#that ending????? this is what open endings should be

[madamechrissy]

Pour it Up

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotoge you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey/highkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed- down bad) recreational drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club lowkey a front lol) Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, fluff/smut AND light angst- violence, some former trauma of reader. This part- mentally/emotionally abusive Naoya, Sukuna is possessive, violence, mafia ties, a lil bit of smut in here- whipped ass Kuna- he whimpers hehe- angst smut AND fluff - WC-6.2k

Based on Stripclub Owner Sukuna - will be six or more parts- I HIGHLY recommend the playlist (esp on the club scenes) That mobster art in the banner is by Sketch B on X- LINK

<<<Part Three Playlist Masterlist Part Five>>> (coming Soon)

Part Four

“I’m outside, sweetheart, wanna let me in?” Your heart hammers in your chest, as Touma is tilting his head curiously, you bolt up to sit straight, feeling sick to your stomach as his cat-like tone works its way into your mind.

“What!?” You demand quietly, standing as you head towards the door, you’ve rarely ever had him come here, he’s been so uninvolved aside from his never ending calls or texts, which were just taunts truly.

“You heard me, honey, I’d love to come see you. Wonder what you’re wearing hmm?”

You hang up the phone, disgust making bile rise in your throat, turning to Touma then and bending low on your knees, brushing back his hair gently. “Hey baby, let Mama talk to him, hmm?”

“But will daddy upset Mama?” He asks, breaking you slowly into pieces, you take a shaky breath, plastering on a smile.

“No way, I’ll be good! Promise. But I want you to stay inside, will you do that for me?”

“Of course! I'm a big boy.”

“You are!” You snatch up a cardigan, you’re literally in a crop top and shorts, the last thing you need is him to tear apart you showing the stretch marks he loves to shit on you for, for being comfortable with your body, that gives him more power over you.

You open the door and see him, sleazy smile on his face, those narrowed brown eyes raking down your figure as you shut the door behind you, looking directly at him with a scowl. He chuckles, grinning with sharp canines as the sun that should be warming your skin makes you so hot you feel faint, blood pressure rising and rising to where you can’t breathe.

“Naoya. Need something?” You whisper, he leans a hand on the door, right by your head, the other brushing back your hair, you itch to smack him but you’re terrified, knowing more and more of what he does.

“Not a nice greeting sweetheart, where’s my kiss?”

“You’re not getting one ever again.” He laughs harshly, dragging you to him then by your waist, and you shove at his chest. “Back off.”

“No way to talk to me, maybe I should occupy your stupid fucking mouth, huh?” You glare and smack him right in the face then, earning him pinning your wrist brutally to the door. “Gonna put your hands on me?”

“You’re not gonna kiss me, ever agin. Stop it, you’re making a scene!”

“Then let me in, huh?”

“No. I’m not letting you scare Touma.” Naoya rubs his red cheek, letting your wrist go now, eyes trailing down your body once more, tugging at your cardigan, seeing the marks Sukuna left, glaring.

“And just what are these?” He touches your neck, making you shiver, pushing his hand off once more.

“None of your business, Naoya.”

“Gonna get marked up like some whore?”

“Says the man who had women bent over tables in front of me?” You counter, raising a brow, as Naoya tilts your chin up, touch so vile compared to Sukuna’s that you wonder how you ever really did it with him.

“If you would’ve tried harder, maybe I wouldn’t have had to. Served your man a little more, appreciated all I did.”

You scoff now, eyes narrowing. “All you did was down me, make me feel like shit, and blame me for your infidelity instead of just taking responsibility. And I served you plenty, you sure didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Get me off.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes and adjusting his suit jacket. “Oh really? You’re playing that?”

“It’s not a game, I know you didn’t.”

“And you’re gonna stand here looking so satisfied, for what?”

“Because I’m happy for once, you can’t stand it, can you?” You whisper, only for him to press your back against the door, hovering over you, for all his faults he’s never hit you, but your eyes go wide, tummy flipping so much you feel sick, you’re dying to just be in Sukuna’s arms suddenly. 

It’s an insane thought, too much too soon, but fuck you want him to hold you, to tell you it’ll all be okay, to feel him cup your face with one of his big hands, that make you feel so safe. You close your eyes for just a moment, trying to gather yourself, as Naoya continues to spit his nasty words, mixed with falsehoods.

“You wanna live in this piece of shit apartment with the kid?”

“He’s happy here, and it’s what I can afford.”

“So come back, and live like you should, have you in furs and diamonds, hmm?” He’s caressing your cheek as he speaks, altering his tone, and shit that used to work but now!?

“No.”

“No!?”

“No, I’m good with working hard, and doing what I can. I haven’t asked you for a dime, Naoya.”

“Making such good money shaking your ass?” You tense then, jaw setting, glaring back at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Heard the rumors, someone saw you coming out of that club downtown, the real fancy one. Are you actually bartending, or are you just slutting it out?”

“I swear to god, go the fuck away.”

“Want me to tell the lawyer what you do? Mommy who strips, who knows what else she does for money. How much are you charging them?” He cooes again, brushing back your hair as your hands are numb from the blood pressure rising higher and higher, until you almost feel faint.

“What are you getting at, stop talking in circles.”

He laughs then, throwing his head back a bit. “That you either come back where you belong, with me, or I make sure he’s not gonna be yours.”

