wedding ring and you stared into his eyes, the mafia life was everything to him,

"But-"

"I'll still work for them but mostly low-level stuff...You're looking at a desk boy." He said proudly to you, it hurt his ego but he'd rather be chained to a desk than risk losing you. You slipped your ring back on before throwing your arms around Chan and hugging him tightly.

MINHO:

The living room was thick with tension as you paced back and forth in front of Minho who lounged on the sofa with a sombre look on his face but it only made you more frustrated to look at him.

"You promised me," You seethed out, shaking your head at him.

"You promised me that you were done with this...Done with all of the killing." You gestured to his shirt which was drenched in blood and then looked at his face. Streaks of blood and skin were dripping down his face as you felt the bile in your throat beginning to come up again. He'd walked through the door all nonchalant thinking you weren't home today only to find you waiting for him,

"I did what needed to be done, Yn!" He didn't yell or scream he just sighed at you. He thought he might have been able to get away with it if he could get home before you and shower before you had a chance to see him. 

Sure he would have been lying to you but anything was better than getting into a fight with you over the same thing you always thought over.

"You told me things were going to change once I got pregnant," Your sight began to blur from the tears that were building up,

"You said you wanted our child to have a father but look at you!" You gestured once again to the state of him,

"If our child sees this what are they going to think!?" You yelled and threw your hands up in frustration. All of this was supposed to stop once you got pregnant, he promised he'd take a step back and leave the dirty work to his minions. 

"You think it's easy for me?!" He finally screamed, getting up from the sofa and staring you down.

"Do you actually think I enjoy living like this?! Killing people?! Sometimes there is no other choice!" He yelled at you, your eyes unblinking as you stared at him.

"There's always a choice! You could have found another way." You grumbled at him, you were sick of this fight. Every time it was the same, he'd promise to stop killing only to pick it back up a few days later.

"I won't raise our child in his environment, Minho. I won't let him grow up to think it's normal to kill people in order to get what he wants."

"Yn. It wasn't to get what I wanted."

"No? Then what was it? He looked at you wrong? Flirted with me?" You listed off all the excuses he'd given to you before and Minho finally snapped, pulling off his ring and throwing it across the room. It skittered across the floor coming to a stop at your feet.

"Whatever. You want something so normal, go on and try it." With that he walked out, slamming the door behind him as you stared down at the wedding band on the floor. Something that had once been a symbol of your commitment to one another now meant nothing as it sat there.

"Changbin told me everything." You told Minho as you sat in the hospital waiting room together. It was deserted since Minho would never let anyone be alone with you,

"Hmm." He answered blandly, staring down at the floor. It had been a week since your fight and despite living in the same house you'd barely spoken a word to one another.

"Why didn't you tell me he was a sex trafficker."

"Would it have made a difference?" He slowly turned his head to look at you, your eyes were already staring into his as you nodded at him,

"Yes."

"I only kill who I have to. It's not something I do for fun." He admitted, his voice shaking a little. It wasn't as though it didn't affect him, he was taking another person's life which twisted him up in a way.

"I try and limit what I have to do myself but sometimes I have to do it." He told you with tears running down his cheeks, you nodded a little before kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand in yours.

"I understand,"

"I won't bring work home with me...Please, just don't leave." He begged, Minho wasn't the type to beg anybody for anything and you nodded.

"Wouldn't dream of it," You whispered before kissing him once more.

CHANGBIN:

You stared at Changbin from across the table with an unimpressed look on your face, Changbin had sweat dripping down his forehead as he glanced down at his phone for the time again.

"This was supposed to be our night," You were pissed at him, you wanted to yell at him for standing you up but you were in such an upscale restaurant you couldn't even do that.

"A simple dinner date and you couldn't even make it on time." You mumbled at him, 

"I got held up. Business came up." Changbin answered as if it made the whole thing better

"Business always comes up. I'm tired of being second best to your business." As you spoke Changbin took out his phone clearly not listening to you as he began texting with someone, probably one of his men if you knew him well enough by now.

"It's not like I enjoy this but it's the life I have." He shrugged his shoulders as you stared at him, his head still in his phone, he didn't even see the tears rolling down your cheeks in a silent cry. 

It seemed that was all you ever did lately when it came to your relationship, you'd be left crying while he pretended he didn't notice or maybe he didn't even notice, you didn't know anymore.

"We're drifting apart, Binnie. You're never here and I need more." Your voice broke as you spoke to him, your frustration getting the better of you.

"I knew who you were when we got married but I didn't sign up to be stood up, or for anniversaries and birthdays to be missed." You'd finally broken, he'd missed so much of married life you weren't even sure you could count each other as a married couple. 

"I want a life with you, not one where I'm always waiting for you to show up and magically decide I'm worthy that day." Changbin stared down at the ring on his finger before he twisted it, throwing it onto the table and gaining attention from nearby diners.

"Maybe you're right. I can't give you what you need." Was all he said before storming off, leaving you to stare down at the ring on the table as people around you muttered about what had happened.

"You know this is getting a little exhausting," Changbin told you as he followed you from the car to the house just like he had been doing every day since the night he'd given you his wedding ring back.

"I want a divorce." You told him plainly as you headed into the house you once had called home and he followed swiftly. 

"You know you can't walk away. I've been trying, Yn."

"I'm not interested in you trying anymore Changbin, I'm tired of never being put first..." Your voice trailed to a stop as you walked into the living room, there must have been thousands of your favourite flowers around the living room in vases and different arrangements.

"A thousand and one flowers...To make up for the dates I missed." He explained once he saw you trying to work out how many there were.

"W-What?" You stuttered a little walking toward them and running your hands on them to make sure that they were real.

"I missed too many to count so a thousand and one seemed fitting." He shrugged his shoulders and you turned around to stare at him.

"You didn't miss anywhere near a thousand." You laughed weakly and he stood in front of you, running his hand gently over your cheek as he stared down into your eyes,

"I won't miss a single one again...If you'll take me back." You wanted to, more than anything but it was going to take a lot more than flowers to make up for all of the time you'd lost together.

"It's going to take more than some-"

"I know." He told you with a smirk on his lips,

"And you're going to have to show me change." He planned on it, he had a plan in place for everything he was going to do.

"I know."

"And I- I wanted to go out regularly, once a week." You told him, right now Changbin would have given you whatever you wanted and one date a week sounded too easy on him in his eyes,

"Okay." He smiled at you,

"Okay?" You frowned as he smirked down at you.

"Yes, okay. Now will you let me kiss you?" You went to speak but it was quickly stopped as Changbin kissed you deeply.

HYUNJIN:

You couldn't believe it was coming down to this, you stared at your husband as he stared back at you with a scowl on his face clearly unamused by what was happening but you were tired of all of this. Tired and hurt about second guessing where you fell in Hyunjin's life.

"I need to know..." Your voice came out shakey as you stared at him,

"Do you even love me anymore?" You finished before he scoffed at you, downing the glass of whiskey he'd been nursing and shaking his head at you.

"What kind of question is that? Of course, I do." It wasn't a silly question, it was something you'd been agonising over for weeks now, months even.

"Your actions say otherwise." You scoffed, staring at him as he poured himself another glass and began to slowly nurse it as you stared at him.

"You're always so caught up in your business and I'm always here wondering if I even matter to you."

"This is the life of a mafia wife Yn. You knew that when you married me." You did, which was a fair point but he'd shown you that while it was a lot of waiting for him it was supposed to be a lavish lifestyle the two of you could share. You couldn't even remember the last time you'd gone out together that wasn't an obligation to the both of you.

"I didn't sign up to be a in loveless marriage! You promised me it would be in sickness and in health, for better or worse." He drank from his glass before pouring a third one for the night, usually two were his cut off so you knew you were getting under his skin a little and if that's what it took for him to see your point then you didn't care.

"I need more than lavish gifts from you every now and again and empty promises that we'll do something eventually."

"I take you out." He defended angrily but you didn't back down. There hadn't been a real date since you got married to one another, everything else was parties you had to be seen at or charity events you couldn't miss.

"To your stupid parties where your presence is required. You never take me somewhere we want to go."

"You don't think I provide for you!? Is that it?!" He finally yelled, losing his patience with you. Hyunjin adored you, practically worshipped the ground you walked on and for you to suggest otherwise was a knife to his chest,

"No-"

"I work like a dog, day and night and I give you everything you could ever possibly need in life!" He shouted out, not meaning to shout at you but he'd snapped that last bit that was holding him back,

"I don't NEED material things, I need you! I need your love! I need your presence!" You yelled at him.

"You know what I feel when we go out to your parties?" He doesn't answer you, instead, he stares down at the liquid in his glass that is burning his throat,

"I feel like a fucking trophy on your arm, something you can show off as the "Ha I got her" look." You started down at the wedding ring on his finger. Hyunjin had no idea you felt that way, his heart broke a little as he stared back at you, how could he have not seen it before?

"If you love me, then show it. Actions speak louder than words." In a fit of frustration, Hyunjin takes the ring off his finger and hurls it onto the table, the metal echoing around the room.

"You don't love me." You barely whispered before walking out of the room,

You'd walked out on him two weeks ago and since then he'd been nothing but sweet to you, showing up every day to walk you to work and bring you lunch.

"Why are you doing all this?" You asked as you stared at the picnic that was on your office floor.

"I'm starting again." He told you as if it explained everything he'd been doing for the last two weeks.

"What?" You slowly sat down on the floor noticing that everything he had was all of your favourite foods.

"You said actions speak louder than words. I'm starting from the beginning with you, more dates, more time together." He held out a glass for you and you took it from him,

"To new beginnings." Your eyes stared down at his hand as you noticed the ring was back in its rightful place.

"New beginnings." You said, clinking your glass with his and smiling a little. Maybe it wasn't the best way to start again but if it was him truly trying to change you were going to give it your best shot.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lensfilm @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @myyouthdonut @extrhotjne @ca11me3mily @elissasimp @xakx @sleepb @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @kpopmenace143 @minhosify @loveforred @b1nn1e-1s-cut3

[emmyrosee]

Every morning was a pleasant routine.

Rintaro would get up, press a sweet, light kiss to your head before heading out for a run- then, he’d come back just in time for you and Kaiya to be up and making breakfast for him while he showers.

Then, he’d change, have a small bite for breakfast, watch one episode of whatever show was on with his baby while he brushed her hair, then kiss her goodbye and allow you to drown him in your own share of goodbye kisses before he heads off to work.

But today, he just. Skipped it. Instead of getting up for a run, he whines and buries himself in the pillows for a bit more sleep. Instead of showering, he throws on clean enough clothes and deodorant while you’re struggling to prepare a semi-sufficient breakfast for your husband as he scrambles to get all his practice gear ready. He packs Akito's lunch and sends him off to school with a ruffle of his hair, while a toothbrush is jammed down his throat.

Kaiya watches, confused, as you smear apple jam over a piece of toast and pour him a cup of coffee, knowing he’d have to take it in the car in any chance to make it in on time. The child merely makes her way into the living room to wait for her father to come watch Bluey as he did every morning.

“Got your phone? Water? Protein bar? Lunch- Rin do not forget your lunch again- change of socks?” All of your asking gets a hurried, quickly glanced “yes” or “got it” from Rin. He stuffs the toast into his mouth and plants a half-successful kiss to your cheek in order to head out. “Love you girls!”

“Love you too!” You call back, watching him make his way out of the house, struggling slightly with the disorganized bag.

“Mommy?” Kaiya whimpers, her cheeks stained with strawberry juice. “Where daddy going?”

You crouch down to your little girls height, wondering if she just forgot that he left everyday, or whatever the case may be, “well… he’s going to work, baby, he’ll be back soon!”

“Daddy’s gone?”

“Yeah baby… we can get lunch with him later if you would like to-“

“No!” She cries, her wide, green eyes filling with tears. Your heart sinks, you really don’t know what the problem is, and that sadness only grows when Kaiya, in all her four year old energy can muster, runs to the large living room window that looks out to the driveway, her tiny fists banging on the glass. “Daddyyyyy!” She wails, her cries becoming more frantic.

“Kaiya, it’s okay! Daddy will be home later-“

“Daddyyyyyy!”

Instinctively, you bring your hands up to try and cover up your ears from the scream of your baby, shocked at the volume and distress of her shrieks.

Suddenly, she runs from the window to the front door, and your heart absolutely jumps in your throat, fearing she’s going to try and book it about the front door to follow her dad.

When you make a move to chase her, you let out a relieved breath to see her clutched in the arms of her Rintaro, her tiny face buried in his neck and his, in her hair. Little sniffles and whimpers slip from her tiny face, interwoven with small little “I’m sorry, princess,” falling from Rin’s lips.

“She had a meltdown when you left, Rin,” you explain, leaning against the wall in exhaustion from the already hectic morning. Your hands scrub your face to relieve the fatigue, but you freeze and almost smack yourself when Kaiya finally peeps up.

“I-it’s ‘cause you didn’t say goodbye t'me,” she whimpers, and Rintaro squeezes her impossibly closer, his eyes screwing shut to fight his own shame. Neither of you even processed that, it was so crazy that a simple ‘love you!’ was sufficient enough to quell your need for his affection, but both of you clearly forgot about your daughter’s needs.

“I know, Angel, I’m so sorry,” he says softly, placing a sweet kiss on her temple. “Daddy was too busy this morning huh? Needs to make sure he takes care of his favorite girls?” His eyes flick to you before he opens one of his arms for you to come into for a hug.

His embrace is tempting, but you sigh softly, “Rin, you’ll be late-“

“‘M already late,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “But I’m almost halfway tempted to call in sick and spend the day here, so I’d get in this hug if I were you.”

In truth, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t about to take him up on that offer, spend the day with the two loves of your life with a nice hot breakfast, maybe a couple of Disney movies and a walk in the park, but it wouldn’t be right; not when Rin already works so hard to be able to provide you with that life while he’s busy playing or even out of the country.

Regardless, you slip to your knees and crawl into Rin’s other side, your hand wrapping around his broad shoulders so your fingers can tangle in his soft hair, which he happily leans into.

He plants a kiss to your head before nuzzling his nose against Kaiya’s own dark hair, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, baby. I’ll be better next time."

“You better,” she whimpers. You and Rin look at each other and chuckle, none of you daring to leave the hug.

If anything, you squeeze tighter, not ready to let the world interrupt yet.

—-

tagging u 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 @reverie-starlight @tsukiran @wolffmaiden @thoreeo @aliensknowmyillusions @tutuwusworld @lavishcherie @sassycheesecake @cheolattes @rrairey ����

[cmncisspnandmore]

All Hands on Deck- Part 2

Pairings: Poly!141 X Wife!Reader.

Warnings: Smut, this whole things is filth, some angst and fluff thrown in.

A/N: I had no intentions of this Poly141 one shot i wrote turning into a series, but i couldnt get their family out of my head so i started writing and now look at us. 9k words into a part 2. Ooopssss. This is also not beta read, all mistakes are mine.

Word Count: 9713

Part 1

“It’s really not that complicated, Johnny,” Simon sighs, resting his head in his hands, his fingers pushing through the unkempt blonde locks.

“Sod Off,” the scotsman huffs as he grabs the three strands of hair on Kira's head again. You watch over the top of your mug. Two of your husbands are sitting on the couch, your oldest twin Kira sitting on the floor between her Da’s legs. One of your middle children, Isla sat between Simons. Johnny had been trying to learn to braid her hair, something you or Simon did most days.

“Left, over middle, right, over middle, and just repeat,” Simon coaches him, showing him once again on Islas long brown hair. 

“Yeah yeah,” Soap grumbles as he tries again, earning a yelp from Kira.

“Ouch! You pulled my hair!” her hands on top of her head as she turns to glare up at her father. 

“Sorry hen, didn't mean ta,” Soap apologizes leaning down to kiss her forehead. Simon finishes the braids in Islas hair, the 6 year old leaning back against his shins. 

“Daddy i’m bored, can i go play with Theo and Joseph now?” She whines, batting her lashes at him. Simon gives her a small nod, and her smile grows. “Thank you Daddy, good luck Da!” she calls as she scrambles to her feet and flees from the room.

“Isla lets play cops and robbers!” Joseph yells as he meets her in the hallway, he peeks into the room giving you and the others a small wave before he bounds off after his sister.

You take a small sip of your caffeinated beverage, the warm liquid warming your stomach as you drink. John had made you a cup and promptly deposited it into your hands as you walked down the stairs this morning,you were still in your sleep clothes. He had murmured about having to go finish some papers in the office on the 3rd floor before he disappeared. 

“Aye! Look at that!” Johnny exclaims as he ties the hair band around the end of the horribly loose and uneven braid going down Kira’s back. Kira’s hands go to the braid, small fingers running over it, she looks over at Simon, a frown on her face. 

“Well you tried,” Simon laughs, before motioning for Kira to sit in front of him. His large hands carefully pulled the hair band from her hair. He runs his fingers through it and quickly re braids it into a neat french braid. 

“You make it look so easy,” Johnny sighs, looking over at you, “both you and Si can work some witchcraft on their hair that I just can't get the hang of.” 

“It’s alright love,” You smile as you walk over, sitting on the couch next to him. Satisfied with her braid Kira slips from the room, off to join her siblings in their games.

“I just want ta help,” Johnny mumbles, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you into his side. 

“I know, but hair is not your thing, and that's okay, you help in many other ways,” you press your lips to his cheek, earning a small smile from him. “It took Simon a while to learn too.”

“Really?” Johnny murmurs his lip brushing across your cheek.

“Oh yeah, after we found out about the twins, and that we were having a girl, I think he spent every night until they were born practicing on my hair. Don't let him tell you he’s just good at it, there were lots of terrible braids and my hair being pulled,” you narrow your eyes at Simon and he gives you a small smirk.

Simon had spent almost every night braiding your hair, or well, trying to braid your hair. The first few weeks he mainly just yanked your hair out while you tried to explain the process to him. Once he made such a huge knot in your hair you were afraid you were going to have to cut it out. Kyle had found you sitting on the bathroom counter, sobbing because you couldn't get the snarls out. Thankfully after an hour of you and Kyle working on the knots you were able to get it out. 

Simon had felt terrible about it, and didn't touch your hair for a week after that. It took you begging him to try again for the man to even brush your hair for you. Eventually he got good at the basic braid and you taught him how to do a french braid and a few other hairstyles. 

“Does that mean i can practice on ye?” Johnny's big blue eyes flutter at you, earning a harsh roll of your own.

“Maybe, if you're good.”

Simon stands from the couch, stretching his large body, black tee shirt pulling taught against his chest. “I’m gonna go shower, Lovie, do you need anything?” He looks down at you in Johnny arms, your head resting on his shoulder.

“No, thank you,” you flash him one of your signature smiles, his own lips curling up slightly at the edges. Simon leans down, his large hands cupping your face as he presses a long slow kiss to your lips. Love, adoration and happiness poured into the kiss, he nips your bottom lip gently as he pulls away. Johnny letting out a low groan at the display.

“Steamin’ Jesus..” the Scotsman groans, his head flopping back against the couch as Simon walks away, your cheeks flushed.

“Such a perv Mactavish,” You laugh, and he lifts his head, narrowing those baby blues at you.

“Can’t help it Mo Chridhe, watching you kiss the others does something to me,” he whispers, large calloused hands gripping your waist as he hauls you into his lap. Your knees settle on either side of his muscular thighs. Your hands resting on his shoulders as he blatantly stares at your breasts. “Shame, Hope’s weaning, I fuckin’ love your tits like this.” 

Air rushes from your lungs, your eyes fluttering shut as Johnny nips at the sensitive skin of your breasts. Your forehead rests on top of his head as his lips tease at the tops of your breasts, “Johnny…” you breathe.

“Miss you hen,” Johnny’s breath tickles your skin as he trails kisses up your chest to your neck. His hands knead the flesh of your waist as he pulls you down against his lap, his cock pressing against you through the fabric of his jeans. 

“The kids…” You breathe, your breath coming out in small pants as his lips sucks on the curve of your neck and shoulder. 

“The others can watch em’ they got their turn with you last night,” He mumbles.