“You will not, and since when do you even want him in your life?” Your voice is under your breath, you can’t have Touma hearing, Naoya’s brows lower, as he finally backs up a bit, but his hands are slipping across the sides of your breasts, to your waist and your hips.

“Miss you, don’t you know?” He tries to run it, that game he used to, but it doesn’t work, not now that you’ve had Sukuna, a real man. “I need you in my bed, not some john at a club.”

“I don’t get paid to fuck.” You speak through your teeth, he snorts then.

“You were good with your mouth, you know.”

“Wouldn’t know if you were, thank god.”

“What now?” You smile then.

“Nothing. If you want to see Touma, set it up with our lawyer, you don’t need to come here, or do you want more legal involvement in your hair?”

“You threatening me, stupid little bitch?”

“Just giving what I’m getting, bet you don’t want the feds on you.” He laughs cruelly, pinching your cheek so hard you gasp.

“Think I don’t have feds in my back pocket? Stop acting like you fucking know shit, huh? Think about it, coming back, being safe with me, or acting like some dumb bitch at a club. What’s better?”

“Call me a bitch one more time, I swear.” He leans close, lips against your ear, hands slipping down your body, gripping at your hips.

“You’re real pretty when you’re scared.” Is all he says, kissing your ear and laughing again, before pulling back, finally allowing you a breath. “I’ll see you real soon, sweetheart.”

You try to compose yourself, finally walking inside and seeing Touma nomming happily on his little cheese puff snacks, giggling as he’s watching his cartoon. You exhale in relief that he hadn’t heard it, but then a sense of dread starts to fill you, as you have no clue truly just what your ex is capable of.

******

Candy looks at you with a frown when you walk in, as do the other girls, not saying a word as you start to get undressed, they never really talk to you, seeing as you’re Mr. Sukuna’s favorite, and you can’t blame them. Sukuna was heavily lusted after by the girls here, and you’re sure from overhearing conversations that he used to partake in the women here as well.

But it definitely seems like he no longer is, as body spray is spritzed and lockers are shut, leaving you alone as you’re dusting glitter on your skin, struggling to pull yourself together just a bit. Sukuna isn’t here yet, and when he is you’re certain the flood gates are going to open, and tears will fall.

You need to tell him what happened.

You struggle to save face, stepping up the stairs to one of the stages, clear platform heels clicking, the straps have calloused your ankles all week, but you seem to be getting used to this again. Your body after just a couple weeks is a little stronger, a little more used to the movements, though you’re not sure you’ll be able to get up all the way like before Touma.

You spin and glide, earning grins and looks, as you slip to the floor, hair falling loosely, you’re not wearing a wig tonight, hair just flowing lightly, led lights glittering like diamonds on your skin. You try to fake a smile, try to put on a bright exterior, as men ogle you with their eyes, as they slip cash into your garter, when you see Sukuna walk in, along with Toji, Suguru and Satoru.

As soon as his eyes hit you, he knows something is wrong, and he panics, was it him, yesterday? Was it the fuckfest you two had!? Was he too much or…

What you do to him.

He walks up now, casually standing at the stage and pulling out hundreds, becoming you over, blunt in his mouth as he hands you a lighter. “Light it f’me, pretty hmm?”

“Of course, Mr. Sukuna.” You step closer, taking it and cupping around the flame, he exhales, slipping a hundred in your garter, then another few in your waistband, thumbs brushing on your skin, feeling so good then. “Don’t give me-”

“Shh. Tipping my girls here.” He says, inhaling the blunt as more men are gathering around, trying to garner your attention, and Sukuna’s putting another few hundred in your other garter, as your body responds to his every touch. “God just look at you.”

“Mnh…” Is all you manage to whisper, he smirks then, inhaling the blunt and exhaling against your skin as you spread your thighs, pulling your panties up to where your lips are just barely visible, making his head spin.

“Teasing me, huh brat?”

“Maybe.” You turn now, rolling your hips, before pulling him by his tie, as he stands so close, feeling your heat against him, making him almost moan as he lets you pull his face to your titties.

“You better not do this with anyone again.” He says as you jiggle your breasts, managing the first soft laugh since your run in with your ex.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to, Sir.”

“Fuck.” You pull back a bit, and he sighs as his name is called, looking over his shoulder, then back at you. “Come see me in a bit.”

You nod, finding it hard to pay any attention to any of the other men, outright shuffling off dances to the other girls, until your set is done and Sukuna eyes you heading to his office. Soon he’s in there, shutting the door and pulling you close, intending on kissing you when he sees the tense set of your face, the way your eyebrows are drawn together.

He softly says your name, and you know you’re losing it, your hold on everything. “Anyone bothering you?”

“Not any of the guys here, no.”

 “What’s wrong?” Sukuna cups your face, and as soon as he does, you drop your shields, your barriers, all your defenses, lip trembling so much you have to bite at it to make it stop. You’re blinking back tears, when his crimson eyes narrow with concern, his jaw tensing. “What’s wrong, brat, out with it.”

“I don’t wanna worry you.” You whisper, then Sukuna knows.

“He fuckin threaten you?”

“Just with custody, not… physical. But he was grabbing at me, saying nasty things to me… I… Kuna, I…”

“Shh, shit just c’mere.” He pulls you in his embrace, a big hand on your head, pressing you against  his chest, letting you inhale that familiar scent, feeling so right and perfect, this cardamom mixed with something so heady, so him. You inhale it as your tears decorate his black dress shirt, and he’s just holding you.

You can’t stop crying, it opens up like a damn flood gate, all while he’s holding you against his chest. “S-someone saw m-me here… that night he w-was here, I think he was looking for me.”

Sukuna’s grip tightens, holding you so close you can barely breathe. “He won’t fucking touch you, not a hair on your head.” Sukuna feels his chest aching, how much and how intense he’s feeling for you, with every breath you take, the thoughts fill his head over and over.

Kill him, he wants to kill Naoya.

It would start a fucking gang war though, but he can’t even think of anything, seeing red as he looks at the door to his office, as he holds you while you cry, over a man who doesn’t deserve shit, especially your damn tears. Didn’t deserve to touch you, and now has made you cry? No.

“He won’t bother you anymore.”

“You don’t understand who he is-”

“You don’t understand who I am.” You look up at him, as he swipes his thumbs across your cheeks. He can’t stop himself then, he wants to finally tell you, just how he feels, how much he feels. “Listen, I-”

Suddenly there’s a commotion, and Sukuna hears the sounds of a fight breaking out, you both quickly dart out of the room, and see it then, Naoya being held by his collar with Toji. The dancers and bartenders scatter, the men there gathering around, including several Zenin, with guns on the ready, you feel sick when Naoya sees you, wearing literally just pasties and panties.

Brown eyes lock as Sukuna spins a gold ring on one of his tattooed fingers, putting the insignia on it under his fist, stepping in front of you, as Toji hooks him under his shoulders, and Satoru and Suguru walk in, starting to punch the other men around you all, taking their guns right from their hands. The entire room is chaotic as you stand behind Sukuna, hand gripping his shirt like some lifeline.

“Out of the fuckin’ way, Ryomen. That’s my property right behind you.” Naoya says, and Sukuna’s body flexes with his fury, as he steps forward, laughing while he watches Naoya wriggle in Toji’s hold.

“She isn’t your damn property, Zenin.”

“She was my wife-”

“Was, being the keyword. You’re in our territory, fuck face.” Toji says then, and Naoya laughs, trying to heatbutt Toji and failing.

“Not the traitor son talking shit about territory, you all just are little bitches for the Gojo clan now, huh?”

Gojo quietly knocks another member out, until several are on the floor, as Suguru makes sure every last patron and dancer are out of the door, shutting and locking it with a click. “Speaking of my family, you are on my land, so why don’t you do us all a favor and leave her alone?” Gojo says then, as Sukuna steps closer, and Toji drags Naoya to a seat, holding his arms behind the back of it.

“The fuck do you care, you all tagging her?” Sukuna punches Naoya then, with a sickening crack, only making him lick the blood that drips from his lips, grinning when you find you have a jacket on you, tugging at it a bit and seeing Suguru smile just a bit, touching your back gently.

“You shouldn’t see this, love.” He murmurs, as Naoya coughs up once Sukuna has punched him in the stomach.

“Don’t talk about her, don’t even say her fucking name.” Sukuna mutters now, gripping Naoya’s collar and lowering his face.

“Do you know what my family can do?” Naoya asks, earning Sukuna’s grin.

“Do you know what I can do? What I feel like doing right now?” Satoru now has an arm around your shoulder, turning you to face his chest when you hear another scream from Naoya now, along with Sukuna chuckling.

“Shouldn’t see all that.” Satoru mumbles, as you’re shivering against him, and he has a hand on your head.

“I can look at it, I swear-”

“You really care about her, then you won’t piss me off, she’d fetch a pretty penny on the market, stretch marks and all- ah.” You hear another hit then, another sickening crunch of bone, making you just bury your face further against Satoru’s chest, feeling how stiff his own body has gotten, hands tight on you.

“Gojo, get her out of here while I finish this.” You hear gruffly, to just be ushered away from where your ex was further digging his grave. You’re gasping for a breath when Satoru has you in Sukuna’s office, struggling with your tears as you pull the coat closer against you.

“You have the worst taste, pookie.” Satoru says, and you laugh through your tears, as he leans over to grab tissues, dabbing them on your cheeks.

“How are you a mobster? You’re too sweet.”

“I am sweet, hmm?” He wiggles his brows, making you giggle again.

“How do you do that, be so sweet still?”

“Lots of sugary drinks. Sit.” You sit down now on the desk, hearing more screaming, trembling more as this giant coat swamps you, and Satoru sits next to you sighing, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hate this shit actually.”

“The head of the Gojo family hates it?”

“Sure do. Boring, bloody, just annoying. Sukuna, he really runs things for me, honestly, he can handle it all. I can but…” He frowns, looking at the backs of his knuckles, his long fingers spread out. “I don’t prefer to.”

“Do you think he’ll really do it, try to s-sell me?” Your trembling whisper makes Satoru frown now.

“He’s capable of it, and if Sukuna kills him now, there’ll be a war. He runs the Zenin at this point. But… no one will let it happen.”

“But my kid, I-”

“No one will let it happen. Okay?” You nod just a bit and he sighs, pulling you against him again. “Look like you need a hug.”

“Ugh, I do. Thank you, Gojo.”

“Satoru, we’re friends now hmm?” You nod with a little smile when Sukuna walks in, covered in blood all over his hand and forearms, eyeing you two.

But instead of irritation, he feels appreciative of idiot ass Gojo, even if just for the moment, as he comforts you. “I’ve got it now.”

Gojo smiles at you. “Don’t worry mmkay?”