He wasn't wrong, last night Kyle and John ravaged your body like it was lost treasure, the pair of them having cornered you in the kitchen after the kids had gone to bed. Simon was trapped in Theo’s room with the toddler sleeping against his chest, Theo had a cold and had been right miserable all day. Needing to be held by you or one of his dads. Johnny was putting Hope to bed, the now 14 month old going through a sleep regression, needing to be rocked to sleep. You werent exactly quiet as John and Kyle fucked you over the kitchen counter. Taking turns slamming into you, your screams and moans floating up the stairs. You know Simon and Johnny heard you, and it only added to your pleasure. 

A startled squeak leaves your lips and Johnny shifts you, tossing you over his shoulder as he stands from the couch. His hand coming down on your ass with a sharp crack. He carried you through the house, you slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You passed the kids in the playroom, Kyle sitting in a chair in the corner, his eyes lifting from his book as you pass. 

“Da? Why is Mama up there? Was she naughty? Is she going to time out?” Isla wonders, coming to stand in the doorway of the playroom. Her big blue eyes gazing up at you, although your view is mostly upside down you still see Kyle's smug smirk from the chair. 

“Aye Bonnie, She needs a time out,” Soap ruffles her hair with the hand that isn't hooked around your knees. “I’m just bringing her to her room, go play with your siblings. Maybe Dad will bring the lot of you downstairs into the basement for a movie in the theater.”

“Can we watch Encanto?!?! Please Dad!!” Isla yells, bounding over to her Dad. Kyle glares at Johnny, as your children swarm him all calling out different movies they want to watch. Even hope babbles happily at his feet. You give a small wave as Johnny carries you up the stairs towards the master bedroom. 

He flops you down in the middle of the giant bed you had custom made for all of you. You bounce slightly on the light green duvet, a laugh floating through the air. Johnny kicks the door closed, his hands finding the hem of his light blue shirt as he drags it off him. His toned stomach and chest are on display. He stalks towards you, like a lion hunting prey, his blue eyes dark with desire. 

Your cheeks flame, heart pounding against your ribs. Johnny cage's you against the bed, strong arms locking your wrists above your head. His lips brush against yours as he slots his knee in between your thighs. 

“Mmm.. want me all to yourself Johnny?” You whisper, looking at his face through half lidded eyes. 

“For now.. Haven't had you all alone for a while. Not that I mind sharing you with the others… I love watching them work you up, making you moan, bring you to the edge with their fingers, tongue and cocks…” His soft pink lips brush against your skin with each word. A shiver shudders through your body at his words. 

He shifts to hold your wrists with one of his hands, his other coming to squeeze at your breast. He kneads the soft flesh there, a moan dragging from your lips. A small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Steamin’ Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he groans, pressing his face into the side of your neck. Your hips lift to brush against his, earning another small moan your Scottish husband. Johnny kisses up your neck to your mouth, his tongue invading your mouth. Your tongue tangles with his, your breath mingling. Heat sweeps through your body as you grind yourself on Johnny knee between your legs. 

“Need you Johnny…” You whine softly as he slips his hand under your shirt. His cool fingers toying with your nipple. You’ve never been so glad you didn't wear a bra in your life. Your hands are numb from the tight grip he has on your wrists. Body trembling as he kisses you senseless. 

Johnny wasn't always gentle with you in bed, he loved to overstimulate you, pushing you to the edge. He’d love to watch tears roll down your cheeks as you begged him to let you cum. He was probably the worst when it came to edging you, he would go for hours if one of the others didn't step in and save you. He was too impatient for that today, his large hands travel down your body, over the curve of your hips. Fingers slip into the waistband of your sleep short as he harshly tugs them down your legs. 

“So wet for me already, want me to stuff you with my cock? Make you cum all over it?” His voice is raspy as he slides a finger into your slick heat. God those fingers were something else. He always knew exactly where to touch you to make you squirm. 

“Please…” you pant, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.

He curls his fingers inside you before adding 2 more. Your legs tremble as you peek up at him from the mattress. His blue eyes burn into you, white teeth flashing behind his pink lips as he smiles at you. 

“‘M gonna fill you up, put another baby in you just so i can watch your gorgeous tits grow again,” he shifts letting go of your wrists. Your hands tingle and burn as blood rushes back into them. The sound of a belt hitting the floor, the bed dips under his weight as he climbs back over you. His calloused hand grabs the puffy flesh of your thigh, hooking it over his hip.

Johnny moans softly as his hand glides over his thick cock a few times, the tip red and swollen. Precum leaking onto the bed between your thighs. You swore each of your men were hand carved by gods. Your cheeks burn as Johnny looks down at you, your shirt bunched up over your breasts, pupils blown wide.

“Can’t wait anymore Hen, I gotta be inside ya,” Johnny moans, leaning over you once again, his chest brushing yours. The smooth skin of his chest sends tiny jolts of pleasure through you as it drags across your sensitive nipples. You gasp as he slips through your wet folds, a low groan pulled from his lips as he thrusts into you. 

“Fuck, harder,” you moan out, eyes rolling back into your head as he stretches you open. 

You didn't have to tell him twice, he picks up speed, sitting back on his legs as he grips your hips in his large hands. He uses his hands to pull you up his thighs, pounding into you mercilessly. Red hot desire burns in your core, your walls fluttering around his cock. Each thrust brings you closer and closer to your release. He pushes one of your knees to your chest, changing the angle to hit deeper. His right hand leaves your hip so he can use his fingers to circle your swollen clit. 

“You’re like a vice grip on me, dinnae if i can last long Mo Chridhe, you feel too good wrapped around me,” he breathes, his pace brutal.

“Cum for me baby,” You whimper, your own high teetering on the edge. 

His expert fingers circle your clit faster, adding more pressure as he slams his hips into yours. It only takes a few more thrusts before you’re tumbling over the  edge, Johnny groaning his release as falls forward. Shaky arms on either side of your head as his face dips into the curve of your neck.

You both lay there on the bed, Johnny half hard cock still nestled inside you, your chests heaving as you both catch your breath. You trail your hands up his back, fingers sliding into the hair of his mohawk. The damp strands catch on the diamond of your ring.

“You alright?” you laugh slightly, Johnny's entire body weight resting on you. His large form crushing you, but in the best way.

“Think i died and ended up in heaven, must be my guardian angel,” his lips brush against your neck, his stubble tickling you.

“Get off my wife, MacTavish,” Price's voice breaks through your post orgasm haze. The older man stands in the doorway, his back against the white wood door. His arms crossed over his chest, a teasing smile on his lips as he looked over your half naked state and Soaps bare ass.

“Sorry Cap’n, something about this vixen makes me wild,” Soap laughs as he gently pulls out of you, and rolls off you. He flops over on his back, lower stomach glistening with your mess. John rolls his eyes, and leans down plucking a towel from the half full laundry basket by the door and tosses it at Soap. 

“Clean yourself up, Kyle’s stuck in the theater with the kids watching some princess film, and Hope needs a nap.” John walks to the bed, his thighs hitting the edge of the mattress as he wraps a hand around your ankle and yanks you down the bed to him. His light blue eyes trail over your body, his gaze settling on the glistening apex of your thighs. A flare of desire passes over his face before he meets your gaze again. 

“I’ll rescue him, need me some baby cuddles anyways,” Johnny laughs as he pulls on his clothes. He leans over the edge of the bed and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, giving you a wink. “I love you Mo Chridhe,” he smiles, his hand ghosting over your lower stomach as he stands.

You blink a few times, head still fuzzy from your activities with Johnny. The bedroom door closes with a soft click, leaving you alone with John. His rough fingers trail up the smooth skin of your calf to your thigh. Skimming over the curve of your hip and settling on the side of your ribcage. His palm rising and falling with each of your breaths.

“Johnny take care of you Darlin?” He murmurs, thumb brushing over the side of your breast.

“He did, are you here to have your way with me too?” You breathe, teeth sinking into your plush bottom lip as you blink up at him. 

“I wish I could Darling, I want nothing more than to make you scream my name, have my cum dripping out of you. But I have to get to base, Laswell called and said she had something for me to look at, but couldn't discuss it on the phone.” He sighs, his fingers trailing to your hands and he gently pulls you up. 

God he hates the way your brows furrow, a small frown on your beautiful lips. He hates that he has to go, but they’ve been home for almost 5 months now. It was only a matter of time before something like this came up. He wished he could retire, the entire task force. But they were needed. He knew it. The rest of them knew it. You knew it. But it didn't make it any easier, knowing that one day your perfect bubble would pop. That your men would have to rush out the door at some ungodly hour to run headfirst into danger. It seemed to get harder and harder as each kid grew to understand what their dads did. How they might not come back. 

You let out a long breath, and force a smile onto your face. “I understand, can I entice you into a shower with me before you leave?” 

The look on your face was enough to make any man fold, let alone one as hopelessly in love with you as John was. He couldn't resist your big wide eyes blinking up at him, thick long lashes fluttering. He couldn't say no to you, even if he would get his ass chewed out by Laswell for being late.

“Simon better make room,” He chuckles, hands gripping your waist as he hauls you into his arms. Not caring that your bare cunt is leaking cum all over his shirt and jeans. He tosses his boonie hat onto the bed, your legs wrapping around his waist as you press your face into the side of his neck. His beard tickles your skin, as he shoves open the bathroom door. 

Simon glances up in the mirror, a light gray towel slung low on his hips. Board chest and back on full display as he watches his captain carry you into the steam filled bathroom. His brown eyes track you in the mirror until Price sets you down on the cool quartz countertop next to him. 

“Hi Lovie, you look thoroughly fucked, did John do this to you?” Simon muses, his chapped lips brushing your temple.

“No,” you chirp, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Johnny got his hands on me, John’s going to shower with me. Care to take another?” You muse, earning a small chuckle from the tall blonde next to you.

“Wish i could Lovie, but I promised a very persistent 7 year old I would take her and her twin to the library so they can get a new book,” he roughly towel dries his hair with a smaller towel before he hangs it on a hook. 

Yu jut out your lower lip, “okay, fine,” you pout. 

“Don’t pout, your mouth is far too pretty for that. I’d much rather it be wrapped around my dick tonight,” Simon practically purrs in your ear. His teeth nipping your earlobe in promise. Price returns, and shares a look with Simon in the mirror before he stacks a fresh set of clothes for the both of you on the counter. 

“Be a good girl, I love you,” Simon kisses your lips softly before he leaves the bathroom.

“Love you,” You call after him as steam starts to billow out of the large walk-in shower, hot water cascading from the multiple shower heads. John settles between your thighs and grips the hem of your pajama top, pulling it over your head in one swift motion. Your own hands travel to the buckle of his belt as you quickly unlatch it, yanking it from the waist of his jeans and letting it tumble to the floor with a metallic clink.

Your deft fingers quickly undo the button and fly, one hand slipping into the opening to palm his half hard cock through his boxers. Your tongue darts out as you notice the wet spot on the front of his jeans from your and Johnny's mixed releases.  John inhales sharply, large hands wrapping around your wrist.

“Darling,” he warns, his voice low and tight.

“What?” You blink up at him, feigning innocence.

“We have to shower now if you want me to join you, can’t keep Laswell waiting all day..” He warns, but you don't stop. His cock growing under your tender touches. 

“We can shower…”  You purr, leaning forward your lips gently grazing the top of his boxers. John's abs contract as your breath tickles his happy trail, the smattering of dark hair that disappears under his boxers. Your tongue pokes out, licking a small wet line over his boxers, his now hard cock jumping as your warm tongue flicks over the tip through the fabric. 

The growl that leaves John's lips is almost feral as he grabs your hips and yanks you off the bathroom counter. He spins you, your hip bones hitting the edge of the counter, a delicious sting as they bite into the corner. John's gaze meets your in the mirror, his jaw set in a hard line, one hand pressing into the space between your shoulder blades. He forces you to bend over the counter, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“You spoiled brat, you want to be fucked is that it?” He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back. “Want me to fuck you into the bathroom counter like the slut you are?” He tugs sharply on your hair, a gasp forcing itself from you.

“Yes, god, yes,” You moan, nipples hardening as they slide against the cold counter.

“I won't be gentle with you, I have things to do, I'm a busy man,” he warns, but it does nothing but excite you. It wasn't often you pushed John, you usually understood when he said he had things to do. But a part of you craved it when he was rough with you. John was most always gentle with you. As if he was afraid to break you, treating you like something to be savored. It was Simon who you often turned to when you needed someone to throw you around, leaving bruises on your skin. But there was a side to Price only you could draw out, when you knew he was stuck in his head of the things he needed to do. Lost in the responsibility of being Captain to the others, the one who inevitably makes the call for them to leave your home and storm into a warzone.

It didn't take much sometimes, just a little bratty behavior when you knew he was in a hurry. If you had been a good girl like Simon suggested you would have climbed into the shower without protest. Let John wash you tenderly under the stream of the shower and kiss you goodbye as you blow dried your hair. But instead you had pressed him, edging the line of his control by palming him through his boxers. The kitten lick through the thin fabric was the final straw for him. 

Now as he pulled his shirt off, and shoved his jeans and boxers down to the floor you can't help but pant. You never take your eyes off him as he glares at you through the fogging mirror. One hand gripped in your hair, the other wrapped around his throbbing cock. 

“This what you wanted? Getting me all worked up when you know I have to leave?” He asks, giving himself a few harsh strokes. Your eyes trail over his hand, your brain short circuiting as you watch him jerk his cock.

A sharp sting across your ass makes you yelp, johns palm cracking across the silky smooth flesh. “Asked you a question, I expect an answer,” he grinds out.

Y-yes sir,” your words tumble from your dry lips, tongue feeling stuck as he lines himself up with your still wet pussy. He nudges your entrance, and your eyes flutter shut. The tip of his cock slipping between your wet folds.

“Eyes on me,” he demands, and your eyes fly open at the exact moment he slams his hips home. A loud moan falling from your lips as he pounds into you. His hand is still gripping your hair. Your hip bones bite into the rounded edge of the sink. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the bathroom along with the water in the shower. The mirror starts to fog with your breath and the steam from the hot water. The mix of John’s cock driving into you and the humid air of the bathroom makes you dizzy. Your fingers dig into the smooth sink, grasping for purchase. John's cheeks flush as he continues his harsh assault on your body. 

“You take my cock so well, such a good little cum slut,” He rasps. Your eyes roll back into your head as he releases your hair. His hands wrap around the curve of your hips so he can thrust into you harder. You were definitely going to be bruised later. But you didn't care, the sight of John losing himself in you was everything to you. 

His fingers dig into your hip bones, short nails leaving small crescent shapes on the delicate flesh. “You like it don't you? Huh? Like the feel of my cock filling you up, want my cum to drip from your tight cunt like Johnnys, huh Darling? Want us to fuck another baby into you?’ his hand comes down on your already red ass cheek, a biting sting, he doesn't bother to soothe the red skin. His smile grows as his hand print leaves a raised welt, if there was one thing in common between all of your husbands was they loved marking you. 

Whether it was Kyle leaving tiny love bites across your stomach and thighs. Simon's finger prints bruised into your waist. John's handprints on your ass. Or Johnny's teeth marks across the plains of your breasts. They all had their subtle or well not so subtle ways of letting the others know they were there.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum already, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” John pants, his thrusts becoming erratic as he gets closer to the edge. “Touch yourself, make yourself cum all over my cock like the good little slut you are.” 

Your eyes watch his face in the mirror as you slide a hand between your thighs and rub fast, tight circles on your clit. Your fingers gliding effortlessly over the swollen nub, the mix of you and Johnny making the perfect lubricant. It only takes you moments to work yourself to the edge, your body practically humming already. 

John shifts his hips slightly, hitting that spot inside you that drives you crazy. You both fall over the edge with a shout. John's hips slamming into yours with one last rough thrust as he stills inside you. His cock twitching, your walls milking him. You collapse forward, gasping breaths wracking your body. 

John reaches forward, brushing the hair from your cheek. His fingers tuck the loose strands behind your ear. “Didn't hurt you, right?”

Your other cheek is pressed firmly against the smooth bathroom counter, the overhead lighting reflecting off the mica embedded in the white quartz. You give a small shake of your head. “No, I knew what I was getting myself into,” You push yourself up on shaky arms as John  slips from between your legs. The mixture of his and Johnny's cum dripping down your thighs. 

A harsh knock on the bathroom door breaks the moment.

“Price? Laswell called again, said she couldn't get ahold of you, asked me to tell you she needs you on base Asap,” Kyle's voice drifts through the bathroom door and you groan, turning to face John.

“Rain check on the shower, Darling?” Price’s fingers grab your chin softly.

“Rain check,” You agree leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to his mouth. He pulls away all too soon for your liking, wiping himself off with a towel before pulling on his clothes. Pulling open the shower door you step into the hot stream, your body shaky and numb from the mind blowing orgasms. You tip your head back allowing the hot water to wet your hair, your eyes closed. 

A soft hand slips around your waist, your eyes popping open to see Kyle. His short black hair is dotted with water that bounces off you. A smile forms on your lips as he gently pulls you toward him. The hard expanse of his chest is a welcome home for your head. He doesn't say anything for a few minutes, just holds you under the hot stream. His fingers absentmindedly stroking your soft skin. 

“It sounds to me like you had a very eventful morning,” Kyle teases, his lips brushing your forehead. 

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“You know how Johnny is after he gets his way with you, he's like a kid in a candy store. He’s put Hope down for her nap and then proceeded to offer to bake cookies with Isla and Theo. Knowing full well he was going to have to clean the kitchen after that fiasco.” Kyle laughs, “and you weren't exactly quiet with John a moment ago.” 

Your cheeks grow hot, even after all this time you still couldn't help but feel shy when the other men knew what happened without them. It's not that you were ashamed, it was more to do with your upbringing. Your parents were strict, sex was a taboo subject, you didn't even know the basics until they taught you in health class. Your parents weren't a huge part of your life, they chose to put distance between you and your family when they found out you were dating 4 men.

They showed face at your wedding though, playing the doting parents of the bride. But the cold shoulder your mother gave you when you told her you were expecting her first grandchildren told you everything you needed to know. They weren’t okay with how you chose to live your life, they just cared more about their image.

“Where did you just go?” Kyle asks, his fingers under your chin tipping your face up to his.

“Hmm?” you hum, brows furrowed. 

“You got stuck in your head, where did you go?” His own brows furrow as he studies you. His long fingers brushing a drop of water from your cheek.

“I was just thinking about my parents…” you shrug halfheartedly. You tried not to let them bother you, telling yourself that you were better off without them. That your kids didn't need that in their life, they had 2 sets of wonderful grandparents who loved them more than anything. Johnny and Kyle's parents would find a way to give the kids all the stars in the sky if they could. 

“Baby,” Kyle breathes, his face coming closer to yours. “You don't need them, don't get lost in their ignorance.”

“I know.. Just.. I don't know,” You mumble, biting the inside of your cheek hard, the coppery tang of blood distracting you.

“Let me make it better,” he whispers, lips skimming yours. Kyle's kisses were always soft and sweet, just like him. His lips are as smooth as butter, as soft as cotton candy. He always took his time with you. Each movement is carefully thought out to bring you the most pleasure. His hands tangle in your wet hair, but unlike John there's no sharp sting. Just tender touches along your scalp as he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

The low moan that vibrates through your chest is enough to encourage him to continue. Kyle's fingers trail down your neck and spine to the curve of your ass. His fingers knead the soft flesh there, soothing the raised handprints left by Price. His fingers grip your thigh softly as he hikes it up over his hip, allowing his hard cock to brush against you.

“Kyle… please,” You whisper, rolling your hips into him.

“I’ve got you, Baby,” he whispers against your mouth. He turns you slowly, your back hitting the cool tile wall of the shower. He captures your swollen lips in another searing kiss, as one arm lips behind your back, causing you to arch into him. His other hand wraps around his thick cock as he slides into you. You moan into his mouth, your kiss becoming more clashing teeth and harsh breathing than before. Your hand grip his muscular shoulders, your nails biting into the smooth brown skin. You can feel his muscles flex and contract under your fingers as he languidly slides in and out of you. 

“You’re so good to us,” he whispers against your skin, ‘always taking care of us, take such good care of our babies when we're away. You’re ethereal, a true goddess on earth just for us.” 

Kyle's praise brings tears to your eyes, what did you possibly do to deserve him? Or any of them? Kyle drags his hips along yours, and your legs begin to shake. Your body was spent, between Soap and Price, you weren't sure if you had any more in you. But it doesn't stop Gaz, he just picks up his pace slightly. Nothing compared to either of the men before him, but enough that the coil in your stomach is now twisting tighter, and it’ll only be a matter of moments before you shatter in his arms. 