You nod, wishing you could feel as unbothered as he’s trying, as he walks past Sukuna, and he murmurs something in his ear, before Sukuna shuts the door behind him, walking up to you now. Slowly, step by step, those dress shoes of his click quietly on polished hardwood floors, until he’s right in front of you, his shoulders finally relaxing their posture.

“Kuna…” You whisper, looking at his bloodied hands, as he cups your face with them, exhaling and leaning low, the crimson liquid decorating your cheeks as his thumbs brush over them.

“You need to come stay with me.” He says, husky voice so deep and broken, you take a shaky breath, your hands slipping up his shirt, dark line of sweat down his broad chest making it damp.

“I can’t do that, I can’t impose like that!”

“He’s more dangerous to you and your kid right now than anyone. You both need to stay with me for now so I can have you safe. No arguing, got me?” He says softly, and you nod, blinking tears back as he kisses you, deeply, hungrily now. “Good girl, actually listening.”

“Good girl, don’t do that.” You feel it then, his adrenaline just pouring from his veins, and he moans now, shoving off the jacket, baring you to him, every where he touches leaving little trails of blood, your ex husband’s blood at that, now coating your pretty breasts when he grabs them. You’re desperately unzipping him, feeling the need to be ever closer.

“God, what do you do to me.” He murmurs more to himself than anything, kissing the corner of your lips, down your jaw, pulling your pretty body so close, dying to take you, have you his and only his.

“Please.” You whine out softly, stroking his cock now, thumb trailing just over his piercing when he spreads your thighs, kissing down your neck, and you’re rubbing his tip between your folds, whining.

“I can’t touch her like this.” He huffs, and you whine out, making his cock throb in response.

“Don’t even need to touch me, please. In me- Ah!” As he presses his cock at your entrance, you’re soaking him, all while he’s cupping your chin, kisses hungrier now, your teeth clicking as he’s stretching out your little pussy.

“You’re too tight, brat, shit.” He huffs now, pulling your hair as he lays you back on his desk, yanking your thigh so he can sink even further, and you almost cum then and there, the sound drowned out by his mouth, muffling your cries.

“Need you.” You whisper again, and you needing him, hearing you say that, right along with your perfect pussy ruins him completely, he’s fucking into your slick walls now, harder and harder, pulling back to look at your face. Covered in mascara streaks, tears from this piece of shit who should have never had you, still so beautiful.

“You’re all mine now, aren’t you brat?” He huffs, you nod weakly, when his piercing drags on your spot, and you’re screaming out, he covers your mouth with his hand, his eyes dilated, lidded while he fucks into you. “Shh, baby.”

Baby.

Sukuna called you baby.

As you’re cumming and he’s whispering ‘that’s it, baby lemme fuckin’ feel you’ it’s partially from his cock, partially from his possessiveness, the way he owns you. He pulls out of you then, much to your whining dismay, chuckling a bit when he’s bent you over his desk instead, legs dangling at just how high it is, even with your heels they barely touch the floor.

“Mine, say it.” He huffs, fucking back into you, tip drooling as it kisses your cervix, your head falls back as you whine out. “Mine, just mine, never his again.”

“Never, Kuna, never.” Your cries are again muffled by a rough palm, as Sukuna feels a protectiveness so intense he can’t bear it, the need to claim you, to keep you, to make you his and all his. He’s closer and closer as he ravages your tight little cunt, which is pouring down his veiny length to accommodate.

“Gonna k-keep you s-safe, keep you cumming, f-fuck… got me?” You nod eagerly, screaming out into his palm when his ring drags on a new spot, and you’re cumming all over him, making him throb and moan himself, right in your ear, so sexy it sends shivers down your spine. “Gonna protect you baby.”

Protect you. 

Fuck you believe him, you trust him, more than someone you knew for years. The way he grabs you. Holds you. Kisses you. Fucks you. There's nothing like it, that strength as he rails your pretty pussy, yet the gentleness of his little kisses, then the feral way he claims you.

“Mnh!” Is all you squeak out against his rough hand, as your eyes roll back in your skull, and you’re convulsing around his thickness.

“Fuck…” Sukuna whimpers, the sound that always ends you even further, as he tries to keep going buried deep in you, he has to rest his other hand on the desk, clutching it, while he turns your face to him, breath on your lips burning. He almost says it, insane words, you make him think when you look at him with those eyes.

I love you.

Fucking brat, coming in and making him obsessed, making him soft, reckless and stupid, and now in love. He barely knows you, he’s surely pussydrunk, but that’s just not it, Sukuna has been whipped like a little bitch since day one, and it’s truly all your fault, as your pussy milks him, as your lips part and you look at him like that, like something he can’t explain.

Well shit.

He can’t just say that, so he stutters, his mouth open, shoving his cock so deep you scream out loud, and he couldn’t care less if someone heard then and there, not when he’s burying his face in your neck, murmuring your name. He also murmurs it, silently, those three little words, as he grabs you so tight, thick muscled arms around your body, so small compared to him.

“Kuna, cum in me, please. Wanna f-feel you.” You whisper, and who is he to deny anything you ask? He cums immediately, like your whispered plea was some command, his moans echoing in the room they’re so loud. “Mnh oh my god yes.”

You’re shuddering now, as his cock fills you so good, white cum shooting so deep inside you, and your head falls back as you rock your hips, arching your ass out for him to cum even deeper. Sukuna kisses you over and over, one hand gripping your hip, the other your face, trying to catch his own breath as he pushes in just a bit, feeling his cum and yours drooling down his length.