Gaz’z lips trail down your jaw and neck as he sucks along the smooth skin there. Quiet pants being coaxed out of you with each one. His lips seal around your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity skittering across your skin. 

“Fuck, Ky- I cant,” you whine, the burning in your core too much, as he drags his cock out of you before pushing back in at an agonizingly slow pace. His teeth graze your nipple as he pulls away. His mouth peppering your chest with wet open mouth kisses. His saliva mixes with the warm water leaving your chest shiny under the bathroom lights. 

“Yes you can Baby, I know you can. Just one more, for me,” he coaxes, his hand slipping between you, to rub your overly sensitive clit. His fingers tapping with the lightest of touches, and you break. Your walls are clamping down on him. Tears roll down your cheeks as you come with his name on your lips. 

His hips stutter as he follows you over the cliff, his own orgasm ripping through him as he lets your leg fall. Both your feet now firmly on the ground as he presses his forehead to yours. You both pants, the air between you becoming stifling with the humidity from the shower. You wrap your arms around his chest, allowing your head to lay over his rapidly beating heart. Your hair clinging to his skin as he adjusts the shower head above you, allowing more hot water to pour over the both of you. 

You stay like that until you're both able to breathe normally, and Kyle begins to gently wash you. He brushes the plush washcloth that's lathered in vanilla scented body wash over your body. He kneels in front of you, gliding the cloth up your legs to your thighs and ass. He's gentle where prices hands have left a mark. 

He presses small kisses to the bruises that are forming on your hips from the countertop. Before he stands, pouring some strawberry scented shampoo into his hands and working a rich lather into your hair.You both enjoy the quiet, neither one talking much except for when giving instructions to rinse off. 

After you return the favor of washing Gaz, he gets out of the shower, pulling two towels from the warming rack and wrapping one around his waist. The other he secures around yours. He spends the next 30 minutes lathering you with lotions and blow drying your hair. He glances at you through the bathroom mirror as he pushes up the sleeves of his shirt. His white teeth flashing at you as he smiles.

“You alright baby?” 

You nod, pulling on one of Simon's oversized black hoodies. It falls to the tops of your thighs, and you have to roll the cuffs of the sleeves up so you can use your hands. Kyle presses a kiss to your cheek, his warm lips lingering on your cheek for a moment.

“You look tired. Why don't you lay down for a nap?” he suggests, his fingers twirling a piece of your hair. 

You could use a nap, but you have things to do. Anxiety gnaws at you, you know that they’ll be leaving soon. It's not hard to interpret the messages behind Kate wanting to see John on base. That's how it normally went, she would ask him to come to base to discuss something. John would disappear for a few hours, sometimes late into the night before he came home.  He would talk to the others first, usually Simon, then Kyle or Johnny whoever he could find first. Then he would seek you out. He’d pull you into him, his beard tickling your cheeks as he peppered your face with kisses. 

Then he’d lay it on you, tell you that they were shipping out, either in the morning or in the next few days. You always tried to be strong, to put on a brave face especially if the children were still awake. Then you would watch as he told each of the children what was going on. Kira and Joseph would hold their younger siblings as they cried, begging their fathers not to go. Your heart shattering in your chest as you watch the four men in your life try to reassure them that they would be back. Eventually the younger kids would settle, the twins distracting them with games or snacks. 

It wasn't until they had left, and the kids were all in bed that you allowed yourself to fall apart. Huddled alone in your giant bed, surrounded by their pillows that you would let the tears fall. Sometimes one of the kids would climb into bed with you, their own attempts at comforting themselves. The time where your husbands were gone felt like wading through chest high mud. Each action needs twice the amount of effort than normal. You didn't have enough hands it seemed, there was always someone needing something. Someone had practice or a project they needed done. A baby was sick or going through a milestone. A faucet would leak or you’d forget entire meals when grocery shopping. You chew your bottom lip, spinning your engagement ring and wedding band around your ring finger. 

“No i'm okay, I’m gonna go see if Johnny needs any help with Theo and Isla,” you smile softly pressing a quick kiss to Kyle’s cheek before slipping out of the bathroom.

You can hear Johnny talking with Isla and Theo, his accented voice easy to pick out. You pad down the hallway to the kitchen. From the large archway you see Johnny standing behind Isla and Theo who stand on little helper stools. Theos light brown skin is dusted with flour, and his brown curls are pushed out of his face with a pair of bright purple bunny ears. Isla peers over the bowl, her finger dipping into the dough. A glob of cookie dough makes it way into her mouth, a sly smirk on her lips as she thinks Johnny didn’t see her.

But the demolition expert did see it, you can tell by the way his mouth slants upwards, the slight shake of his head. Theo reaches into the bowl, his little fist gripping the chocolate chip cookie dough like it was a life line. But instead of shoving it into his mouth he uses his other hand, attempting to roll the dough into a ball. It squishes through his fingers and lands with a wet plop on the counter. His big brown eyes look up in panic as the sticky dough clings to his hands. 

“Oi lad made a fine mess of yerself don’t ya?” Johnny laughs, scraping the excess dough from Theos outstretched hands. 

“Da, do you think mama will like the cookies?” Isla wonders, using a dough scoop to scoop out portions of cookie dough, she plops them on a baking sheet. A little too close together but Johnny just moves the small mounds over a bit.

“I think she’ll love em, your mama loves everything you make for her,” he ruffled her hair with his clean hands. Coming to stand behind Theo as he helps him scoop out his own dough with another scoop.

“Sometimes when all of you leave, I can hear Mama crying… Papa left to go see aunt Kate.. that means you’ll leave again soon…” Isla looks down at the cookie sheet, her bottom lip between her teeth. You can see her shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath.

“It’s okay to be sad when we leave, lala girl. Sometimes Mama’s get sad too,” he crouches down next to her, his finger hooking up her chin as he looks at her.

“Why do you leave if it makes Mama and us sad?” She leans into his hand, her smaller hands coming to rest on his cheeks. Theo jams the cookie scoop into the bowl too young to understand the conversation.

“Well, papa, Daddy, Dad and I have really important jobs. And those jobs sometimes make it so we have to go far away to capture bad people, and stop them from hurtin others. Like how Batman stops the joker, and police officers catch bad guys.”

“Olice Officer! Wee woo wee woo!” Theo yells, the scoop clattering to the counter, as he claps.

“That’s right, “ Johnny laughs, “but we’ll always come back to you, you guys and your Mama are the most important things in the world to us. So we try our hardest to always come back. Can you do me a favor tho Lala girl?” He asks, and Isla nods eagerly.

“The next time you hear your Mama cryin’ I want you to give her the biggest hug ever okay? And don’t be afraid to tell her it’s okay to be sad too. I think sometimes Mama forgets she can be sad, because she’s so busy trying to make sure none of you bairns are sad.” Johnny gives her a soft smile.

“I can do that Da, can we finish the cookies now?” She grabs the scoop again and looks at Theo and Soap.

“Of course,” he smiles again and you duck out of the archway, just out of sight. Your eyes burn, but you blink back the tears and take a moment to compose yourself. You didn’t realize that Isla had heard you crying. You tried desperately to be quiet, but Islas' room was across the hall and she must've heard you while she went to the bathroom. 

You take another deep breath and step out into the kitchen with a smile on your face as you walk to the large kitchen island.

“Mama! Mama!” Theo yells, “We are making you cookies!” 

“Cookies? For me? Thank you baby,” You lean down pressing a kiss to his messy curls, the purple bunny ears poking you in the face. You look over the 4 large cookie sheets that are dotted with cookie dough.

“Wow it looks like you guys made enough for everyone, huh?” You smile at Isla and she nods. 

“Yeah! Da said we had to triple the recipe because there are soooo many of us,” She explains, scooping another ball of dough from the large metal bowl. 

“That's true, there are a lot of people in our house. Do you know how many?” You slip into a bar stool, your eyes catching Soaps above Theos head. He gives you a panty dropping smile and a wink.

“Uh,” Isla thinks hard for a moment, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “Theres Me, Theo, Kira, Joseph and Hope, that's 5… Mama, Papa, Dad, Daddy and Da. That's 5 too… and 5 plus 5 makes 10!” She beams. “There's 10 people who live in our house. Right Da?”  She looks over her shoulder.

“That's right Lass, 10 people so far,” he raises his eyebrows suggestively at you.

“So far? What does that mean? Why are Mama’s cheeks so red?” She scrunched her brows looking between you and Johnny.

“Nothing baby, Da is just being silly,” you roll your eyes. Isla shrugs and goes back to her job. Between her and Theo it doesn't take long for the cookie dough to be laid out on every cookie sheet you own. You help Johnny by putting them in the large commercial size stove, even with your giant oven you can only fit 4 cookie sheets at a time. After Johnny cleans up Theo and Isla he starts to work on the dishes, you perch yourself on a bar stool and watch as he methodically washes each dish. 

The sounds of Theo and Isla playing floats through the house as they play in the large playroom at the front of the house. Kyle comes into the kitchen and places his hands on your hips, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. 

“The cookies smell good, good to know Johnny didn't mess them up,” he teases. Johnny looks over his shoulder narrowing his eyes at Gaz.

“Oi, it was one time, and it wasn't even my fault!” He huffs.

“No you’re right you just decided to let the twins measure everything out and they put half a cup of salt instead of a teaspoon,” Kyle laughs.

“Shall we talk about your lasagna, then?” You look up at Kyle and his smile drops.

“You said you wouldn't bring that up,” he grumbles, his hands squeezing your waist softly.

“Did i?” You feign innocence, batting your lashes at him.

“Cheeky woman,” Kyle mutters, peppering your face with feather light kisses.

“Keep that up and I might have to steal you for round 2..” Soap's voice is rough and low as he looks at you and Kyle.

Your cheeks blush for what feels like the millionth time today, and you shake your head. “You’re insatiable,” you roll your eyes, slipping from the stool and walking towards the door. “Don't let the cookies burn!” You call over your shoulder.

“Ah Steamin’ Jesus!” Johnny curses.

You walk down the hall, peeking your head into the playroom, to see Isla and Theo sitting in a large bean bag chair, Theo peering over the edge of the learning tablet Isla is playing with. A smile plays at the corner of your lips as you walk towards the staircase. You slowly climb the stairs, pausing briefly at Hope's bedroom door to look in. The 14 month old lays on her stomach, her bum up in the air, stuffed bunny tucked in her arms as she sleeps. You quietly close the door and climb the second staircase up to the 3rd floor of your house. There were 3 rooms up here, a small half bath, John’s office, and a guest room used only when Kyle or Johnny's parents came to visit. 

You pull open the french doors to John’s office, stepping into the warm room. The hunter green walls lined with heavy oak bookshelves, his large desk sat in the middle of the room facing the floor to ceiling window. An old leather couch sits along one wall and you sink into the soft brown leather. Your fingers brushing across the cracked and worn material. You pull the fluffy green blanket off the back and wrap it around yourself. Your knees pulled up to your chest, your chin resting on top of them as you stare at the landscape outside the window.

Your fingers picking at the loose threads on the blankets. You came up here to get some alone time. No one usually ventures into John's office when he isn't home. Your mind drifts as you watch the fluffy white clouds roll by. Your eyes grow heavy as you enjoy the quiet.

You must've dozed off, your body jolting awake when a hand touches your shoulder. Your head whips up, eyes meeting a pair of dark brown ones.

Simon. Those eyes belonged to Simon.

The tension leaves your shoulders as he crouches next to the couch, his broad shoulders block the light from the window. His blonde eyebrows furrowed as he looks at you. Those dark eyes studying every part of your face. 

“Hi,” you whisper, voice still thick with sleep.

“Hi Lovie, you alright?” He asks, his large hand taking your much smaller ones.

“I’m okay, tired,” you shrug, your fingers wiggling against his palm. “How was the library?”

“Good, Kira and Joseph got 2 books each, and they brought home a few for the younger kids. They’re all in the kitchen eating cookies with Kyle and Johnny. Are you sure you’re okay?” He squeezes your hands again. 

You sigh, Simon had a way of seeing right through you. Your other husbands did too, but they often erred on the side of caution when it came to confronting you about it. At some point or another they had pushed just a little too hard when you were having a bad day and you snapped. Basically chewing their heads off before you burst into tears. The other 3 had panicked, not sure what to do, their efforts to comfort you had ended with you hitting their chest as you told them to go away. Cursing at them for pushing you on things you weren't ready to talk about. They had quickly learnt that you would come to them when you were ready. But Simon on the other hand didn't care. He welcomed your outburst, taking each emotion with stride. He’d let you beat on his chest until your arms hurt. Until your anger gave way to your true emotions. 

“No.. im not okay,” you relent. Simon just looks at you, waiting for you to explain.

“I know you're going to be leaving soon, and I know at this point I should be used to it. It's been 8 years of deployments. But it doesn't get any easier.. And now the kids are starting to get to the age where they ask questions, wanting to know what you guys do while you're gone. They're starting to understand that what you're doing is dangerous. I don't know how I'm supposed to explain to them what happens if one of you doesn't come home…” you trail off, feeling a weight settle on your chest.

“I can't promise we’ll come home, I won't lie to you and tell you that we will. I’ve never sugar coated that. But you’re stronger than you think Lovie, I know that you can handle everything here. You’re an amazing Mum to our kids. You’re so kind to them, so patient. I know it's hard when we're away. But I promise we won't be doing as many missions as before. Price has had a few meetings with Kate about us stepping back, training a new team to take our place. We don't want to lose any more time with you and the kids. Besides, I've heard through the grapevine that we have a more important mission here.” He brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Oh? What's that?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Something about knocking you up again,” he smiles like a cat who got the canary. He shifts forward on his knees. Large hands pawing at your sides as he drags you down the couch. His hand flicking open the button of your jeans. Your chest heaves as he leans forward pressing a soft kiss to the skin below your navel. Goosebumps erupt on your skin Simon flicks his tongue out, wetting your skin.

“Simon…” You breathe, your hands tangling in his soft blonde hair. 

“I know Love,” he murmurs against your skin, his fingers dipping into the waistband of your jeans and panties, tugging them down in one swift motion. You reach for his own waistband, undoing his belt in one swift motion. His brown eyes burn into you as he slides his hand up the inside of your thighs and drags them through the wetness that pools between them.

“Such a good girl for me, always so ready for me,” Simon praises, his eyes straying to the bruise marks on your hips from when John fucked you into the bathroom counter. “Looks like someone already played rough with you today. How did that to you Love? Those weren't there when i left you in the bathroom this morning, tell me was it Kyle or John who bruised that pretty skin of yours.” He slips a finger into you, and you groan, your inner walls fluttering around his thick digits.

“John..” you moan as he curls his fingers into you hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

“Did Kyle fuck you too?” He asks, his other hand palming his hard cock through his boxers. 

“Mmmm, yes..” you pant, your hands wrapping around his wrist as he fucks you with his fingers. 

“Must be my turn then, huh,” he kisses you softly, his lips slanting over yours for a moment, stealing your breath away. “Want me to fill you up? Stuff you full of my cum like the others? Fuck a baby into you?” 

“Ahh- yes, Si.. Please,” you gasp and pant. Back arching off the couch as you press your hips into his hand. Grinding your clit against the heel of his palm.

“Fuckin’ hell, such a good girl,” Simon groans as he pulls his hand from your dripping pussy. Shoving his jeans down his thick thighs, he grabs your ankles spinning you on the couch so your back presses into the cushions. Your thighs spread, ass hanging off the seat. He leans up on his knees, his cock nudging your tight entrance. One hand grips the flesh of your thigh as he holds you from falling off the couch. The other wraps around the column of your throat. He gives it a gentle squeeze, not enough to cut off oxygen just enough to restrict it as he bullies his cock into you. 

Your vision blurs as he thrusts into you, his pace steady and even as he fucks you into the couch. Loud moans tear from your throat as he pounds into you. Your body trembles as his cock rubs against your walls. 

“Cum for me beautiful,” He grunts, applying more pressure to your throat. Tiny black pin pricks dance in your vision as he picks up his pace. Your legs trembling, Simon's brown eyes stare into you, his hips faltering as he gets closer to the edge. You moan loudly, air flooding your lungs as he releases your throat, and rubs tight fast circles on your clit. Your body tingles from head to toe as your orgasm rips through you. 

“Fuck!” Simon shouts as he stills inside you, his release painting your walls with thick white ropes of cum. He leans down pressing his forehead to yours as he breathes heavily. You stay like that for a moment, catching your breath as your legs stop trembling. 

“I love you,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his once more.

“I love you too,” he whispers back.

You and Simon change into your clothes, and he settles you in his lap, big arms wrapped around your waist as you snuggle into him. Your quiet moment doesn't last long, the tell tale sound of boots on the stairs causes both of you to look over at the glass doors. John stands just outside of them, Hope resting on his hip, a small smile on his face as he takes in the sight of you and Simon on the couch. Hope babbles happily in his arms, her chubby fingers grabbing at the brim of his Boonie hat. He pulls open the doors and steps into the room. Hope clapping her hands as she sees you. 

“Mamamamama” She babbles, reaching out to you, and you open your arms for her. John carefully puts her in your lap and brushes his fingers along your cheek. You glance up your eyes meeting his own, and that's when you see it, the hard lines around his eyes, the rigid set of his jaw as he watches you. 

“When do you leave?” You ask softly, focusing your attention on the baby in your arms as she yanks on your shirt.

“Later tonight, after the kids are in bed,” he sighs, “I'm sorry Darling, I tried to get out of it. But Laswell needs us.” 

Simon presses his face into your shoulder. There goes your bubble. Popped.

Next: Part 3

[myownwholewildworld]

requiescat in pace (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: you learn of marcus' son's death. a/n: welp... yea. can what i say, i enjoy making these two suffer c: apologies for the brief passenger's lyrics references. i appreciate comments and reblogs, they make me happy knowing that people enjoy my writing <3 take care x warnings: 18+, mdni. angst (what a surprise). mentions of death. marcus says "my lady" and i think that should be a warning. let's just assume that this whole series is pure angst, alright? w/c: 2.1k

“Did you offer your condolences to General Acacius, filia mea (my daughter)?”

Your father’s question broke the trance you had sunk into, the bronze spoon falling from your trembling fingers onto the porcelain plate set in front of you.

Leaning back, you looked at your father as if he had spoken a different language. Surely you misheard him — your mind still numb with grief, unable to process anything since you received the news of your husband’s demise.

It had been three days and the gaping hole in your heart had only gotten bigger. Like an umbra lurking in the shadows, you had stayed in your shared bedroom, crying your sorrow onto Resius’ breastplate, hugging the last piece of him you would ever hold. You grieved for your love but also for the life you would never spend with him, for all those precious moments that would remain in your memory as what if’s gnawing at the confines of your mind.

But now, right now, your pain lessened for a second, your brain focusing on something else.

“What do you mean, Caesar?” you whispered, voice cracking in the last inflexion.

The Emperor eyed you from across the dining table, silence lingering and stretching in the space between you. Your heartbeat picked up its pace, the wait almost forcing you up to stand on your feet.

“General Acacius lost his heir at the battle of Sarmizegetusa. He has asked to return to Dacia to retrieve the body of his son and bring him back home for proper burial,” he explained with caution, watching your every expression.

Your heart had now climbed up your throat, the pulse wild in your eardrums. You hadn’t misheard, your father had said Acacius very clearly, dragging the word out.

Mind racing, you fidgeted with your hands on your lap, twisting them in despair as you tried to recall your conversation with him a few days ago. “He’s resting now,” he had said when you asked about Augustus.

Resting. You had assumed he meant that his son was back at his villa, resting from the extraneous physical toll a battle would take on the body. Not for one second had you considered that Marcus actually meant resting in peace.

You had been so blind, letting your own grief consume you, you had not noticed the tells in the General’s behaviour. The feeble smile, the downcast almost solemn expression, the stiffened nod he gave you, the brevity of his response. It all made sense now, and you couldn’t help but feel… selfish. So drowned in your sorrow, Acacius had kept it together so you could cry your loss in his embrace.