“Holy fuck…” You mumble, and he chuckles just a bit. “What?”

“You’re cute.”

“Cute, hmm?” He eases off you, pressing kisses down your spine, exhaling as he watches goosebumps rise everywhere he does.

“Cute. Even pouring cum like this.” You jerk as he pulls his cock out, and the emptiness and soreness hits. “Mmm, come with me tonight.”

“With my kid and everything? Let’s just… tomorrow? I mean I have to bring some things.” You try to adjust as you clean yourself up a bit with the tissues, hands shaking as you do.

“I mean… he’s not gonna do shit tonight, I guess, but I’ll have someone sit in front of your place, just to be sure.” You cup Sukuna’s face now, tiptoeing.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Let your kid sleep tonight, then we’ll figure something out.”

“Kuna I think I’m… like in love?” He snorts, but you’re dead serious, earning a blush on his high cheeks.

“It’s the moment brat, calm down.”

“Is it the moment?” Your eyes lock on his, he sighs now.

“You’re ‘like- in love’ what a shitty confession.” You glare now, earning his chuckle, the moment just a little lighter.

“Excuse me for not having the best confession, I have my exes blood on me and my boyfriend fucked my brain away.”

“Boyfriend?” He raises a brow, you bite your lower lip nervously then.

“Aren’t you?” He sighs, he wants to be that and more, brushing your messy hair back just so.

“You’re asking me out and confessing love? Damn, pathetic.”

“I swear if you-”

“I’m joking, brat.” He’s grinning now, for a moment this huge, tall and intimidating man with bruised knuckles is just a little sweetheart, genuine joy in his tone when he speaks. “I’ll be your boyfriend.”

“Yeah!?”

“Yeah.” You grin and kiss him again and again, until he’s damn near ready to fuck you all over, when the door knocks, and he clears his throat, grabbing his own coat and shoving it over your shoulders. “Come in.”

“Smells like sex in here.” Toji jokes with a grin, and Satoru sighs.

“Good sex.” He says with a pout.

“Can you two actually fuck off?” Sukuna demands, and you stand up, handing Suguru his jacket with a little smile.

“Thank you.” He smiles just a bit, nodding.

“How about we have a drink, I could sure use one.” Toji mutters, and Sukuna chuckles.

“Is that code for, I really fucked shit up and we need to talk about our plans?”

“Something like that. Wanna have a drink, doll?” Toji asks you then, and you sigh, shaking your head.

“I should get home, I need to be with my son.”

“I’ll have someone go there now.” Sukuna says, texting on his phone for a moment. “Want my driver to take you?”

“I can drive, Sukuna.”

“Aren’t you shaken up a bit?” Sukuna murmurs, before grinning. “Or should I say fucked out?”

“Oh stop!” You head off to get cleaned up and dressed, and when you’re out there aside from knocked over chairs and broken glass shattered, it seems relatively normal. Toji, Sukuna and Gojo are sitting there with Suguru at the bar, pouring them each a drink when Sukuna sees you, in your hoodie and jeans, sighing.

“You gonna be okay alone? I can come with you.” Sukuna asks, and Suguru hands you a shot, which you down with a little shiver, coughing a bit.

“If you have someone keeping an eye on the place I’ll be okay.”

“Just in case…” Sukuna walks behind the bar now, grabbing a gun and handing it to you, you blink a bit in confusion, frowning at it. “I’ll be showing you how to shoot a mother fucker.”

“Right now!?” You hear the chuckling of the men around you.

“Just point and shoot em, pookie.” Gojo says.

“I’m not gonna have a gun around! I don’t have a lock box and-”

“There’s the safety, and you can put it right under your pillow, just for tonight. Tomorrow I can protect you.” Sukuna says softly, putting the cool metal in your hands, dainty and shimmering. “It’s not a big gun, it’s tiny, just a little ‘22, enough that it’ll fuck em up, but barely any kick back. And easy to keep on you.”

“I don’t know…”

“Look, doll, ya need to start carrying, with that ex of yours? Trust us.” Toji says, you sigh then, nodding and taking the gun carefully, hand trembling just a bit.

“Safety is here, trigger here, it’s loaded so don’t play with it. Okay?” You nod now, and pops a little holster around your hips, securing it and covering it with your hoodie.

“I don’t have a permit-”

“Baby we run coke and are in the mob, you think that matters?” You look down and they all chuckle again at you. “You’re cute.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, I should go home though, I need to clean up and… be with my kid.”

“I’ll walk you out.” You wave to the other men now, as you feel the weight of his gun, though light, the mental weight of it is heavy on you, as you look up at him and a car pulls up.

“Only go straight home, already got someone parked, red mercedes, any other car lurking you call me, okay?” You nod then, leaning up and kissing him softly, sighing against his lips.

“I think I really love you.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, pulling you against him now, hands warm even over the layer of your fleece hoodie. “Do I gotta baby proof my house for the kid, or can he keep his hands off my coke?”

“Oh god, Sukuna!” He’s chuckling more now, earning your narrowed eyes. “Yes I need it somewhat put up, certain things, but he’s three, not an infant, so he’s good with most things. Are you really sure this won’t be a big imposition?”

“I’m sure it’ll annoy the fuck out of me, but it’s worth it if you’re safe.” You melt now, the breeze softly blowing his pastel hair around as you look up at him in the night.