Your stomach churned at the thought — the General had no one left by his side. No wife and no son waiting for his return, not even his best friend. How would he have felt in the emptiness of his home with no one there to console him? You at least had your family and closest friends, who had checked on you from time to time to ensure you were safe.

Had someone checked on the General?

“May I take my leave, pater (father)?” you requested with your gaze averted, a sudden need to find General Acacius, your hands twisting uncontrollably.

You needed to know he was… okay. Alive? He had talked to someone at least, asked to go back to Dacia to get his only son back home. You could only imagine his heartbreak, the hell he must be going through. The thought of him dealing with all of it alone… it fractured a piece of your soul.

The Emperor watched you attentively, eyes lingering on the full plate in front of you. There was something about his wary demeanor that didn’t click right away — and right now you were too preoccupied with something else to be paying attention to politics.

“You may go, but tread carefully, filia mea,” was his veiled answer.

With no time to waste, you stood up and curtsied before disappearing from the dining hall.

Marcus’ body was controlled by another being — a non-sentient one. He got up, attended his duties to the Empire, paid a visit to the barracks in the outskirts to train with his army, and then got back to an empty home.

It all felt like a sick loop, one he could not break from. His feelings had deserted him, leaving him be a hollow carcass of who he once was. There was no joy, no incentive to even pretend there was.

It took him a couple of days to finally let the dam crack in the solace of his villa. It all came to be because of something as simple as Augustus’ toy gladius. The one that Marcus himself had forged for his son’s tenth birthday. Little Augustus had been so excited, he had almost hit his head against the edge of the dining table while running around wielding his new toy. That memory had resurfaced unexpectedly and the smile that came with it quickly mutated into a sad grimace.

He longed for something that that was safe and warm, but all he had was all that was gone. Marcus felt as helpless and as hopeless as a feather on the Tiber. And the river was wide, so much he was scared he wouldn’t make it to the other side. And what would he find on the opposite shore? Did he really want to cross?

Marcus couldn’t, at least not yet. He needed closure before he could carry on with his life, if that was even a possibility. Augustus belonged in the family’s mausoleum next to his mother, so they could both be laid to rest in peace together. With Dacia under the iron fist of the Romans, he could retrace his steps and get his heir back home.

His leave had been approved that same afternoon. In a hurry, he had packed the bare necessities he would need for the long trip and headed towards the barracks once more. In the stables his stallion was awaiting, all prepped by one of the ostlers.

He was ensuring that the saddle was properly on when a gentle voice called his name.

“General Acacius,” as soon as you spoke, he recognised your delicate accent.

Marcus turned around, his back bending immediately at your presence.

“My lady,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the straw splayed across the dirt on the floor.

What brought you here, he wondered. The horses belonging to Traianus’ family were kept elsewhere, away from the mediocrity of the reminders of war. This was no place for someone of noble birth like you. It reeked of the musky scents of nature to which he was immune now, but you sure weren’t.

Your hand found the way to his shoulder, a light tap to silently ask him to straighten out his posture. He obliged, his brown orbs showing his confusion at finding you here. And you seemed unbothered about the mess surrounding you.

“How may I be of service?” his question was a trained response, the only reason for you being here was that you required something of him.

Perhaps you needed to know how everything unfolded so you also got closure. Perhaps you required details, something more than just a “General Atticus perished at the mercy of a Dacian sword” — had he been too concise in his explanation, too General-y? Or perhaps you were after the reassurance of a life well lived with your husband, a reminder that there had been light amongst the darkness.

The Gods knew he felt that way sometimes too.

“That is not why I am here, General,” you hummed with a broken smile, your hand dropping off his shoulder like the last needle-like leaves clinging onto a toppling, decaying cypress after a wildfire.

Your admission took him aback, unsure now of what else you could need of him. What else would he have to give for Rome to appease the Emperor — was his heir not enough? But you weren’t your father; Resius would always say you were too kind of a soul, would only speak high praise of you. But was not that what a husband was supposed to say about his spouse, especially Traianus’ daughter?

So perhaps he was mistaken in that regard, although he couldn’t know. Marcus had interacted with you multiple times, in serious and more relaxed settings, but the barrier was always there — he was just a General you graced with your presence because of Resius. You participated in conversation, laughed at Resius’ and his jokes and offered words of wisdom to Augustus like the mother he never had.

But despite all of that, he didn’t really know you. Knew your persona, the way you portrayed yourself to the crowds, but it was fair to wonder how much of it was just a front.

That was, at least, until three sunsets ago, when you cried your loss with him — something he had not expected. How your façade tumbled the moment his perhaps-not-so-carefully-delivered words furrowed through your mind until they took root. How he tried to console you in spite of his own sorrow.

The crease between his brows accentuated slightly, a small tell of his confusion.

“I heard,” you only said, a whisper that made his skin crawl with anguish, his throat squeeze.

The softness of your eyes left no room for misinterpretation, an unmistakable mist in them. About your son’s death, was the bit you did not pronounce out loud.

His chest tightened as his gaze drifted down, catching a glimpse of your fidgety hands, twisting nervously.

Did you feel guilty? Was that the purpose of your unexpected visit?

“My son lived and died for the glory of Rome, Your Highness. Honourable to the end, he gladly gave his life for the Emperor and the cause. A warrior’s death, I couldn’t be any more proud of his sacrifice,” he attempted to put your mind at ease, tone steady repeating the words he had been saying every time someone approached him with empty condolences.

Your hands paused wriggling, your expression shadowed by his automatic reply.

“Oh, Marcus,” you whispered, taking a step forward but stopping yourself before you reached for his forearm. “You don’t need to— to pretend this is okay. It’s not,” your trembling fingers played with the golden bracelet adorning your wrist. “War is a disease, an ailment to mankind, to ourselves and our loved ones. I regret to know that you have given so much for Rome’s thirst. You shouldn’t have to. My father… he asks too much of his people,” you added, the mist in your eyes developing into a single tear falling off your bottom lashes. “Far too much.”

Pain stirred within him, lost for words he was. What you just said was a good outline of his own feelings — thoughts he couldn’t put into words, because they would sound treacherous. Did you really mean it?

“I… thank you, Domina mea. I appreciate your sentiment,” he accepted with a stiff nod, his voice raspier than usual. But he wouldn’t let emotion overcome him.

“I was informed you have taken leave to bring Augustus back home. I came to see if you would accept a few soldiers of my own personal guard to escort you,” you offered, your tone gentle and delicate.

Marcus was moved by your offer, one he didn’t expect. Were you worried for his safe return? That the journey back with his dead son in tow would break him, his resolution? Because he was worried too.

“I am touched, my lady, truly. But it’s not necessary. Some of my men will be accompanying me,” he assured you.

Marcus was lucky to have loyal fighting men under his banner. People he could blindly trust in battle, and outside of it.

“Please, send for me upon your return, General. I would like to attend Augustus’ wake. Unless you want it to be private, in which case I completely understand,” you almost stumbled with your own words towards the end, lips pursed with nervousness.

Resius was right. You were too kind of a soul, worrying for him when you had your own demons to deal with. The dull ache blanketing his heart lifted ever so slightly, your petition soothing and a reminder that he was not alone in grief. You would understand.

So Marcus nodded, his throat tighter.

“I will, Augusta (Imperial Princess),” a promise he would keep.

“Safe travels, General. May Salus watch over you.”

[slushycoookie]

My Husband Has a Symbiote! Pt.3

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3

Relationship: Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Content: Mentions of infertility, slight angst, Miguel shows off his geneticist side, Rough sex, Minors DNI!!

Summary: After months of Miguel having the symbiote, it's not working like you thought it would.

A/N: It took me eons to write this part but I'm back! We only have a few more parts of this story before I move on to something else. Enjoy!

You never thought you’d be sitting at the table with an alien. Although, a few years ago, you didn’t think you’d be married to a superhero. Now look at you. Eyeing the symbiote’s head across the table, drinking hot chocolate. You didn’t want to leave them out as they had cups of coffee. And you heard they like chocolate.

“Does it even have a name?”

Miguel and his symbiote looked at each other, “We aren’t really on a first-name basis.”

“You mean, you let this thing fuse with you and you don’t know its name?” You held back smacking your forehead. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I am.” Your husband reassured you, “Their name is Ravage. I didn’t name them that, they did.” You watch the alien smile, sharp teeth in clear view.

“Why Ravage?”

Ravage uses a tendril to imitate shrugging, “It sounds cool.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

“How long were you planning on keeping them?”

“Until you get pregnant.” Miguel explained, “I wasn't planning on keeping them forever.”

You folded your arms, “And what were you going to do with them once I got pregnant?” You raised a brow at his delayed response. The symbiote wasn’t saying anything either, waiting for Miguel to answer.

“Find a new host was a general idea. But you don’t need to worry about that.” You wanted to ask more questions but he held your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze, “Let’s keep trying.”

You squeezed his hand back, your lips forming into a smile. You absolutely wanted to keep trying but thought it was good to set some ground rules. As much as you enjoyed having sex with him every day, you still had lives. You agreed to indulge in the baby-making process around ovulation periods to give the highest possible chance of conception. If either of you were in a particular mood, it was okay too.

After having the conversation, sex with the symbiote was stress-free. You took the enlarged cock with ease, got filled with his seed, and relaxed right after. It was nice at first. But the results weren’t there.

No clear signs of pregnancy after a few months of Miguel obtaining Ravage. You thought you weren't having normal symptoms outside of the usual fatigue and aching joints. So you bought a pregnancy test. Only to be disappointed as the single line appeared in your vision. Pregnancy tests weren’t always accurate so you asked Lyla to conduct a scan on you.

Only for you to come up short.

Before Miguel’s newfound symbiote friend, you were trying to have a baby for eight months. You all did research. You knew it could take a while for conception to take place. Yet, it’s been almost a year, and no progress.

Hopelessness clouded over your mind. Thoughts began to settle in, accusing yourself of the reason why you couldn’t get pregnant. It was all your fault. Miguel said it would be difficult, not impossible. But that’s what it felt like. Impossible.

The thoughts wouldn’t go away. Not as Miguel’s lips peppered your neck, hands fondling your soft thighs. Ready to go for a round in their bedroom after a long day at work. In any other situation, you would’ve felt good. But all you could focus on was being a failure.

“I missed you today…” Miguel’s low tone resonated in your ears. A gentle squeeze on your breast as he continued to your shoulder, tugging on the collar of your shirt for more access to your skin. “Did you miss me?”

You hummed in response, raising your arms for him to remove your shirt. Your stomach twisted at his loving gaze on your naked top half. You knew he loved you. Yet, you were torturing him by not being able to provide what he wanted.

“You okay?”

You blinked, realizing you weren't reciprocating. “Yeah. I’m fine.” You kissed him, distracting yourself with the unnecessary thoughts. Not wanting to succumb to them as you were laid flat on your back. Hands moving from under his shirt to lift it over his head. You focused on his lips moving down your body. Open-mouth kisses covering your upper half.

“Can't wait until these are full of milk…” Miguel said, running his tongue over the swell of your breasts. “Getting ready for our baby…”

You shuddered as his tongue ran over your nipple, sucking on your breast while fondling the other.

All you thought of was you were trying for nothing. This will be another session that will lead you to not getting pregnant. Another disappointing endeavor. Because of you. All because of you.

“Nena?” He called, causing you to perk up. You were doing it again. Not reacting.

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

You blinked, “Oh, I'm sorry. What did you say?”

Miguel hovered above you, eyes searching your face. “Nothing. Are you sure you're okay? Did something happen at work?”

“No, no I'm fine.” You cradled his face in his hands, giving him another kiss. “Really.”

He sighed, leaning back and pulling her towards him. You were held in his arms, sheltering you from the outside world. “You're not fine. You're thinking. And with your face, I know it's not good.”

Curse your husband for knowing you so well.

“It's nothing you need to worry about.” You buried your face in his hairy chest. Hearing him suck his teeth.

“I always worry about you when something’s wrong.” The hold on you tightened in reassurance. “Now tell me.”

You struggled, fighting back the tears. “This isn't working. None of this.”

“What? Baby, we did know this was going to take a while.”

“I know, but-” Your breath stuttered, cheeks getting wet, “I'm letting you down. I just can't seem to get pregnant.”

Miguel shook his head, pulling you away to assess the damage. He wiped away your tears, using his shirt to remove the incoming snot. “Don't say that. If anything, it's my fault. My sperm isn't doing a good job. With or without the symbiote.”

“You're not the one with an infertile diagnosis…” You harshly laughed, blinking more tears away.

He helped you put on your shirt. “I don't like when you're upset. You know that, right?” You nodded. “We have to keep trying. And if it doesn't work, then we have other options. Like adoption.”

You watched your husband lay beside you, a strong arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. Your head on his chest, his lips kissing your hair. He was right, there were other options. But you couldn't be comfortable with not trying anything you could. Before giving up.

“You could use me.”

Ravage's head hovered above your body in bed. Your eyes darted to Miguel’s sleeping form, unsure if you should wake him. Wait, what did they say? “I could…use you?”

“Yes.” Their smile may appear sadistic if it was anyone else. You kind of saw them as being genuine, “We can fix you. Cure you.”

“Can you? I didn't know symbiotes could do that.”

“Your husband failed to spare the details.” They went closer, you getting to see his intense eyes. “We make everything better. From physical to genetic…” Goosebumps formed on your skin as he emphasized the last word. There had to be a catch.

“If you knew this, why didn't you latch on to me and do it already? Like that time at the lab?”

Ravage huffed with frustration, “We need someone willing. You wanted us to that time. We could do it by force but then…” He trailed off, hoping you would get the idea. You knew if that happened Miguel would be on the alien in a heartbeat. If you were to consider it, he'd have to know. It is your symbiote now too. It wouldn't hurt to share.

“No, absolutely not.”

Miguel declined when you brought it up during dinner the next day. You had to sit with the idea yourself before bringing it up to him. Understand the pros and cons of letting a foreign entity connect with you. You weren't a spider-person either. No superpowers or anything to help you resist. You'd be going in completely vulnerable.

Of course, he wouldn't like it.

“Why?” You asked, “It could fix what I have going on with me.”

“It's only temporary.” Miguel warned, “Once you part with it, it's only a matter of time before what you have comes back. Maybe even worse than before.”

“Okay, but once I get pregnant, it won't matter anymore.”

His brows furrowed, “This is an alien we're talking about here. That's fusing with you. It's dangerous.”

“You didn't ask for my permission when you fused with it! Why should I ask for yours?”

“Because this is different. I'm Spider-Man, you're not.”

You rolled your eyes, “Now, we're having this conversation again?” Miguel huffed, face lowered as he went silent, focusing on his meal. You hated it when he stopped talking in the middle of an important conversation. You usually understood and were patient, but now you couldn't hold your tongue. “If I had powers, would you consider it?”

“No.” He said, his voice strained.

“Then what difference does it make?”

“Because you’re my partner.” Miguel stared at you, hard red eyes into your soul. The grip on his fork was strong enough for him to bend it, holding back his true feelings. “I don't want anything to happen to you. Symbiotes are unpredictable. Dangerous. I'd rather put myself through that and not you.”

“That’s not fair. We’re supposed to be a team.” His face softened as you gazed at him with soft eyes.

“We are.”

Miguel stood, not wanting the rest of his dinner. He mutters about finishing up some work at HQ, making a portal before disappearing behind it. Leaving you to clean up. You weren't diminishing his protests. The idea of dealing with symbiotes was scary, especially with someone who hasn’t used them before. You thought it wouldn’t hurt to try.

But now your husband was angry. He was going to avoid the topic now until you couldn’t take the silence anymore. At least that’s what you thought.

The next morning he came to you, eyes heavy from lack of sleep. A lab coat over his spider suit. To say the words you never thought he’d say.

Let’s do it.

His hair was messy, like his actions as he paced in his lab. You saw multiple images presented by Lyla to support his theory. None of it made sense. You weren't a scientist. But he mentioned how it can be possible as long as you set some ground rules. Control the environment so things won’t get out of hand. And you wouldn’t get hurt.

Your heart squeezed as he rambled, the geneticist side coming out in full force. “You stayed up all night thinking about this, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” Miguel quickly said, his cheeks flushed. “I love you.”

You cradled his face in your palms, thumbs rubbing his cheeks with affection. “I love you too.”

To be cautious, Miguel wanted to test how you reacted to the symbiote. He wanted to monitor you for 24 hours. He first suggested locking you up in the lab so he could be close by but you weren't having that. You decided that staying home and doing your usual tasks would be good enough. Miguel wasn’t a huge fan but he shut up after a few kisses.

You weren't sure how you'd react to the symbiote. If you would feel a drastic difference compared to your normal self. So when Ravage attached to your body, there wasn’t a dramatic shift. No change. Only that they were there. A niggling on the back of your head. It wasn’t annoying, but it would take a while to get used to.

You did everything as normal. Freshened up and grabbed a cup of coffee. Until your mug snapped.

You shrieked at the sudden action, your coffee on the floor, hot droplets on your hand. Miguel was watching you because he called through your watch right away.

“Are you okay?”

You started wiping up your mess, “I’m fine. It just happened so quickly.” Your brows furrowed while sweeping the broken contents. You’d never snapped a mug like that before. Was it because of Ravage?

“It’s the symbiote.” Miguel confirmed, “By enhancing you, it also applies to your physical traits.” Oh right, Ravage did mention that.

You stared at your hands. “Does that mean I have powers?”

“Kind of…Like I said, it’s only temporary.” Right. You shouldn’t get excited. All of this was temporary. “I’d watch your grip.”

You resorted to handling things with your fingers, willing yourself to touch them with the lightest of touch. You understood how Miguel felt about his abilities. If you moved your arm wrong, you’d probably break something. Or someone.

“I’m hungry.” Ravage’s voice resonated in your head.

That was another thing you had to get used to. Every time they spoke, their words would rumble through your body. Prickling your skin in an uncomfortable way that was also satisfying. And no one else could hear them besides you.

“You’re always hungry.” You commented while pulling out a bar of dark chocolate. You broke up the bar into smaller pieces, feeding it to them. “How many times did Miguel have to feed you?”

“Many times.” They said, chomping on another piece. “We don’t just need chocolate to feed.”

You purse your lips, “I’m not feeding you brains.” You gave them a look as they scowled, angrily eating his last piece of chocolate.

“We’re not talking about that. Sex should suffice.”

You perked up, “What?”

“You heard us. Intercourse staves us for a while.”

“Sex is nourishing for you?”

“We didn’t say that. We just like it.”

That explains why Miguel kept wanting to have sex with you. A lot.

“We can’t though. Knowing Mig, he’d want to wait until 24 hours are up.”

“Sex does involve said participants to be next to each other, right?” Their eyes raised in question, “It shouldn't be a problem.”

“No. Not until 24 hours are up.” That's what you said, but it wasn’t what you were thinking. You'd admit getting impatient. You wanted to see if this crazy plan would work. After months of trying and failing, you were tired of waiting. Why couldn't you make love to your husband now to see what happens?

Thoughts kept running rampant as you couldn't sleep. You wanted him to pull you in close, get on top, and have his way with you. You placed a hand on top of his own that rested on your stomach. Your ass, only covered by shorts, started to rub against his lower half. Miguel wasn’t asleep yet when his hand gripped your shirt, a groan slipping out.

“What are you doing?”

You kept going at that same agonizing pace. “Thinking…”

“About?” He made no moves to have you stop, only having a death grip on your shirt.

“How horny I am right now.”

Miguel’s breath quickened at the faster pace. On instinct, he pulled you closer, the large hand splayed across your belly. But he suddenly had a moment of clarity as he pulled back.

“No, it hasn't been 24 hours yet.”

You held back a smirk at how you could feel his cock getting hard against your bottom. “You can still watch me while you fuck me.”

You maneuvered to get back in your original position but he stopped you. “Sorry, I really don't want any surprises.” He gave you a gentle kiss on your forehead before turning over to try and sleep, which may take a while due to his current state.

That's fine, you could wait.

You made arousing your husband your mission. Showering with him, making sure his entire body was clean before work by running the washcloth over his body. Making out with him with the towels loosely hanging from your bodies. You felt Miguel’s muscles tense from every seductive touch. His eyes were hard on you as he knew what you were doing but didn't press further.

You stole another kiss before he went to work, tongue sliding across his own with fervor. When you parted, he took a long, deep breath.

“Me vas a matar (You’re gonna kill me)…” He muttered.

“I love you too.” You waved him goodbye when he disappeared.

Ravage’s pleased hum once again filled your body, “We are enjoying the teasing. But when do we play?”

“Be patient.”

30 minutes until the 24-hour surveillance was up. How convenient it was also around the time you ate lunch with him.

You arrived, displaying a casual demeanor when meeting up with Miguel at his lab. He was rightfully cautious as you walked side by side to the cafeteria. You had sent him a naughty text not too long ago. Everything was okay. Cool and casual. Right until you locked eyes with the broom closet.

With your newfound strength, you opened the door, grabbed your husband, and launched him inside.

The cleaning supplies shook from the force as you closed the door and locked it. Miguel didn’t have time to protest as your lips pressed against his in a rush. Filled with need and wanting. His hands gripped your sides, a groan escaping as he gently pushed you away.

“We have about 24 minutes and 15 seconds until-” You kissed him again and he reciprocated it. He pulled your body close to his, devouring each other in the embrace. But Miguel was such a stickler as he pulled away again. “We should wait-”

“Ravage hasn’t done anything these past 23 hours. If they wanted to, they would’ve.” You pushed him down to the floor, seeing the hunger rising in his eyes. Your stomach fluttered at his gaze, sitting down on his lap. “Now fuck me.”

Miguel didn’t need to be told twice. He kissed you again, a tight hold on your hips as he rolled his own against you. It didn’t take long for him to get hard, ready to release what you had started since last night. You were as desperate as him as hands tore through your clothes. You couldn’t be upset, as you sunk down on his length.

The entire act was filthy as Miguel gripped your plump cheeks while he thrusted up into you. A death grip on your flesh so you couldn’t escape. Rough enough to where the entire room started to shake. His head was deep between your breasts, whining about how good you felt. So good that you could feel the slight prick from his talons. They weren’t fully out, thank goodness, but enough to knead your soft flesh.

It didn’t take long for your climax to arrive. Your warm walls clenched against his length, inviting him to fill your insides. His warm seed coated you as his body stilled.

“Good. Very good.”

You heard Ravage as you gave Miguel another kiss. You weren't exhausted, your body sturdy enough to go for many more rounds. You were never like this before. Miguel had enough stamina to go all night if he could. But you were only capable of a few before passing out from exhaustion. Not this time.

Miguel picked you up and went home, completely neglecting his duties. Ravage started to take over, forming a second skin around your body. No one cared as you locked yourselves in the bedroom.

Miguel pressed you against the bed, bottom raised while he pounded into you. The entire room quaked under his rough thrusts as you were pinned against the wall. Bite marks covered your skin as you subdued him, locking hands and riding him until he saw heaven. Droplets of cum dripped out of you, only to be pushed back in by his large fingers.

You didn’t know how long you were going until you saw the clock. Being almost eight in the morning. Your head was hazy from the constant lovemaking. Heavy snores filled the room as you looked over, seeing Miguel sleeping on his stomach while tangled in the bedsheets. The sun peeked through the curtains and it was too much sunlight to your liking so you went up to close them. Your body felt heavy but also oddly satisfied. This must be the perk of having a symbiote.

“That was fun.” Ravage chittered, pleasure once again seeping through your body. “When can we play again?”

[thehusbandoden]

Just Let me Explain -Husband!Loid Forger x Wife!Reader

A/n: I'm not sure how good this is, feel free to let me know! <3

General info:

Genre: angst, slight comfort at the end \\ wc: 2,711 \\ posted: 03/14/24 \\ unclear ending

Summary:

You find out about Loid's mission.. how he was using you- and Anya.. that's what set you off the most. What hurt you the most.

Warnings!: a lot of angst, being used, misunderstanding, miscommunication, crying, confrontation, being ignored, ignoring, partner refusing to let go of you (briefly), Loid's mission, mentions of an orphanage, mention of an orphan, fear of putting a child back into an orphanage (briefly), mentions of a nightmare, child crying (briefly). I think that's all? Lmk if I miss any! <3

You lived the dream life. You were married to the love of your life, you had a darling young girl you’ve adopted, and you were loved by your small family unconditionally.  

Or... so you thought. That all changed when you found out your husband’s secret. A spy... he was sent on a mission to get married and have a child. Your entire relationship... was it all a lie? 

Tears stream down your face as you process the information time and time again. All of it... was for some mission of his? Did he ever even love you? You weren’t even sure at this point.  

You were currently curled in a ball on the bathroom floor, your back pressed against the door. The man in question spoke to you softly on the other side, asking for you to open the door and let him explain. You don’t respond, continuing to drown in your sorrow.  

Every minute that crawled by felt like an hour. Loid kept calling to you, his voice filling with more concern as you continued to stay silent.  

“Y/n... please... open the door. Let me explain, you’re worrying me.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Loid. I’m done with these mind games.” You whisper, your voice hoarse with sorrow. 

“Y/n... I-I don’t know what to say to that. Please... open the door.” 

“Why? So you can lie to me more? So you can gaslight me? So I can melt into your eyes and go back to believing that everything is okay?”  

“Y/n... please.”  

“No, Loid. I’m done. I’m so done with letting you control me by playing with my feelings. It was all a lie... wasn’t it.”  

Loid hesitates, his voice faltering as he attempts to fix the mess he made.  

“And Anya? She’s a part of your sick game too, isn’t she?” You mutter, your tears drying against your skin. Your sorrow was slowly growing into acceptance.  

“She is a part of my mission, yes.” He whispers.  

You let out a low chuckle filled with bitterness. “And what? What happens once your mission is finished? Do you leave? Stay with us? End us? End *me* now that I know?”  

“No, I wouldn’t ever kil-” his voice falters once more. 

You let out a low laugh that expressed your pain perfectly. “You’re a pathetic excuse as a father. I used to think you were so good to Anya. That you were the perfect father for her- but you plan on *leaving* both of us. Or do you plan on making it worse!? Are you going to end me and leave her in that run-down orphanage again!?” You snap, standing up. 

You feel your acceptance turning into anger as you throw the bathroom door open, glaring up at the man you once called yours.  

“Y/n I-”  

“Why Loid!? Why do you plan on ruining our lives?!”  

“Y/n it’s not that simple.” He sighs, moving aside to give you a path. You take it, storming out of the bathroom. You pace around the living room and kitchen.  

“Don’t give me that. You played friends until you captured my heart, gave me a flimsy love confession-” he flinched “-and then slid an *engagement* ring on my finger for some stupid mission!?”  

He opens his mouth to speak, but you don’t give him the chance to speak. “What about Anya!?” You yell, shoving a finger into his chest. Your anger boiled over at the thought of your precious little girl. She’s been through several homes already; she can’t go back to that horrid orphanage.  

“I-” 

“Are you going to leave us!? Kill me and leave her as an orphan again!? Tell me, Loid!” You demand, staring into his eyes. You used to think you would never treat him like this no matter how angry you got... but the thought of your baby losing another family threw out all self-control.  

“You know me better than that, y/n.” Loid sighs.  

“I don’t Loid. I used to think that you were a good man that worked hard to support his family, but I was wrong. All you are is a selfish pig who cares about nothing but himself.” You spit.  

Loid’s eyebrow twitches. You don’t notice. 

“Anya deserves better than this, Loid! Were you really planning on leaving us alone once your mission is finished!? Were you going to give us a goodbye or were you going to just leave!?”  

He still doesn’t say anything. Your anger slowly boils over, every second he ignores you adding another drop into the already over-filled cup of self-restraint. “I... do not know what I was going to do.”  

Another drop falls, spilling the rage over. You pull yourself away, so you don’t physically lash out. “I can’t believe I loved you!? I can’t believe that I trusted you, Loid! Was it all fake!?”  

Loid doesn’t respond.  

“Was it fake!” You repeat, trembling with rage and hurt. “Answer me!”  

Loid has an unreadable expression on his face as he looks into your eyes. “Yes, it was fake...” his eyes twinge with something you can’t read. Shrugging it off, you desperately try to hold yourself together.  

“So every time you said you loved me back. It was all a lie?”  

“Yes...”  

“Every time you told *Anya* you loved her back. It was a lie!?”  

An unreadable look in his eye makes your lip tremble. “Yes...”  

“So, you were planning on leaving us? All along?”  

“Stop asking questions, it’s annoying.” His gaze hardens.  

“Loi-”  

“I said, stop asking questions.” He glares down at you. “I do not love you, nor Anya. Either keep quiet and continue to help with my mission, or you will no longer be needed.” 

You feel something crack deep inside you. You try to hold yourself together as your hands shake uncontrollably. “I hate you.” You whisper. Loid flinched, watching you walk to the guest room. You close the door, locking it behind you.  

Once the door closes, you break down once more. Falling to the floor as your body is wracked with sobs.  

~~ 

Hours pass by before you come out again. Loid was sitting on the couch, reading a book. You would have smiled at the simplicity earlier this morning, but now all you feel is numb. You slip a pair of slippers on, grabbing your keys.  

“Where are you going?” Loid speaks up, his gorgeous blue eyes finding yours. You turn away, refusing to maintain eye contact.  

You don’t respond, walking out the door. Loid lets out a long sigh but doesn’t follow you.  

~~ 

“A-and then Sy-on boy made fun of Becky! I didn’t punch him though mama! I smiled like you said!”  

“Good job baby.” You mumble, a plastic smile on your face. The words of your precious girl weren’t registering in your head, you were too focused on the fact that your husband- ex-husband? You don’t even know anymore- is really planning on leaving both you and Anya when his mission is over. 

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, you see Anya close to tears. You immediately go into protective mode, your eyes hardening as you pull over. “Anya what happened sweetie? Did something happen at school? Are you being bullied? Did someone hurt you??” You bite your bottom lip to confine your rage, the metallic taste of blood staining your tongue.  

“N-no mama! Nothing happened at school!” Anya sniffled, trying to contain her tears.  

“What is it baby? You can tell me, I’m your mama.” You coo, rubbing her hair gently, pressing a comforting kiss to her forehead.  

“I-I u h... umm...” Anya starts to sweat, looking around the car. 

“Shhh it’s okay baby. You can tell me.” 

“B-Bond ate my peanuts!” Anya blurts out, showing you an empty bag of peanuts. There was no sign of damage from your family dog, she must have just forgotten that she ate them, which happens frequently.  

“Oh baby, it’s okay. We can buy more, alright? Next time tell mama what the problem is so we can fix it, m’kay?”  

“Yes mama.”  

“That’s my smart girl.” You kiss her forehead once more, savoring the relationship you have with her. You’ve always wanted to be a mother, and Anya fulfilled that desire. You were hoping you and Loid could have a few of your own one day, but that’s not going to happen... 

You make sure Anya is buckled before moving back to your own seat, strapping your seat belt on before pulling back onto the road. 

~~~ 

“Daddy! Look at what mama got me!” Anya squeals in excitement, bursting through the front door. She runs into the kitchen where Loid was pacing, embracing his legs. He flinches at the sudden entrance, but gives the girl a small smile, leaning down to her level. 

You walk in afterwards, shutting and locking the door. “Anya, don’t forget to change!” You call, placing a few grocery bags on the kitchen counter.  

“Yes mama!” She calls, pouting up at Loid. 

He chuckles, leaning down to ruffle her hair. “Go listen to your mother, Anya. And don’t let her see you with your shoes on the carpet, alright?” He smiles, an amused twinkle in his eye.  

You would have melted at the scene... if you didn’t know.  

Loid catches your gaze, causing you to frown. Even though he’s planning on completely ruining not only your life, but Anya’s he looks so... relaxed. 

You open your mouth to say something, when you notice it. 

His eyes... were red. Your frown deepens... you’ve only seen Loid cry once, and he never mentioned it when you did.  

~ 

It was before Anya, in the first few months of your marriage. You had woken up in the middle of the night to see him whimpering in his sleep.  

He whimpered “mom” and “dad” several times, tears slipping down his cheeks as he cried for anyone to help him. You gently woke him out of his nightmare, pulling him to your chest. He was shocked from the whiplash of being in such a traumatizing past one moment to being in your arms the next.  

He let you cradle him to your chest, his head comfortingly resting on your breasts. You stroked his hair, murmuring soft words of comfort to him, letting him recover from the terrifying dream.  

You laid with him for several hours before falling back asleep yourself. You don’t know how long he held onto you, but he was up the next time you woke up. He hasn’t mentioned it, and he probably never will.  

~ 

Words catch in the back of your throat. Before you’re able to formulate anything, Anya catches your attention. You look back at your red-eyed husband once more before turning to your little girl.  

“Anya, what have I told you about taking your shoes straight away?” You gently scold, lifting her off of the carpet.  

“Sorry mama!” Anya’s cute pout makes your heart melt, causing you to grow even softer. You sigh, placing her down in the entrance of the home. 

“Just take them off now and do better next time, alright?”  

“Yes mama!” Her giggle was worth the stress. You smile fondly at your baby girl, watching her take her shoes off.  

“Y/n.” Loid whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his head in your neck. You stiffen, clenching your jaw.  

“Let go of me.” You whisper, biting your lip.  

“Y/n, let me talk.”  

“Let go of me.” 

“Y/n-” his voice cracks. 

You pull away, walking over to Anya. Loid’s voice cracks again. You don’t turn to look at him. If you looked at his guilt-ridden face for too long, you would break. 

~~ 

Later that night. You were silently washing the dishes after Anya went to bed, your expression unreadable. Loid was in the living room, watching you work. He sighed, running a hand through his blonde locks. “Y/n?” He murmured.  

You don’t respond, your eyebrow twitching in irritation. Loid let out a strained sigh, standing up. He takes a step towards you, hesitating.  

“Y/n, please don’t ignore me...”  

You don’t say anything, biting your lip to maintain a calm composure... well as calm as you’re able to be. 

“Y/n.” His voice grew sharper as he steps into the dimly lit kitchen, his voice full of frustration and a hint of something you can’t understand.  

You continue to ignore him, causing him to let out another sigh, longer this time. “Y/n please.” He steps closer.  

Your fingers dig into your palms as you continue to ignore him. Your shoulders tremble from intense emotion, tears bubbling in the corners of your eyes.  

“Y/n...” he whispers, gently wrapping his arms around your waist. He gently takes your hands, intertwining your fingers so your nails dug into his hands instead of your own. You lift the pressure, not wanting to hurt him.  

“Let go of me.” You whisper, your voice trembling.  

“Y/n, just let me explain.” He whispered in your ear. Your breath hitched at his warm breath on your skin, wanting to give in to his comfort and break down in his arms. You get a hold of yourself, stiffening in his hold.  

“I don’t want to hear you explain.”  

“Y/n-”  

“Loid. Let go of me.”  

“Baby. Baby listen.” He whispers, shaking as he holds you close to his chest. You gasp softly, tears slipping down your cheeks. Loid has rarely used pet names for you, telling you that he thought it was childish and would much rather call you by name. You didn’t mind it, but it did make you feel so loved when you heard any pet name from his lips.  

“My love, it’s not what it looks like. Let me explain. Let me earn your trust back, just please... Please don’t leave. Don’t take my beloved away, don’t take our baby girl.” He sniffled, causing you to stiffen.  

Was he... about to cry...? 

You don’t protest any further, letting him talk. He hesitates at first, holding you tighter as he buries his face in your neck. “You’re right. This started as a mission. I was tasked to get a wife and child, enroll the child in Eden Academy, and get information on a man that is a great risk to us. It *started* as nothing but a mission, without any feelings attached.” Loid muttered, sounding exhausted and... ashamed?  

“Y-you don’t love me? Or Anya?” Your voice cracked with inexpressible hurt.  

“No! No baby I do. I love you; I love you to the moon and back. I love you more than myself- more than anyone, anything! And Anya too! I would do anything for my girls.” Loid quickly protests, holding you tighter, like he was afraid of letting you go; like you would disappear if he ever let you out of his hold. 

“B-but you said...”  

Loid spins you around, looking you dead in the eye as he fondly cradles your face, his thumbs gently wiping your tears away. “In the beginning, it was all for my mission. I’ll be dead honest y/n. When I met you, when we dated, I had zero feelings for you. But that changed. I fell in love with you-” his voice cracks, tears streaming down his own cheeks, “-I saw you for you saw how much you loved me, how perfect you are... that love confession was real. My love for Anya is real. And I would rather be gruesomely killed than ever let anything happen to my girls. I would- nor could never leave either of you. You are my world, and I cannot live without you.”  

Your tears quickened as you stared into the eyes of your husband, truth and overwhelming guilt swimming in their deep blue depths. You choke on a response, tears dripping off your chin.  

“Shhhh it’s okay baby.” He whispers, pulling you to his chest. He caresses your head, leaning his lips against your forehead. He kisses your forehead slowly and lovingly, adding another and another to the pile as you break down in his warm, comforting arms.  

“I promise baby. I would never leave you. I could never leave you. You are my world, my universe, my everything. I am nothing without you and our little girl. Our beautiful little girl.” He whispers, kissing your tears away.  

As you sob into his chest, he gently and lovingly dries off your hands before lifting you into his strong arms. He carries you to bed, cradling you to his chest as he lays down, cooing comforting words.  

You peacefully fall asleep in his arms, your face buried in his chest as you sob, listening to his soothing words as he slowly strokes your head and back.  

~~~~~

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~~~~~

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[defectivevillain]

through gritted teeth

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary:

The man says he’s your husband.  He’s polite, charming, intelligent. He seems a little pretentious, but he appears to know you rather well and the thinly-veiled devotion in his eyes dispels most of your remaining doubts.  It certainly helps that the man is rather well-dressed—and attractive, a traitorous voice in the back of your mind whispers.  Unfortunately, you have no idea who he is. 

word count: 3.8k | ao3 version

You wake up to fluorescent lighting burning into your eyes, pulling tears down your cheeks as you blink stars from your vision. Your entire body aches with exhaustion and you can feel a headache brewing already. Groaning, you try to push yourself up to a sitting position. There’s an IV attached to your arm and, upon closer inspection, you seem to be in some sort of hospital room. White walls line the space, and there’s nothing much of note in your immediate vicinity. You blink a few more times past your absurdly dry eyes and continue inspecting the room, until your eyes catch on the chair to the right side of your bed. 

There’s a man sitting at your bedside with his eyes closed. He stirs within a few moments, as if he can sense you staring at him. Relief is written all over his face as he leans forward and clasps your hand with a small smile on his face. You can’t stop yourself from instinctively flinching at the contact and he notices, removing his hand at once. 

“Do you remember who I am?” He asks. His words are carefully constructed, strung together with eloquence and remnants of what sounds like an accent from a European country. You blink at him once, twice. It takes a moment for you to process the question, and another to contemplate the answer. The man doesn’t look familiar. Indeed, he looks like a stranger. 

When you tell him as much, a sad smile works its way onto his face. It seems he expected your answer. He begins to explain the circumstances surrounding your visit here, which you are immensely grateful for. You know next to nothing as you sit in this hospital bed, and, try as you might, you can’t remember anything save for your name. 

Apparently, you’ve suffered a serious head injury that left you with a spontaneous case of amnesia. Fortunately, your memories will likely return to you in due time. Somehow, these two revelations aren’t the most shocking of statements from the stranger. What the man reveals next shakes you to your core: he’s your husband. 

Upon closer examination, you find that the man is charming, polite… He’s rather attractive, too, with fine-combed hair and sparkling brown eyes with flecks of amber. His face looks as if it was sculpted by Michelangelo himself—sweeping lines, sharp edges, soft curves. The man is intelligent and [perhaps as a result] a little pretentious. From his attire, you can only assume that he makes a lot of money and has rather particular tastes. You could see someone like this going to the opera regularly. 

But there’s something else about this man—something lurking beneath the surface. You can’t puzzle out what it is. There’s something sinister concealed in those reddish-brown eyes, an unspoken violence in the man’s careful poise. And you think you catch him intently scrutinizing you—as if you’re under a microscope.  

You soon learn that the man’s name is Hannibal Lecter. He’s a psychiatrist who used to be a surgeon. He’s in his 40s. He has refined tastes—and even goes to the opera on occasion, yes. He is fascinating, intriguing beyond measure. He discusses heavily philosophical topics with ease. He is slippery, only giving you the information he wants to give you. He has a very controlled image. The dishes he cooks you are extravagant and lavish, with ingredients you’ve never even heard of. (The meat in them is always some sort of organ, and it turns your stomach every time.)