“You’re gonna meet the kid, hmm? So soon?” You tease, he smirks.

“Already clearly met the ex.”

“Oh!” You shove at him playfully, for a moment you can let go, this horrible night, a night where your ex said and did terrible things, and threatened worse, because with Sukuna you just feel safe.

“The kid, he looks like you…”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Sukuna’s mind flits, to wild things he shouldn’t think about yet, like if he puts a baby in you, but he tries to shove it back, down with the pesky I love you, that doesn’t need to come out yet.

In just a couple of weeks you’re turning his entire life upside down, but he’s not sure he’s upset about it, really.

“He’ll love you, don’t worry.”

“I’m not.” He is.

“Well, good night Kuna.”

“Dumb nickname.” He grumbles, kissing you again, soft and sweet, and your eyes meet, seeing so much behind them, the worry and fear and… more. “Call me when you get home, lock up good. Keep the gun close, yeah?”

“Yes, Sir.” You giggle when he moans at that, hands on your hips, pressing you close against his hard body.

“Keep talking shit. I have that room soundproof you know.”

“Freaky ass.” He snorts, and you both kiss once more, as he leans over the car door, opening his mouth as if to say something, then sighing.

“Don’t forget to call me.”

“I won’t.” His heart aches when you drive off, he quickly walks back in however, his entire demeanor shifting when he sees the other men are serious now too, now that they don’t have to try to keep it a little more positive for you.

“He fucked up big time coming here.” Toji slicks back his inky locks, downing another shot of tequila, as Satoru’s hands clutch the bar so hard his thin veins are popping from his hands and wrists.

“He’s gonna come back with more people, we need to amp up, call in some of the guys to be on watch. God this shit is boring.” Gojo sighs now, leaning his snowy head back and looking up at the ceiling. “Tired of the Zenin.”

“They’re becoming more and more of a problem, no respect.” Sukuna takes a bottle of whiskey, pouring it into his glass now, jaw clenching. “And that Naoya, the things he fucking said.”

“Love is the biggest weakness, Sukuna.” Satoru murmurs, Sukuna glares at him, but he’s right.

You’re now his weakness, a target, long standing shit mixing with Naoya’s clear need to get you back, it spells disaster. “Did I say I’m in love, Gojo?”

“Written all over your face.” Suguru smirks a bit, earning Sukuna’s glare.

“And her kid, you’re like gonna be a stepdad. God, imagine Ryomen Sukuna as your step dad?” Satoru’s cackling, and Sukuna stands now, stepping up to him as he holds his hands out. “I don’t blame you!? I’d do it too, look at her-”

“I think I need more blood on my knuckles tonight.” Sukuna yanks Satoru by the collar, his arms flailing.

“Shit, sorry step dad-”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Separate you two, god.” Suguru shoves them apart, shaking his head. “Satoru, you really just enjoy being threatened I think.”

“You do love her.” Satoru gets released, brushing himself off as Sukuna grumbles.

“I’ll never let him touch her again, whatever I gotta do.”

When you’re snug in your bed after a shower, you yawn, calling Sukuna, who is riding back home. “Hey, Kuna.”

“Brat, are you all good?” He tries to hide the worry in his voice, but it comes out through the phone, as you turn on your back, blinking a bit, hand clutching tightly.

“I’m okay, I promise. Scared for Touma. I don’t know, would he hurt him?”

“He’d hurt you, and that leaves him with no mom. So it doesn't matter if he’d hurt him or not.” You bite your lip then, feeling exhaustion starting to seep in.

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Tch.”

“Answer me, you brat.”

“Me a brat!?” He laughs now, and you giggle. “You’re asking for it.”

“Am I? Gonna punish me?” Your words are just a whisper, but hearing his sigh even through the phone makes your tummy clench.

“Hah- you’d like it too much, won’t you, me beating that bouncy ass?”

“Shush. I’m sore, you know.”

“Gotta work on the stamina, pathetic.”

“Hmm.” You’re dozing now, lashes are lowering, and he soon hears a light little snore, glaring at the phone.

“You’re sleeping?” He hears more snoring now, chuckling and leaning back in the seat, shutting his eyes for a moment, picturing you.

You’re making him so sappy, god it’s annoying.

“Night then, brat.” He murmurs, hearing you stir then.

“Night Kuna.” He hates the stupid smile on his face, hates the heat spreading from his cheeks to even the tips of his ears, hanging up the phone with a sigh, mind swirling.

Images of you, images of Naoya with his broken fucking nose, then more and more thoughts swirling, especially one-

How is he going to baby proof his damn penthouse?

A/N- there's a LOT of plot here vs just smut, but I really wanna get into just how awful the Zenin are in this mafia world, esp Naoya. NEXT CHAP we get Kuna meeting Touma OMG. Also I included a lot of Satoru bc he's getting his spin off hehe. Hope you enjoyed, tysm for the love so far on this lil fic!

Taglist #1 @naammiii @naina326 @1worm1 @yenayaps @shokosbunny @sukubusss @msniks @kittyyyyykats @nyxly1412 @trashsuarecan @dumbbunny98 @monster-effer @tojis-ball-sack @tangsakura @friesnkwtchup @uhnosav @lhhlver @attackonnat @moonchhu @mat-mat-mat @cherryjain17 @havkjhdecs @stargirl-mayaa @waterfal-ling @the-dark-creature @lulunx @saitamaswifey @spacefae-x @deitysdream @sorahatake @gojoscumslut @stainednailpolishremover @kidd3ath @clp-84 @rinkomei @catastayy @oneirataxiaa @inthedarkshadows000 @travistheaussie @cold-blooded-girls @emi311 @blublublubby @fluttershyfangs @actuallynarii @7thsthings @ilovemeni @erluu @for-hearthand-home @angellliqua

[greenglowinspooks]

Hey. Shakes you by the shoulders. DCxDP where Eobard Thawne is Danny’s cool distant “uncle” that he never sees but always sends in the coolest gifts for the holidays.