In the wake of your injury, you’re unsure of almost everything. But you know one thing for certain: Hannibal is not your husband. And you’re convinced that he’s dangerous. You don’t trust him—can’t trust his carefully crafted words, his home-cooked meals, his polite smiles. It’s all a farce. 

It would be all too easy to ask your next visitor about this well-dressed, enigmatic man. Unfortunately, you don’t get any other visitors. In fact, your next visitor is Hannibal again… And again. And again. It gets to the point where your nurse gives up on having him sign in when he visits. At first, she had been rather strict in enforcing the rules; she seems to have caught onto something that you still haven’t grasped, because she now collects herself with an entirely different—almost heightened—awareness. 

You’re having increasingly conflicting feelings, especially when you consider the fact that Hannibal hasn’t actually exhibited any behavior that justifies your wariness and suspicion. If anything, he’s been the perfect supporter—the perfect husband—throughout your recovery. You want to believe your gut sense, want to believe the whispers in the back of your mind that tell you to exercise caution. But, at the same time, who’s to say they can be believed? You still have almost no recollection of who you are. Why are you questioning the only person who has bothered to show up for you throughout your recovery? 

Days pass in the blink of an eye; before you know it, Hannibal is walking in one morning with the declaration that you’ve been officially discharged from the hospital. Despite your misgivings, you head to the bathroom to change into some normal clothes before putting on the pair of shoes near the door. Your heart is racing as Hannibal’s gaze refuses to leave your form. Why can’t your mind rest? Why can’t your thoughts be silent, for once? Why are you so damn suspicious of every minute kindness? 

The walk out of the hospital and through the parking lot is painfully silent. You can’t resist sneaking glances at Hannibal, waiting for his mask to crack and fall. It never does. He catches you looking and sends you a smile, which discourages you from looking again. You let your eyes roam about the shiny cars in the parking lot as the warm afternoon sunlight greets your skin. You missed the fresh air. 

“Where are you taking me?” You finally ask, as you continue to follow behind the man.

“Home,” Hannibal remarks. He pointedly does not say your home or even our home. Your heart is racing in your chest. His back is turned, leaving you to imagine the expression on his face.  

It isn’t until you’re secured in the front seat and Hannibal’s driving out of the parking lot that you summon the courage to utter the question that has been plaguing your mind. “Are you really my husband?”

“Hm?” It’s clear he heard you; he’s giving you a chance to retract the remark. You know you should take it, but… you want to know what’s going on. You need to find an answer for the seemingly irrational fear drumming in your chest and rushing in your ears. 

“You say you’re my husband,” You repeat yourself, gaining a bit more confidence. “But I don’t think you are.” For an awful moment, there’s nothing but silence. The car zips along the road. You feel your hand trembling at your side—hopefully the only visible sign of your distress. You clench your shaking hand into a fist and try to remain calm. Panicking won’t do you any good. 

“Do you remember how we first met?” Hannibal asks instead. You stare at him in disbelief, surprised by how he completely ignores your accusation. There is an utter lack of emotion on his face. Seconds later, you remember his question and shake your head. “You’re an FBI agent,” Hannibal reveals. “I was called in to perform your psychiatric evaluation.”

Great. Just great. Out of all things, you had to be an FBI agent. The thought of forgetting your work—forgetting all the victims left to die in muddied puddles of crimson, forgetting all the killers with mocking smiles and cruelty written in the lines of their faces—is sincerely troubling.  

And Hannibal is a psychiatrist. That seems to fit—you can see him in a needlessly extravagant office, surrounded by books and expensive elegancies. You have to shake your head to get rid of the weirdly vivid imagery that your thoughts produce. “Are you… my psychiatrist, then?” You ask. 

“If you wish,” he replies with a mirthful smile. That answer doesn’t satisfy your curiosity—not in the slightest. 

“Were you my psychiatrist?” You press. You get the feeling that you need to be asking the right questions in order to get the answers you want. The man across from you is adept at picking apart people’s words, flipping them around and twisting their intended meaning. Your wording will be immensely important. 

“I was your psychiatrist, for a time,” Hannibal acquiesces. From that statement, you get the sense that he really was your psychiatrist, until something evidently happened. You ask him as much, but you seem to go too far, because he regards you with an amused glance. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“And you’re not giving me any answers,” you feel the need to respond. You have simultaneous suspicions that honesty is dangerous in front of Hannibal, and that he values honesty above sugar-coated words. Your eyebrows furrow. “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal is providing more questions in lieu of answers. He’s definitely hiding something. Sensing that you won’t get anything more from him, you fall silent and settle for staring at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze is locked on the road ahead.  Despite the time you’ve spent together, talking about your past, you still aren’t totally convinced that you’re married to Hannibal. Is there a way you could test him—test his knowledge of you? Surely there’s something you can ask him to determine if he truly knows you or not. 

It comes to you a moment later. “What’s my favorite color?” You ask, before you can think better of it. The man doesn’t react at first, instead staring straight ahead. Just before you can repeat the question, he answers. 

“I can’t imagine you have a favorite color,” Hannibal responds. “You once told me the very notion was foolish.”

Okay, he’s sort of correct there. But that was an easy question. You sort through the few memories you have, looking for something you can ask him. “What’s my middle name?” That’s an answer that you just barely know yourself—a memory came back to you a mere few minutes ago, of you and your childhood friend talking about middle names and nicknames and other unimportant things. 

Hannibal answers the question correctly again. The two of you must’ve been friends, at the very least. You continue to search your mind for something you can ask him. 

Five minutes and several questions later, you’re starting to doubt your own conviction. Hannibal answers every single question correctly, providing you with information you don’t remember but know deep-down to be true. It’s unnerving and disturbing to think that you could’ve forgotten this man so easily. He seems… utterly unforgettable, in every sense of the word. Furthermore, he’s your husband—perhaps you shouldn’t be doubting him so easily. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, before you can quite contemplate your next words. Hannibal’s eyes are locked on the road, but you know he’s listening. “I don’t mean to doubt you, I just- I don’t know what to do. I don’t remember anything, obviously, and… I feel so lost.” You choke out, your throat burning. You bury your head in your hands for a selfish moment, hoping for some solace and clarity. 

“Don’t apologize, dear,” Hannibal says. You hate how the remark sends a shiver down your spine. Damn it, why can’t you just be comfortable? This man is practically a dream, so why are you trying to ruin it? Can’t you just accept that, sometimes, you deserve to have nice things?! Hannibal continues, unknowing of your internal dilemma. “You’re going through a lot right now. I’m just happy to be here with you.” 

You feel ashamed, knowing that you’ve been holding yourself back despite the fact that Hannibal has shown you nothing but compassion and affection. “I’m… happy you’re here, too,” you say. Guilt prickling in your chest, you impulsively reach out and clasp his free hand resting on the console. Somehow, this surprises your husband, because he stiffens for a second before reciprocating, gripping your hand reassuringly. 

“We will get through this,” he promises. You push aside your doubts and decide to believe him.

Maybe things really will be alright. Maybe, you’ll get your memories back sooner rather than later, and you’ll be able to look back on these moments—riddled with doubt, insecurity, wariness—and laugh. You take a deep breath and look out the window, watching the passing trees blur together. 

Your hand slips from Hannibal’s and you look at your nails, picking at your cuticles. Your hands are somewhat indicative of the life you led—the one you don’t remember living—with a few scars stretching down your wrist and climbing up your forearm. You look down at the healed wound and frown, trying to remember how you got the scar. 

Suddenly, you get a flicker of a memory. It’s faint and fast, but it’s a reminder of the past nonetheless. You squint ahead, trying to focus on keeping the flashback in your mind for long enough to dissect it. You remember… blood. A corpse, perhaps? Yes, a corpse. A woman’s corpse, hoisted and impaled on antlers. You remember… staring at that corpse for so long that you had to be physically led away from the scene, albeit with a gnawing feeling in your gut that something just wasn’t right. You remember… walking into an office, only to be met with Hannibal’s curious gaze. That must’ve been the first time you met the psychiatrist. You put a hand to your temple and try desperately to concentrate. 

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Hannibal says, effectively throwing your focus. You blink and chance a glance at him. He’s still looking at the road, yet you can’t shake the perplexing conviction that he’s been watching you. What’s more, you can’t shake the feeling that his interjection was purposeful—that he meant to throw you off and break your concentration. 

“I- just remembered something,” you choke out, feeling a bolt of pain slide down your scalp to the back of your neck. You bring a hand to the nape of your neck and press, hissing as your fingers glide over sore muscles. “Something important.”

“Congratulations,” Hannibal hums, immune to your internal panic. You don’t know exactly what this man did, but he must’ve done something. Your subconscious is convinced that he is incredibly dangerous, and you feel inclined to trust your gut. 

Another flashback arrives, apropos of nothing. You remember sitting across from Hannibal in a finely-decorated room, lined with bookshelves and artifacts. You remember averting your eyes as you speak, desperate to avoid the roaring flames racing up your skin with every additional moment of prolonged eye contact. You remember… a twisted grin on Hannibal’s face. You remember… the intensity to his gaze as he studied you when he thought you weren’t looking. 

Unsettled, you shake your head and try to refocus on the passing scenery again. To your surprise, you think you recognize where you are. Hannibal must be taking you home. You take a deep breath. You just have to survive this car ride—then you can figure things out from there. You have all the time in the world to muse on the nature of your injury and the nature of your “husband,” once you’re safely contained within four walls. Right now, though, you need to be wary. You need to have your wits about you, you need to watch for any sudden movements, you need to be ready-

“We’re here,” Hannibal announces, promptly throwing your thought process to a halt. You blink and look ahead, only to find a nondescript home with beige siding and a somewhat weathered front door. Vaguely, you remember pulling your car into this driveway, remember unpacking boxes from your trunk. Yes, this is your house. Hannibal is much quicker on the uptake, as he gets out of the car and walks around the vehicle. You don’t realize that he’s opening the passenger door for you until you feel him staring at you expectantly. You thank him and get to your feet, a sudden bout of dizziness sending you wobbling. Hannibal is there in a moment, steadying you with a hand on your forearm. You pretend not to notice his hand on the small of your back as you walk up the path to the front porch. When you’re finally situated in front of the entrance, you realize that you have no idea where your keys could be. 

“Left pocket of your jacket,” Hannibal murmurs, as if reading your mind. You nearly choke on a breath. 

“Thanks,” you respond a bit breathlessly. When you finally manage to unlock the front door and swing it open, you turn back to face him. “Well, thank you for the ride.”

“Of course,” Hannibal responds easily. There’s a regretful smile rising on his face. Everything around you fades to obscurity. “I’m afraid this is goodbye.” That remark sounds strangely ominous. Your heart is in your throat. 

“Thank you for keeping me company,” you feel the need to say, regardless of your suspicions about the man. He was the only one to visit you. You don’t want to think about how you would feel if you spent your entire hospital visit without a single familiar face. “...Bye.” Suddenly, there’s a hand on your cheek. Hannibal’s hand cradles your jaw, his thumb gently roving along your skin. He regards you for a moment, his eyes sparkling, before kissing you on the cheek and leaving. You watch him return to his car and drive away, apprehension and adrenaline coursing through you. Somehow, you get the feeling that you’ll never see Hannibal again. 

Your doorbell rings about an hour later. You look through your peephole, only to find a somewhat intimidating man with his hands shoved in his pockets. You have to focus on quelling the foolish spike of hope that had risen in your chest when the doorbell rang, and the subsequent disappointment at the unfamiliar figure you found. You take a second glance at the stranger, only to find that he looks somewhat familiar. This vague familiarity convinces you to crack your front door open slightly and ask him, “Who are you?”

The man pulls something out of his pocket. “Jack Crawford, FBI,” he answers, showing you his identification card. You stare at him for another moment. “Your boss.” Crawford supplies, when you can’t seem to get the words out. After a few seconds of awkward silence, you decide to invite him inside. 

Before long, the two of you are settled in your living room. The tension that first appeared when you opened your front door has yet to fade. You’re not sure why this man has yet to crop up in your memories—he has a rather powerful aura of authority, not to mention the fact that he’s apparently your superior. You decide not to beat yourself up about it. Your memories will come back in due time; until then, you’ll make do with what little you have.

Crawford—Jack, he tells you to call him—clasps his hands over his knees and levels you with an unreadable gaze. “I need to ask you something,” Jack says, rifling through his other pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it slowly, before revealing it to you. “Do you remember this man? Hannibal Lecter?” Jack explains, immune to your growing dread. You feel sick to your stomach as your eyes flit across the black-and-white photograph of the same man who watched over you vigilantly as you recovered, who claimed to be your husband and kissed you on the cheek mere moments ago. “He’s the Chesapeake Ripper—the serial killer who has been evading capture.” 

“I-” You stammer, bringing a hand to your temple. Your headache from earlier is returning and your head is spinning from this sudden disclosure. You almost don’t want to believe Jack, but you get the feeling that he’d have no reason to lie to you. If anything, lying would just make his job harder. You take a shuddering breath in, trying to come to terms with the fact that you just narrowly escaped a serial killer’s grasp. 

“It’s alright,” Jack tries to reassure you, evidently sensing that you’re growing a bit panicked. 

“No, I-” You’re choking on the words. Recent memories are mixing with old, creating a convoluted and murky timeline of events. It’s hard to sort through everything, to find the truths hidden amongst the lies. You’re not sure how long it takes for you to collect your composure and organize your thoughts into a relatively coherent statement. “I saw him. He… visited me in the hospital. He drove me home.” 

“What?” Jack asks, utter disbelief written all over his face. You don’t remember your boss very well, but you get the feeling he isn’t usually so expressive. The look on his face would be comical, in a different situation. “What did he say to you?” He implores.

“He said a lot of things… Nothing very important.” You try to recall what you can, but your memories are quickly slipping through your fingertips in granules of sparkling sand. You press a hand to your temple, your headache growing worse as you try to recall what happened. “I tried asking him questions about me, to throw him off, but he knew all the answers.” 

Somehow, Jack doesn’t seem surprised by the notion. “You two were… close, before,” your boss evidently settles for saying. There’s a certain suspicion in his voice, as if he suspects you may have been more than “close” with Hannibal. You’re feeling too discombobulated to rise to the bait or bother calling him out on the obvious verbal trap. 

“He said ‘goodbye,’” you continue, eyebrows furrowing. Somehow, you get the sense that Hannibal isn’t the type to utter goodbyes. Moreover, a goodbye ushers in a sense of finality, as if you will truly never see him again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, pretending that your exchange with him on your doorstep isn’t replaying in your mind. He kissed me on the cheek, you don’t say to Jack. He said he was my husband. He watched over me in the hospital when no one else did. And it may have been fake, all of it… But that gleam of affection in his eyes didn’t look manufactured—it looked genuine.  

Jack looks troubled and somewhat restless. “You’re lucky you made it out alive.” He states. You don’t think you can quite believe his words. For whatever reason, Hannibal Lecter—the Chesapeake Ripper—is interested in you. Whether sick fascination or cloying obsession, you have to face the facts:  luck had nothing to do with it. The Ripper kept you alive because, inexplicably, he wants you alive. 

And that unnerves you. 

hannibal taglist, cause i think y'all would be down with reading this since it's also hannibal: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo's daughter insisting on him brushing her hair because he's so gentle

Pairing: Gojo x wife!reader

Word Count: 840

Synopsis: You are pretty suprised when your daughter insists on your husband brushing her hair depite the fact that this is normally your job. Until you find out why...

Warnings: I just have a soft spot for Gojo okay, I swear I already started writing the promised Geto fic, fluff over fluff over fluff, a little bit of dirty talk hehe

„Come on angel, let’s get you ready for bed.”

There you stand, wearing your most comfy pyjama while leaning against the doorframe looking so delicately that Satoru has to look twice. Are you really his wife, the mother of his precious daughter who supports him like no one else? He has to be the luckiest man walking on earth.

“Are you getting me ready for bed as well?”

That bastard, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Your beloved husband pulls up his blindfold enough for you to see the unpromising dark glimmer in his bright blue orbs, the way he sits on your couch with your daughter lounging against his arm making you feel weak all over again. There aren’t many things in the world that drive you insane like he does.

Well, to be honest, absolutely nothing has the same effect on you as him.

You shake your head. Enough of that. Weren’t you here to get your little daughter into bed?

“Let’s get going”, you ask your daughter again, desperately trying to ignore the way Satoru’s eyes seem to be all over you.

Why can’t he wait until you brushed her hair and get her into bed? All those things might seem innocent to her, but you know all too well what is going on inside his beautiful dirty head.

“No!”

Wait…What? You blink a few times in sheer confusion, even Satoru staring at your daughter in disbelief. Why did that sound so energetic? After all, you just want to brush her hair like you do every evening.

“Why, honey? If we don’t brush it, you will get horrible painful knots tomorrow morning and we both don’t want that.”

She avoids your gaze at any cost and buries herself in Satoru’s black shirt. What’s the matter? It’s not like your husband brushed her hair yesterday as well. She never complained about this process once, even seemed to enjoy it from time to time. What is wrong this evening?

“I want daddy to brush my hair. He’s more gentle”, she finally mutters.

Oh. You stare at her with widen eyes, too stunned to speak for a moment. “More gentle”? Is she really talking about her father? The man who kills curses without even blinking, who will grab your very own hair roughly as soon as she’s sound asleep? You can’t contain your amusement, throwing the brush towards your also bamboozled husband.

“Absolutely no problem, angel. I’ll go and grab you something to drink for tonight, okay? Good luck, loverboy.”

With one last entertained smile at Satoru and your daughter positioning herself between his legs, you make your way to the kitchen. Did you see Satoru doing her hair once? Now that you think of it, you can’t even remember seeing him brush her hair. He’s often still at work when she goes to bed and already gone when she wakes up in the morning which leaves all those things to you. Very much to his disliking as it seemed.

“No, let me do that. I want to brush her hair this evening.”

“You…? Did you ever brush long hair, Satoru?”

“Sure, can’t be that hard-“

“Wait, please don’t use your comb on her hair. You need a brush for that.”

“So…What’s even the difference?”

You can’t help but chuckle to yourself, the look of distress on his gorgeous face when you explained him the difference between a comb and a brush still not leaving your mind. But still…what did your daughter mean when she said he’s gentle? Your eyes peak into the living room where your daughter chuckles with her father. Well, a little glance can’t hurt, right?

“So how was your day, honey?”

“I won a race today!”

“What!? Tell me everything about it!”

Your feet carry you as muted as possible to the wide opened door, feeling like a burglar as you’re on your way to stalk the two of them.

“I was in last place but-“

You can’t listen anymore, eyes fixated on the scene laying itself out in front of you. Your daughter sits between his legs with her head laid back while Satoru strokes her hair so gently and sedately that it looks like a massage. Over and over, he caresses her scalp, strokes it with his fingers, looks at her with so much love in his eyes that you are forced to supress a sniff. Oh, her hair is definitely brushed out already. But still he keeps going, listening to every word she says while leaving a little comment here and there.

“Mommy, are you spying on us?”

Instantly his gleaming eyes dart towards you, amusement filling his expression.

“I’m being gentle, ya see?”

“You definitely are”, you reply entertained while your daughter leaves his lap in order to get into bed with you.

“You’re never that gentle with my hair, though”, you whisper into his ear, grabbing for the brush between his legs.

“Oh, I’m gonna take good care of your hair when your back, babe”, he mumbles against your ear.

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz@darkstarlight82 @satoreo @tachiharazsstuff @kentocalls @cheesemachine44 @ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299 @busyreader17 @okay-it-is-ivy @starlightanyaaa

[freak-accident419]

Good Tidings

Josh Futturman x GN!Reader

Summary: You and Josh barely have any time to yourselves due time traveling nonstop, trying to save the fate of humanity. However, being at the Futturman’s Christmas dinner party granted you two a fair amount of time.

Word Count: 2.9k

Content: 18+ Smut, MDNI, gender neutral reader (no genitals specified, it’s just vague penetration), cockwarming, lots of fluff, takes place during Future Man S1E6 “A Blowjob Before Dying”, too much shitty sex jokes n puns (im sorry) (not), giddy+silly+sweet love making, you think you are sooo fucking funny, more goofy than serious/lustful, you two are very much in love, more plot (high ass dialogue) than porn tbh

(A/n: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! Hope you enjoy this muahahaha and thank you all for your recent support! First smut written on this account, so be gentle with me please !)

-

You, Tiger, Wolf, and Josh were at the Futturman household, schedule disrupted due to the reluctance of Josh’s parents. They insisted that you all join them for their small Christmas dinner party. You were all sat down at the dining table, as well as the neighbors, Josh’s Uncle Barry, and Diane’s friend, Wanda (who was especially invited to perhaps keep Barry at bay).

While Tiger was mostly impatient and displeased with every mindless convo and laughter, talk revolved around several topics like DNA kits or Wolf’s strangely fascinating culinary.

You sat beside your boyfriend, Josh, slightly nervous about the time you were wasting. Ever since you’ve been dragged into the whole ‘Biotic Wars is real’ and ‘kill or be killed’ shit, you and Josh have been dealing with the worst, unimaginable shit ever. With the two of your adrenaline wearing off, you gradually processed everything that’s happened the past few days since you were never given a break. Hence the hand holding under the table as you two would seek comfort from one another.

But you attempted to distract yourself from the deaths you’ve witnessed and the near-death experiences you’ve had to your best ability by indulging in every conversation.

“Gabe, honey, tell them about—about the recent fishing trip we went on,” Josh’s mother, Diane encouraged to her husband with her sweet, achingly kind voice. You had so much respect for Josh’s parents, so it was pretty easy for you all to hit it off well. They loved you. In fact, they were heavily relieved that Josh had finally found someone, let alone someone as amazing as you.

Gabe let out a hearty chuckle as he prepared himself to tell the table his story.

“So, a couple of days ago, Diane and I went on a small fishing trip. And I remembered an old trick back in the day that attracted a lot of trout,” he explained as you picked up your glass of wine, sipping some generously. Diane smiled at him with a nod as he continued. “One of the very efficient ways to go about fish bait is blowing worms.”

You choke on your wine, holding in a laugh, coughing a bit instead as Josh looks at you with a knowing smile. “I’m sorry, what?” You asked, trying not to grin too widely. Did you hear that right?

“Blowing worms,” Gabe repeated, getting a confined chuckle out of you and Josh. “You inflate the worms with air, which makes them float instead of having your bait be at the very bottom. It’s perfect, especially near the winter time. Worked like a charm.”

“Ohh,” you gasp in wonder. You chuckle to yourself before you spontaneously say, “Yeah, actually, I think I did do that a few times. Blew a-a worm.”

You looked at Josh, thinking you were being hilarious, but he looked at you with surprised eyes and parted lips of shock that slowly transitioned into a smile.

“Really?” Josh’s father expressed with intrigue. “I didn’t even know you fish. You have someone teach you that method, or—”

“Oh, no, Mr. Futturman, I,” you speak as you occasionally switch from looking at him to Josh. “I think it’s a very popular method. It’s a pretty natural instinct, you know? Blowing worms, that is.”

“Wow, really? Always thought it was an old-fashioned sort of thing.”

“Nah, far from old-fashioned, it’s almost contemptuous!”

You did pretty well at suppressing your laughter, because you sounded really earnest. Josh covered his mouth, amused by your subtle humor.

“Joshy, we didn’t know that Y/n likes fishing. We could’ve taken them on our trip. In fact, we could’ve all went,” Diane suggests as she looked at Josh and then you.

It was like everyone at the table was blind to your immature, yet humorous implication. Except, of course, your boyfriend.

“Oh, no worries, Mrs. Futturman,” you insisted kindly. “I don’t usually fish. Plus, blowing worms can be very exhausting.”

“Y/n—” Josh reacted, but interrupted himself with a suppressed laugh.

“You think so?” Mr. Futturman raised an eyebrow. “I just stick a syringe in them, inflate it, and bam, it’s all thick and ready to g—”

You and Josh burst out laughing, holding onto the table and each other. You swore there were slight tears coming out of your eyes as both of your faces were red. You felt overjoyed to feel happiness and delight for the first time ever since your involvement in the mission. And you felt even more glad that it was your boyfriend that you fooled around with.

“Sorry, sorry,” Josh says after his laughter died down as the entire table was confused. “I just—We just thought about a, um, moment when—Um… Actually, Y/n and I did go fishing once. Isn’t that—isn’t that right?”

You nod and go along with it, detaining your giggles.

“Well, anyways, we actually did that method, and yeah, you’re right, it works like a charm!” He exclaimed with joy as his parents smile at him with approval and pride.

“Bet the worm was pretty small, huh?” Tiger jumped in wittily, however, in a coldly nonchalant manner.

“And pathetic!” Wolf blurted.

“Hey, even if that might’ve been true—might’ve—it-it probably had a personality, you know?” He reckoned with a shrug, making you laugh again.

***

“You are—are fucking terrible, you know that?” Josh quickly muttered under his breath as you two continued to kiss each other deeply on his bed. “Those were my parents.”

“C’mon, baby, admit it, it was comedy gold,” you giggle, pressing your lips to his once more by tugging his black, skinny necktie towards you as you remained sitting on his lap.

The dinner party was still going on downstairs. After a long time of looking at each other longingly at the table, you two decided to excuse yourselves in order to “prepare gifts for Josh’s coworkers that he forgotten to wrap” in his room.

When you guys rushed in his room, you couldn’t take your hands off each other, immediately making out once the door was locked. However, you then had to close all his blinds before you met him back on the bed. This wasn’t new to you, none of it was. The soft, warm orange that his room’s light emitted strangely comforted you, as well as being back on his soft, spacey mattress.

Was it a good idea to leave Tiger and Wolf alone with Josh’s family and company? Probably not. But you’ve taught them enough shit. They tolerate Josh’s parents, so why not a few other guests as well? And you’ll only be gone for no longer than five minutes, you’d hoped.

You bring your hands to his pants, attempting to unbuckle his belt. “Shit—What the—What the fuck is this?” You grumble, Josh laughing at you as you struggle.

“I think it’s—” He giggled, bringing his own hands to his belt, trying to remove it, pulling. “I think it’s stuck.”

“What the shit?” You wheeze. “Fuckin’—Fuckin’ cock block!” You continue to mess with the belt, trying your best to unbuckle it.

“Wait, you—you’re almost there, you—”

“Oh my god! Holy shit! I got it!” You let out a surprised gasp, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his pants right after.

“Oh shit! Flawless victory!” He exclaimed, making you stop in your tracks, looking back up at him.

“You did not just quote Mortal Kombat because I successfully unbuckled your belt,” you raise an eyebrow, nevertheless amused by his dorkiness.

“Maybe,” he answered smugly.

“You’re lucky I am in love with you, otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have let that slide,” you chuckle.

“Oh, come on. You’d love my video game references either way,” he insisted.

“I’m serious, Josh, the amount of things I’ve let slide because I love you is kind of crazy. Let me just say, I am so glad I met you after the ‘apple juice’ incident that Ray told me about.”

“Ray told you about that?”

“He told me a lot of things. Mostly the embarrassing things. I think he wanted to freak me out, you know? Always thought I was too good for you.”

You pulled his pants off, throwing it carelessly down on the floor. Your lips attached once more as he snickered as you then cupped his face with your warm hands. You look at your lover, his big, brown, desperate eyes looking at you with utmost adoration. “Well, jokes on him, he was entirely wrong. You are so good to me, you know that?”

He smiles at you softly, and you could sense how flustered he felt to hear that (the blushing patently gave it away). “You’re the one who’s been on my side since forever. Even when you got involved in all this shit that you didn’t even have to be in. You-You could’ve called me crazy, and-and broken up with me, but you believed me and stayed by my side, even knowing that things were gonna get dirty. And they did, get really dirty.” Rest in peace Janis and Carl? Or, rather, die, you evil perf-cocks? Eh, doesn’t fucking matter. “You’re so good for me, sometimes I can’t believe you’re even real.”

You giggle sweetly as you give him another kiss, a quiet smack caused by your lips deftly leaving his own to speak. “Well, I’m here and I’m real, and I’ll always be there for you, baby,” you reassure. You were perfect for him. Indefinitely.

He smiled blissfully. “I love you so much.”

You two made out passionately until you were laying under him, the lower halves of your bodies bare as you discarded the necessary clothes.

“Do you think your parents and everyone else knew about the worm thing or are they just that… I don’t know… clueless?” You asked endearingly under your breath as your fingers entangle in his soft, brown hair.

“Hmm. Possibly,” he reckons, raising his eyebrows as he thought about it. “That was still kind of evil of you, though.”

“Me, personally, I thought it was hilarious.”

“Blowing worms?”

“C’mon, your father set himself up for that.”

“Tiger called it small,” he muttered lamentably. “And Wolf said it was pathetic.”

“Jeez, whatever happened to personality?” You chuckle softly.

He sighed. “They still sort of called me out.”

“Shut up. It’s average, to say the least. Doesn’t matter either way, you’re enough.”

“But—”

“Josh, if it bothers you this much, then just prove them wrong right now,” you reply with a laugh.

“As in—?”

“Josh, c’mon, we don’t have time anyways. They’re expecting us any minute because of that shitty made-up story excuse. I love foreplay, dude, but I’m pretty sure we didn’t acknowledge the time at all. Quickies are definitely not our cup of tea. Y—” Your breath hitched as you felt his tip prod at your sensitive entrance. He gave you a soft, comforting kiss on the nose. You looked into each other’s eyes deeply, then your lips crashed into each other’s as the two of you stifled your moans once Josh finally thrusted in.

“Y-You know you’re p-perfect just the—mm—way you are, right?” You ask gently, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He smiled at this, kissing your lips once more, beginning to move. Your heart fluttered each second you felt him thrust in and out, slightly and satisfyingly stretching you. His hips moved quite skillfully, but also slightly clumsily, which was nonetheless admirable.

Your usual soft moans and gasps would be replaced by stifled grunts and sighs, due to the company downstairs. As much as you wanted the whole world to know that Josh Futturman was yours and only yours, you also had dignity—plus, it was his goddamn parents downstairs.

You giggled as you felt his nose against yours each rough kiss. “Y-You know, however, I think the only complaint I have about you is the fact that you hate Super Mario Bros.” You point out with a chuckle.

“Y/n, in my—agh—defense, it literally makes no sense. Like, why would there be pipes that are—”

“Okay, why rely solely on logic and rationality, hm, Futturman? I thought video games were all about escape. It’s all just harmless fun.”

“Yeah, well, I’m much more into games with thought-out plots and challenges,” he remarked, making you roll your eyes playfully. “Anyways, it pretty much just got ruined for me even more when Tracy at the video game store talked about Luigi having a very hairy, Italian cock.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Baby, I love you. However, your goddamn dick is currently inside of me. Please do not talk about Luigi’s theoretic hairy penis.”

“Noted,” he assents, going back to kissing you passionately, while moving slowly inside of you, yet deeper with each thrust. You let out a quiet, pleasured gasp as you felt him fill you perfectly, his hands lovingly gripping your waist to keep you still.

Your eyes closed as you indulged in the feeling of his gentle thrusts, him peppering kisses on your neck, softly chuckling under his breath. He guessed he was still in disbelief that he had someone as amazing as you.

“I… I still can’t believe someone as perfect as you would ever go out with a loser like me,” he scoffed, pressing more kisses against your neck and jaw.

“Hey, seriously?” You frown, holding his face in your hands once more, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “You are… a lot of things, Josh. But a loser isn’t one of them. Okay? You are so kind and funny and caring and thoughtful a-and—m-mm—amazing i-in general.”

“I—Fuck. I—I don’t deserve you,” he panted.

“J-Jesus Christ, sh-shut your fuckin’ rathole. Yes you do, baby. You deserve me as much as I deserve you.”

It was becoming harder to focus on your words as you continued to feel an increased sensation and pleasure as his thrusts quicken and falter. You let out a small gasp as you tense things up by wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him in even deeper. You two had been speaking and giggling to each other constantly that you didn’t even notice the lewd, wet, slapping against the skin that came from each heavy thrust. Josh grabbed one of your hands, interlocking your fingers tightly on the mattress beside your head.

“J-Josh, I—” You begin breathlessly.

“I know, me too,” he grunts as soft, inaudible whimpers and whines leave his lips while the movement of his hips stuttered. His rhythm was becoming unsteady, but it was also increasing in speed. “I—Y/n, f-fuck, I’m c—”

“Sh-shit, baby, I—” You pant as you felt closer and closer over the edge, every mere feeling increasing your stimulation. You bring your hand to cover your mouth and suppress any loud moans as you finally released, the knot in your stomach undoing itself as you sigh afterwards once your hand left your mouth. Josh came exactly right after you as his hips jolted for the final time, spilling his warm, white seed inside of you, burying his face in your neck to muffle a high-pitched grunt and acute whines.

You two were breathing heavily, kissing each other’s lips softly and lovingly after you both came down from your high. You two never moved from your position, still fragile and sore. Josh caressed the side of your waist under your shirt, his head resting in your neck as you moved your hand to play with his hair, holding him in your arms.

“This is probably the only time we’ll have together alone before we have to continue with the damn mission,” you figured, tangling his strands of hair in between your fingers.

“It’s bullshit,” he mumbles, his thumb continuing to rub your waist.

“Enjoy the moment while we can?” You suggested with a small chuckle.

“Yeah, I guess,” he sighed dejectedly.

A beat.

“Hm,” you hum thoughtfully.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing, I just… I like it whenever you’re inside of me,” you comment softly. This was probably the most affectionately vulnerable and honest you have been with him. Your tone lacked any intention for humor or lust; you were genuine.

He lifted his head up from your neck. “Seriously?”

“I don’t know. It just feels right. You know, as if you were, like, made for me exactly,” you whispered lovesickly, looking down at his sweet, plump lips to his profound, gorgeous brown eyes. “I wanna stay like this a little longer. You’re so perfect for me. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he replied with a smile, kissing your lips soothingly.

Then suddenly,

“Futturman! L/n! Get out of there, we gotta go now! Operation Cameronium!” Tiger called from the other side of the door. “Goddamnit. The fucking—tiny man—baby thing—is, just, really starting to piss me off. Let’s go!”

You and Josh looked at each other for a while in silence before bursting out into laughter.

“We-we better go before she considers murdering little baby Wallace,” you suggest with a soft smile.

“Yeah… Wait. Do you really think—”

“No…” You answer before he could finish his sentence. “I know she seems all stoic on the outside, but I feel like the past few days, she changed a bit. Empathy-wise. Slightly, at the very least.” Josh nods.

“I’m really gonna miss this,” he sighs.

“Me too. But don’t worry, once we fix everything, we have all the time in the world together,” you assert.

“Okay,” he smiles sweetly, kissing your lips before slowly pulling out of you, leaving you to feel empty and slightly bummed.

The two of you, with your clothes back on and hair quickly fixed, you waltzed downstairs with no problem. Your hands had been interlocked, faces a bit flushed as you smile to yourselves.

“You two sure look happy,” Diane expresses joyfully. “You really got into the Christmas spirit, wrapping all those gifts upstairs, huh?”

You giggled under your breath. “Oh, yeah, definitely, Mrs. Futturman. Uh, very much so. I really love Christmas, you know? The gift wrapping Joshy and I did upstairs and, you know, all the Christmas traditions. ‘Specially, ‘specially the yule log.” You look at Josh with a knowing grin as he just listened in, suspecting nothing at all. “Really makes you feel warm inside, am I right?”

[ferrstappen]

what happens with the kids? l Max Verstappen x reader

a/n: *sigh* I'm so done with this season bc I just know we'll be getting the same podium every other career and my tifosi dreams are just crumbling... also can we please just talk about that driver introduction like?????

anyway, this is based on this request I got the other day! thank you for requesting and sorry it takes me so long write the requests, but uni is kicking my ass <3

genre: angst oop

pairing: Max Verstappen x female reader. Lando Norris x reader but not serious.

warnings: divorce, kids, not proofread.

summary: Max really didn't have to find a girlfriend that soon after the divorce, and the fact that his girlfriend had a daughter of her own, didn't really help your case.

It's safe to say you never really saw it coming. or maybe you did, but tried to ignore it as Mila and Luca had just celebrated their third birthday, with the second half of the season looming over your household, Max said the the words you never thought you'd hear.

I think we need some time apart to figure out some stuff.

At first you didn't really process it. Why would you possible need time apart? The twins were so young, you needed all the help you could get and things were good.

That's what you thought.

He said it was hard to continue your marriage if you couldn't keep him company or support him the way you used to, before having kids. Maybe he was oblivious to the disbelief showing on your features, trying to comprehend if he really needed to be reminded of your two young children, who had strict hours. You didn't feel the need to remind him that just three weeks ago Mila had to go to the emergency room for an allergic reaction, and a week before that, Luca was questioning you about why his dad wasn't around as much.

Max rubbed his left hand on the nape of his neck, obviously trying to ignore this part of the conversation, seeing as you eyes became teary and your eyes tried to find his blue ones, but he avoided them at all costs.

Then, it was time to bring the kids to a race, Austria to be specific. It was strange to walk without him on the so familiar space, holding Luca and Mila's hands, making your way to the Red Bull hospitality where Max was supposedly waiting for his family.

During the walk, you were greeted by most people from every team; engineers fist bumping the twins, Lando and Max Fewtrell giving you a side hug before trying to talk with Luca and Mila. Yet, when you reached your finishing point, Christian Horner's eyes opened widely, like his mind was trying to process something.

The Red Bull team principal was clearly distressed as he walked towards the three of you, greeting you as usual, but offering to take the twins for a quick tour, telling you there was a new snack bar the engineers had created and they should get to know it.

It didn't take long to realize the brit knew something you didn't.

A feeling you couldn't explain sank on your stomach. Your cheeks were already flushed, palms turned sweaty and suddenly your subconscious was trying to convince yourself that it couldn't be that bad, whatever it was. The world shook and your vision slowed down when you noticed a gorgeous black-haired woman, leaning against your husband as he laughed at something she said.

Your trembling legs managed to silently take a step back, trying to hold back the tears as you left the room, watching as Christian was still entertaining the twins, following you as the kids noticed you.

"Christian, can you please call Max to tell him we're here?" Somehow, with some divine strength, you were able to get the words out, ignoring Christian's glare as if he was trying to ask if you were okay.

In a matter of seconds, Max had joined you, receiving Mila and Luca with open arms. He wasn't aware of the fact that you already knew the reason he wanted a time off wasn't because he didn't get to see you, or that you couldn't make the effort to travel with the kids.

No.

Just as Christian had suggested, the kids went with him as Max directed your way to a secluded space. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it sure wasn't "I want a divorce"

He blinked. Once. Twice. "What do you mean you want a divorce?"

A snicker left your lips, was he trying to play dumb? You knew Max Verstappen as the palm of your hand. You knew him better than yourself.

You didn't need to see him kissing the black-haired woman, or holding hands, or even touching her.

Max's eyes, your husband's eyes, expressed everything you needed to know.

It wasn't important that he berated you for dropping this news right before Red Bull's home race, that his eyes tried to find yours but were unable to, as your crossed your arms as if that would protect you from the heartbreak and sudden change of plans; from a happy couple, a merry marriage and joyous family, to a life of weekends separated, of preparing their bags on Friday night, of being civil for the sake of the twins during their birthday...

And because you knew him so well, the relief that flashed through his blue eyes didn't pass unnoticed by you, because it wasn't him who said the words. He was guilty, but he didn't take the shot.

Your girlfriends always joked about his friends always were the first ones to reach out after a break up, making you laugh until text messages and Instagram DMs started rolling in: Red Bull engineers and mechanics, Lando Norris, Martin Garrix, among others.

Hey! I heard about you and Max, just wondering if you are okay and want to meet up some time?

It didn't take long to accept one of their offers, having messy nights with a British driver and multiple people from the paddock, but it was never meant to be more. and it absolutely wasn't, but it was early Sunday when the concierge called to inform the arrival of Max and the twins. Of course you didn't hear, Lando's body pressed against you as his soft snores invaded the bed you once shared with Max.

and obviously, Max being as restless as always, decided to just take the direct elevator to the penthouse overlooking Monte-Carlo. That's what made Lando open his eyes, very widely, as you hastily walked him towards the walk-in closet so that he could get dressed and not be seen or heard by Max.