~

Danny had grown used to seeing people injured at a surprisingly young age.

He wasn’t injured on the regular, or witness to some sort of extraordinary amount of violence; his parents’ lab was just… very volatile, and they were unprofessionally lax on safety measures on the best of days.

As such, when he saw an unconscious, incredibly injured man wearing some sort of superhero suit in their backyard in the early hours of the morning (he had gotten up to get a glass of water when he heard a thump outside), he didn’t panic, as any young child should have in his situation.

No. Instead, Danny dragged the man inside (with considerable difficulty; despite how thin he was, he was heavy), treated his wounds as best he could (it’s difficult for a child younger than 10 to do stitches, you understand), put a blanket over the man, and went back to bed.

After losing a fight to the Flash and passing out in a random suburban lawn, the last thing Eobard was expecting to wake up to was a small child sitting on the floor in front of him, noisily eating a bowl of cereal.

(He had thought, maybe he would have been found by the Flash and brought to some Justice League holding cell. Or, found by a civilian, and brought to the police. Perhaps, in his feverish state, he had remembered the prison he ended up in from his time, with their brands and chemicals and torturous therapies.)

For some unknown reason, this child had found him, not recognized him as the monster he is (perhaps due to the boy’s age), and helped him—even if his healing factor would have fixed him eventually, having all his parts in the right order certainly sped up the process.

Usually he wouldn’t care for civilians. He’d killed enough that he’d lost count what felt like an eternity ago—and yet, somehow, he felt indebted to this boy. This boy, who had helped him so selflessly, who was so entirely clueless to the evil right in front of him.

This boy, who was all alone in an empty house, whose sister was away, whose parents had gone on a trip and left him behind.

(It didn’t matter the explanation the boy gave for it, Eobard’s mind whispered to itself regardless. Kin. Like calling to like.)

And so, he worked hard to free himself from this debt he had incurred.

He traveled through time, working his way into the family whilst posing as a distant relative. It was remarkably easy; the Fentons didn’t have an incredible memory of their relatives; all he had to do was forge a few papers and mention a few people and he was now “Uncle Eo”.

It was, however, taxing on the mind. These people were absurdly friendly, not to mention talkative. The effort had become a multi-year operation, popping in every now and then for large family gatherings and home visits.

It felt… nice, to be wanted for once. To be noticed in his absence for more than just his status.

To be liked.

He made sure to send the boy a gift on the right holidays, as well as on his birthdays. With his skillset, it wasn’t too difficult to follow him around and see what he liked and wanted. It also wasn’t difficult to spy in when he opened them, to ensure that he had done an acceptable job.

Of course, he couldn’t let this sort of thing cut into his time spent fighting the Flash, so he wasn’t too present. The last thing he wanted was to drag trouble into the boy’s life from his presence.

But then, it happened.

He found out that this boy, and the one known in his time as Phantom, were one and the same.

It was, as a historian, thrilling.

It was, as a villain, horrifying.

In all his travels, he had never intended to involve himself with that mysterious being which shadowed the Justice League. That ghost with the power, in some timelines, to bring about the end of all things.

Of course, he was also capable of doing that, but it isn’t exactly fun to meet someone who’s powers are a match for your own.

Especially if you couldn’t find it in yourself to end him, should he make himself your enemy.

Still, he had a debt to repay, and a boy to look after.

He delivered things to the boy’s room to help him; tactical gloves, a lightweight protective suit, weapons and equipment. All uncredited, since the boy seemed to value the idea of a secret identity.

He took it upon himself to shift the odds in his favor a few times, even; making faster-than-light adjustments to the boy and his combatants during fights to shift the odds in his favor.

Somewhere along the years, he had formed some sort of odd affection for the boy, if he was capable of doing so at all.

And so, when that ghost-boy sought his Uncle Eo out all the way in Central City, carved open and scarred, a distant look in his eyes, he took him in without a second thought.

He would protect this boy, who once had protected him.

[wearysparrows]

Twice the Sun Rises

ao3/masterlist

Summary: Caleb stands you up for dinner for unknown reasons. You make your way to a club in Skyhaven, and he intercepts your time with a stranger. Back at his apartment, you tell him the truth of your feelings.

cw (18+): female reader, reader is mc, Cock Warming, pnv sex, Creampie, Jealousy, Alcohol usage, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Pseudo-Incest, mentions of eating disorders, Mentions of Suicide, Pet Names, Happy Ending, Not Beta Read 6.5K\

Caleb was late.