Not that it mattered, but you were capable of putting family peace in front o making your ex-husband jealous.

"Hello my sweets!" Mila and Luca made their way into your arms, not caring about their backpacks making things a bit uncomfortable. "Did you have a good weekend?"

Luca started blabbering about papa's new place, the dishes Max's girlfriend cooked for them, and the incredible time they both had with Sara, the daughter of Max's girlfriend. There obviously was a bond between the three children, both arguing about how Sara liked them more than the other.

Max hadn't had the time to greet you or ask about your weekend, his gaze fixing on an orange hat.

"Since when do you own McLaren merch?" Max questioned you, pointing the foreign object, the logo being unusual on the household.

Ignoring how your heart skipped a beat, feigning ignorance your body turned to where Max's finger was pointing. "Oh, I don't know? I think someone gave it to me at one of the races. Long time ago, though."

That's when both Max and you noticed the twins were gone, probably on their bedroom unpacking or searching the kitchen.

Max took a couple of breaths, his eyebrows scrunched and eyes trying to find yours, not even attempting to hide his feelings. "Are you hooking up with someone from McLaren, (Y/N)?"

Your eyes widened, then took a step back trying to see if you heard him right. "Why would you even ask me that?"

Max shrugged; "I have a right to know, in case they end up sharing time with M and Luca. I can't control how everything works during the week so I'd like to be kept in the loop."

This time it struck like lightning, the fury and anger and disillusion your heart was carrying. "You have no right, Max. Absolutely no fucking right to be kept in the loop about what goes on in my life,"

Max didn't flinch at your tone, "I didn't say about your life, I'm aware that we are divorced, I'm talking about Mila and Luca,”

"I always think of them, they're the first thing on my mind when I wake up, and the last thing when I go to sleep. They're always on my mind and never leave, and I would never do anything to hurt them or even cause them the tiniest bit of disappointment. You have no right to come here and tell me you want to know about what goes on in here, because you are the one who chose to leave us in the first place," You vented, with Max's blue eyes fixed on you he was trying to keep his composure, but you knew he was uncomfortable.

"We are not having this conversation now, (Y/N). It's over, now it's just about the kids," Max added with a slight roll of his eyes.

"When are we having this conversation, then? When are you going to tell me that you wanted to separate because there was someone else already? that I wasn't enough for you? not even our kids were enough to make you doubt your decision to leave me, and it feels terrible and I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to feel the same because I'm shattered, Max." The words felt like someone was ripping your heart out of your chest, leaving you vulnerable as the thoughts became real, they were out there, but then it was followed by a bittersweet relief of not holding back anymore.

He noticed the tears and hiccups as you tried to make the point. His eyelids trembled as his hands meant to reach out to yours, pull your body to his, squeeze your waist and kiss your hair while assuring everything was going to be just fine.

That was the moment he realized that wasn't his place anymore, probably would never be again. Max didn't even think about that while signing the divorce papers, he didn't bother to show up to anything, sending a lawyer to do whatever was needed, and now it was hitting him like a ton of bricks.

His realization was cut short as the kids came running, Luca placing the McLaren hat on his head, ignoring Mila's voice telling him it wasn't daddy's team.

"I think this is when you leave, Max,"

You managed to keep your voice from quavering and erasing every trace of a tear, telling the kids to say goodbye to Max.

Yeah, this wasn't what Max had in mind for his Sunday morning.

[midnightcrw]

Would you write one where simon's wife is about to give birth and they're gonna give her an epidural but she's so scared and starts clinging to him?😢

Epidural

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader

Summary: You're about to get an epidural, and fear seems to overtake you.

a/n: I'm so sorry this took so long. I just had no idea how to write this since I have never had an epidural or given birth myself. In the end, I decided to keep the process as non-detailed as possible because I didn't want to get anything wrong. But please correct me if I got something wrong. This is not my best work either, I'm really sorry.

In a dimly lit hospital room, the air was thick with tension as Simon stood by your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as you squeezed his hand every now and then out of fear.

From the moment the word 'epidural' left the mouth of one of the nurses, you were terrified. You were about to give birth to your first child, and just the thought of the needle made you feel nauseous.

"Simon, I don't know if I can do this," you whispered, almost breaking down in the middle of your sentence. Your heart was beating so fast that you were afraid it would stop at any moment, and the pain you were feeling didn't make it any easier.

Simon squeezed your hand and began to run his thumb over the back of your hand. "It's going to be okay, I promise," he kissed the top of your head as he continued, "I won't leave your side no matter what, break my hand if you have to. I wouldn't mind."

His serious tone made you chuckle at his words for a second, but even that was short-lived as you winced in pain.

"Si-" but before you could continue, one of the nurses approached you with a sympathetic smile on her face. "Mrs. Riley, it's time for the epidural," she said gently, and even though she sounded kind, you couldn't help the fear that grew as your grip on your husband's hand tightened.

Simon was sure you were going to break his bones today, but he would let you, as long as he could finally see you smile when this was over.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, "You're going to be just fine, sweetheart. The doctors know what they're doing, I promise."

Hearing his words made you close your eyes for a second as you nodded, wanting it to be over as soon as possible before you scared yourself any more.

Simon slowly led you to the edge of the bed. The anesthesiologist spoke reassuringly, explaining each step of the epidural administration. And despite the explanations, you couldn't really concentrate, not even sure if it was because of the contractions you were feeling or because of your fear.

Your husband pulled up a chair next to the bed, his calming presence offering a sense of security. Your eyes locked with Simon's, silently pleading for reassurance as he brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his voice calm and soft. "I'm right here, love. You're stronger than you think, and our little one will be here soon."

As the needle approached, your grip on Simon's hand tightened again, causing even Simon to whimper in pain. He was sure that at least one of his bones was broken now.

The nurse and anesthesiologist worked efficiently, their experienced hands moving with precision, while Simon continued to murmur words of encouragement, his focus solely on comforting you.

And as the epidural took effect, a wave of relief washed over your face. The tension in your body began to ease, and you nestled into Simon's embrace. The room seemed a lot less tense now as Simon gave you a kiss on the cheek.

In the hours that followed, your husband stood steadfastly by your side, never once leaving your side.

"I'm so sorry," you mumbled apologetically as you held your newborn in your arms.

"Don't apologize, dear. It doesn't even hurt," Simon said while he examined the poor state of his broken hand.

"Liar," you whispered.

He looked at you with narrowed eyes, his expression was enough to tell you that he denied what you had just said.

"I heard you whimper!"

"No, you didn't!"

[someone-will-remember-us]

So many aspects of the trial of Dominique Pelicot and 50 other defendants in France over the past month have been so extraordinary to experience that they feel somehow surreal, or upside-down. In 2020, Gisèle Pelicot, a 67-year-old retiree living in the small French town of Mazan, was told by police that her husband of almost 50 years, Dominique, had been arrested after trying to film up women’s skirts in a shopping center. At first, Gisèle was cautiously understanding. If Dominique was willing to go into therapy, she thought, they could stay together. But then the police confronted her with something infinitely more shocking. On his hard drive, a folder titled “abuse” contained some 20,000 photographs and videos of Gisèle being raped and assaulted by strange men—72 in total—as well as her husband. For about a decade, they told her, he had been drugging her food and drink, and inviting men he met on the internet to abuse her. In court last month, Dominique Pelicot validated the charges against him. “I am a rapist, like the others in this room,” he said. Fourteen of the other men on trial have pleaded guilty to the charges against them, but the majority claim innocence, arguing that they thought they were simply participating in a “libertine” game between husband and wife.

Before his arrest, with regard to his own security, Dominique was meticulous to a fault. The men who came to his home had to warm their hands on a radiator before entering his bedroom. They had to undress in the kitchen. They weren’t to smell of cigarette smoke or aftershave, lest they leave any discernible trace of themselves behind. If Gisèle stirred while an assault was ongoing, Dominique ordered the assailant to leave the room. He kept detailed records, saving videos and photographs of each man in file folders categorized by their first name—“part pleasure,” he later explained in court, “but also, part insurance.” With regard to his wife’s safety, however, he was strikingly nonchalant. He didn’t require that any of the men accused of raping his wife use condoms. Some are accused of choking her while Dominique watched; others, of assaulting her with objects. One man, who was HIV-positive, allegedly raped Gisèle on six separate occasions, telling Dominique that he couldn’t maintain an erection if he wore protection. When Gisèle began to complain of strange physical symptoms—substantial weight loss, hair loss, huge gaps in her memory, difficulty moving her arm—Dominique drove her to doctor appointments, but didn’t stop drugging her, or facilitating her abuse. When she mentioned that she’d been having unexplained gynecological issues, he accused her of cheating on him. Of her husband, she said in court: “In 50 years, I never imagined for a second that he could rape.”

The mass trial of Dominique and 50 other men who could be identified (more than 20 alleged assailants remain at large) began in September, exposing a case that’s both wholly unprecedented and dully familiar. The fact that we’re aware of it at all is because of Gisèle, who gave up her right to privacy so that the allegations of what happened to her could be made public. What she believed, her lawyer said, was that “shame must change sides”—for the men accused of raping and assaulting her to be the ones whose characters were stained, whose reputations were maligned. In the process, she’s become a feminist icon in France, in whose name women’s groups have rallied, seeking to raise awareness about sex crimes involving drugging and pointing out that women are most likely to be raped by someone they know. Every day, before she enters the courtroom, Gisèle is applauded by crowds who have gathered outside to support her.

In court, though, Gisèle’s cross-examination has mostly been by the book, which is to say that lawyers for the defense—more than 40 in number—have done everything they can to impugn her character. “There’s rape and there’s rape,” one defense attorney told her, implying, as many of the defendants have argued, that Gisèle and her husband were swingers participating in an elaborate sex game. “No, there are no different types of rape,” she replied. Although the judges in the trial denied the prosecution’s request that videos documenting her abuse be shown in court, agreeing with defense lawyers that doing so would compromise the dignityof the defendants, they did allow those lawyers to show some 27 pictures that revealed Gisèle’s genitalia, and her face with her eyes apparently open. (A medical expert has testified that, given the medication Dominique was secretly administering, Gisèle was so heavily sedated, she was closer to being in a coma than being asleep.) Lawyers asked her whether she was an alcoholic, and whether she had “a secret inclination for exhibitionism.” In response, Gisèle stated that every day since the beginning of the trial, she’d been intentionally humiliated, and that she understood why most rape victims don’t press charges. Although she appears composed on the surface, she has said that, internally, she is “a field of ruins.” Even so, a few weeks into the trial, one defense lawyer, Nadia El Bouroumi, posted an Instagram Reel of herself in her car, miming to the Wham song “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.” (She later deleted the video and posted a statement saying she was profoundly sorry if her meaning had been misinterpreted.)

This kind of ritualized cruelty toward victims is standard in legal systems worldwide, and yet the Pelicot case has stripped away all the usual obfuscations and muddying of details to make certain things clear. There are just so many accused rapists in this case, each one caught on camera. There are so many men who are alleged to have assaulted a drugged grandmother of seven that before they go into the courtroom, they have to form a queue, shuffling one by one in hunched, sullen fashion, as though waiting in a breadline, or for a bus. The men range in age from their 20s to their 70s. One was a firefighter. One was a nurse. One was a journalist. One was a prison guard, one a civil servant. Many were apparently happily married with children. One, a 22-year-old, missed the birth of his daughter the night he went to allegedly rape Gisèle.

Not all men rape women, the adage goes. But the Pelicot case has upended that argument: not all men, but any man, of any age, any profession, any marital status. Living in a small town of 6,000 people, Dominique was able to find 72 men nearby who were allegedly willing—as per his invitation on a forum titled “Without Their Knowledge”—to “abuse my sleeping, drugged wife.” The site he used, Coco.fr, was shut down earlier this year, but it has been implicated in 23,000 separate crimes that are under investigation by more than 70 public prosecutors’ offices across France. Not all men but, still, so many men. One defendant in the Pelicot case, a 72-year-old former firefighter and truck driver who was described by friends and family as “kind,” “attentive,” and “open to others,” told the courtroom that he had “a deep respect for women,” and that if his ex-wife were present, she’d tell them, “He loves the woman in all her diversity, all her complexity.” Nevertheless, he is accused of raping an unconscious woman, Gisèle’s lawyer countered; the man has denied the accusation. Another defendant explained that he realized what he was doing was wrong when Gisèle moved while he was assaulting her, and Dominique quickly ushered him out of the room. “When I crossed the garden, I thought about reporting the incident,” he said in court. “Then life resumed its course; the next day, I went to work very early, and that was that.”

The men accused of raping and assaulting Gisèle, it’s worth remembering, are so numerous that they were arrested in five separate waves, spanning almost a year. In court every week, a new group of defendants has been presented to the judges for consideration, so that their psychological profiles and the testimony of their partners and ex-partners can be taken into account. One defendant, a private nurse, was apparently extremely empathetic to his patients, whom he considered family. He and his wife tried for many years to have children, undergoing multiple rounds of IVF and eventually hoping to adopt. Another, a mason, was reportedly a wonderful father whose friends testified that he was respectful and quiet, never even making dirty jokes at parties. Some of the men have been described as egocentric, aggressive, and routinely unfaithful. One was incarcerated for acts of sexual violence against three other women at the time of his arrest. One has asked about the possibility of restorative justice. Some confessed to having been abused as children. One, although not charged with assaulting Gisèle, is accused of being mentored by Dominique in the drugging and rape of his own wife, who has stayed with him despite learning that both her husband and Dominique allegedly raped her while she was unconscious on several occasions. One defendant was described by his fiancée, with whom he shares a 15-month-old child conceived after his arrest, as having a “heart of gold.”

Following along with the trial, what’s been hard to process is the disconnect between how the defendants are being treated and what Gisèle has endured. The men’s psychological profiles are inherently humanizing—it’s difficult not to feel pity for those whose children have died, or who were reportedly abused themselves, or who apparently fought for their children with special needs to receive the educational assistance they needed. And yet these men also allegedly participated in the abuse and rape of a passed-out woman: an immobile, voiceless, dehumanized body served up to them by her husband, whose actions implied—and were accepted by the men—as ownership. “If a man came to have intercourse with me, he still should have asked for my consent,” Gisèle said in court. But that acquiescence itself would have been in opposition to what so many men apparently wanted: ultimate sexual domination over someone who couldn’t consent, orchestrated by the one man whom she loved and trusted the most.

(archive)

[annisassintchaska]

You’re at Lewis’s place, just laying down on the bed watching a movie when he receives a call. "Who is it?" I asked. He looked at who it was, letting out a frustrated sigh. Then he smiled and tried to brush it off. “No one important.” He lied. "Answer it" I demanded as he tried to hang it up.

He couldn’t help but swallow thickly at my demands as he answered it and put it on speaker mode. “Hello?” He answered. Hearing a woman answering from the other side wasn't a shock until she told him that she was looking forward to another session with his dick.

His eyes widen as his heart drops when he heard her say that. He felt embarrassed when I heard that as he quickly put it on mute “It’s no one important I swear” he said nervously, trying to get out the situation. Narrowing my eyes at him, I then heard the woman go on about how she wanted to have his children in the future after our divorce, I jumped up and went into the bathroom, locking the door. He told her about my miscarriage and fertility issues my mind screamed.

His face expression went from nervous to complete fear seeing your reaction as it made his heart sink. He immediately tried to get up and followed me to the bathroom, knocking on the door, “Baby please open the door!” he pleaded. "No" I said very calmly as to not explode. Lewis tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. “Please just let me explain!” he tried to persuade as he continued to knock, his heart beating loudly by each thump. "Lewis I'm begging you please find another room to be in" I said as my voice raised a couple of octaves.

Lewis could hear from my voice that I was trying so hard not to explode right then and there. He took a deep breath and sat down right in front of the bathroom door. “Please just let me in and listen to me. I’ll explain everything please” he said. "Taking a deep breath, I told him to speak. He felt a wave of momentary relief as he heard my voice, indicating that I might be calmer. He leaned his back against the door and began speaking. “It was a one time thing and it only happened that one night at the party. I was very drunk that’s all-"

"That is no fucking excuse!" I yelled as I took up the container on the sink throwing it into the mirror and breaking it. Lewis heard the sound of glass shattering inside making him flinch. He felt his heart break when he heard that, feeling how upset I sounded. “I know it’s not an excuse but please just understand. I did it that one time… and I regret it so much so please just open the door” he said with sorrow in his voice. "If you only did it once then why does she have your number, why is it that she can call and be so comfortable with saying such lewd remarks!" I questioned as I pulled the bathroom apart breaking everything in my way, cutting and injuring myself in the process. His heart dropped even more as he began to hear glass shattering and things breaking. He immediately got up again and began to bang on the door harder. “Please stop! Please stop it!” he yelled desperately, fear in his voice as tears began to form in his eyes. His voice sounded panicked, “Don’t hurt yourself. Please just open the door, I’m sorry just don’t do this to yourself”.

"It's too late to beg Lewis, why would you do this to me?!" I screamed throwing the glass vase into the glass shower door, splinters flying and piercing my skin all over as I screamed. "You knew of my fertility issues and went to tell her!" I wailed in disbelief that my husband would hurt me this deeply. Lewis slammed his fists against the door in frustration and panic, feeling completely helpless. Tears streamed down his face as he yelled back, “I wasn’t thinking, okay?! I was wasted and I was stupid!” He paused for a moment, taking in a shuddering breath as he imagined the damage you were doing to yourself, “Please… I regret it. I regret it so much. Please open the door”.

"What if I just ended it all right here? That would feel so good" I spoke to myself even though my husband heard every word. Lewis’s body froze as he heard those words. A new wave of panic took over as he yelled my name out, banging on the door harder. “No, no please no! Please don’t say things like that. Please don’t do anything. I’ll do anything, please just open the door!” Walking on the broken glass that pierced my feet with each step, I went into the drawer taking out the gun that was kept there for protection and took off the safety which echoed in the through the door. Feeling his heart stop and his blood run cold, Lewis began to panic even more. He could only helplessly hear what was happening on the other side of the door as he slammed his body against it multiple times. “No please don’t do this. Please don’t do it please! Please open the door!” he was yelling and pleading as tears streamed down his face uncontrollably.

Fighting with all his might, Lewis managed to kick the door in, flicking the gun from my hand and grabbing out the bathroom as I wailed in his arms due to his hands being in my open wounds. Placing me on the bed and carefully holding me down as to not touch the wounds I wailed until my voice was almost gone and I was in a state of drowsiness yet still heartbroken as I cried softly. "Why...just why? Wasn't I good enough of a wife for you?" I asked sadly as I sobbed into his shirtless chest. Lewis’s heart broke even more as he heard you sob. His heart ached seeing you like this. He gently moved his hands from pinning down your wrists to holding them and intertwining his fingers with yours. “Of course you were. You are an amazing wife, the best wife in the world. I don’t deserve you. I don’t know why I did something so stupid. I can’t find an excuse. I’m so sorry” he said in a defeated tone, feeling ashamed for hurting you.

"Why didn't you just let me die, it would take away the shame and hurt and disappointment from both of us" I cried. Seeing you beg for such a thing shattered his heart even more. He shook his head, holding you tighter as he spoke with a shaky voice. “No. Please don’t say that. You can’t leave me. I can’t lose you. I’ll do anything to fix this so please don’t say things like that” he pleaded with me, not able to bear the thought of me dying so young. "I don't think it's fixable. Even if it is, how do we fix this. I've had the pain for so long and it got deeper with each year that I remained unsuccessful of giving you a child, you just pushed the knife right through down to the bottom" I sniffed while looking into his eyes that held so much love for me even after what he did.

His heart sank hearing all that. The guilt and shame he felt grew even more, knowing the pain I was going through. He felt complete remorse for his actions and the damage he caused. He leaned down, gently nuzzling his head beside mine, holding me tight as he spoke with a voice filled with remorse. "We can figure out a way to fix this. I don’t want to lose you. I never want to lose you. You’re the most important person in the world to me. I’ll do anything to make things right again”.

Too exhausted from the rage, I started to fall asleep as I felt Lewis exit the room. He then later returned with a first aid kit as he cleaned and bandaged each would, placing a kiss over each one he finished while I succumbed to sleep wondering how did my marriage turn out to be a shitshow.