You had agreed to meet at a restaurant in Skyhaven. He was pulling another late night, and planned to come straight from his duties as the Colonel to meet with you. Your relationship had remained tumultuous at best, but he had been making every effort to reconcile with you in the only ways he knew how. The same ways he had reconciled with you as a child. You checked your phone for the umpteenth time that night. No new texts from Caleb. It was nearly forty-five minutes past the time you had agreed to meet. Even with the ways he had changed, and in some sense, the things you were unable to recognize – you knew this wasn’t like him. He was always cordial. Usually, replies to your texts came almost instantly, and your phone calls were answered within two rings. Still, doubt dug dirty little claws into the corners of your mind. Maybe he didn’t want to see you. Maybe he was hung up with someone else. Even as the Colonel, he was still handsome, successful. It wasn’t impossible. You knew very little of Caleb’s private life, despite his assertion that he was an open book. The past was certainly open – but the state of the future remained continually uncertain. 

  You had picked somewhere mid-scale, hidden away in a corner of Skyhaven that wouldn’t draw too much attention. Despite Caleb’s insistence that all would be well, the idea of being seen with him while he was the Colonel seemed, in your mind, to bode poorly for both of you. You tapped your finger anxiously on the table. The unused silverware reflected your frowning face back at you. You cast your gaze from it. You had yet to order, and the waiter was flitting about nervously in your periphery – clearly wanting to clear the section of you to make room for patrons who were actually paying. Considering Caleb had chosen tonight to be otherwise occupied, who were you to deny the waiter his paycheck? With a barely constrained sigh, you lifted yourself from the booth and quietly slipped from the dark warmth of the restaurant back into the street, the door finalizing your leave with a soft bell behind you. 

Now what?

You were in Skyhaven, and it was late. The air had taken on a new lightness of chill that it hadn’t had when you had first arrived. You should have brought a jacket. It wasn’t as if you could just take the next train back to Linkon and disappear quietly in your sheets to accept the truth of your abandonment. You could go to Caleb’s apartment, (he had given you the master key, after all) but that idea seemed even less enticing, considering the logistics of your current situation. You needed a middle ground to wait it out, until Caleb deigned to grace you with his presence. You looked up at the night sky. Not a star was visible for the density of the light pollution, blocked out even further by the towering black skyscrapers. Without the permanent residents of the sky to guide your way, you suddenly felt lonely. Afraid. 

Perhaps Caleb’s return from the other side of death was all just a fantasy you had dreamed in your delirium, and you had brought yourself here to meet the illusion of your brother for a date. How could you have laid a body down when you hadn’t even been able to hold his ghost in your arms one final time?  The world outside seemed to reflect your uncertainty. Lights around you blurred, and your body, ever the machine that you had pushed to its utmost limits, picked a direction that seemed productive to head in. You let your legs carry you past all manner of buildings, seeing nothing, brushing against other goers of the night, who looked at you with a mix of concern and confusion clear on their faces. The attention did nothing to help your state. You needed to hide. From them, from yourself. From your brother’s ghost.

You picked an establishment at random, one that seemed like you could disappear into a crowd, in the back of the bar, and let the pulse of sounds drown the spectre of Caleb back into the world of infinite shadow where it belonged. A sign outside glowed faintly yellow. The Golden Fleece, it read.

  There was virtually no line. The bouncer let you in wordlessly after you produced your ID. You slipped inside, and were immediately integrated into a throng of pulsating bodies in various degrees of undress. The smell was that of the sweat of the night, permeated by the heat of alcohol. Music with a deep, rhythmic bass welcomed you with a fervent undercurrent of antagonism, and you felt as if it met your heartbeat in time. Your blood coursed with the melody, and you were accepted further and further into the writhing mass of limbs. Your breath still hadn’t found you completely, and you searched for somewhere to lean – to rest. A wall. You pushed your way through until you found it, and leaned your back against it, blessedly. It was cold through the back of your dress. How long had it been since you had worn something besides your uniform? You regretted leaving its comfort behind in the name of trying to look nice for Caleb.

Caleb.

You studied the floor, focusing on the rhythm of the music instead of the impossible race your own thoughts were attempting to conduct. Something out of time, disjointed. Strange and staccato around the forbidden shape of your brother’s name.

Your brother. The one you had come here to escape the thought of. 

Providentially, a distraction in the form of a man appeared. Your first impression of him was a pair of monk-strap shoes that seemed a little too nice for this fine establishment, even if the club was, to your eye, upscale. Your eyes drifted up and up. He was tall – not Caleb tall, but enough. He had a bright face, with pretty golden curls, like Apollo, and blue eyes full of white light. Nothing like the dark hair and deep lilacs of your brother, but enough. He had straight teeth, too. He didn’t have a crooked tooth. Not like Caleb.

It would have to be enough.

He was leaning down to talk into your ear, over the sounds of the music, asking you if you wanted a drink in a deep voice with an accent you couldn’t place. Not the fond, boyish sound your brother had retained, despite growing up into such a big man. You agreed, and let him order you one – no, two drinks from the bar. Somehow, he had led you by the hand to the stools and sat you next to him. You sipped the drinks interchangeably. Both were too sweet. Not the sour tastes Caleb liked. Hawthorn, lemon. You could almost taste them on his breath when his face would come close.

Your new companion was surprisingly pleasant – a strangely stark contrast to the dark of the club, with his halo of curls and pale skin. You found yourself warming to him unexpectedly, despite the dullness of his conversation. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the shade that nipped at your heels, the one that left footprints in the shape of your brother’s behind it. The man’s hand covered yours on the bar, and you let it. His right hand was warm. Not like Caleb’s. Not like the one he had lost. When you resonated with him, you could feel the undercurrent of its cold, persistent ache. The pain was always there. A constant reminder of how he perceived himself. No longer whole. A tool. A body to be used. Not your brother. Not a man. A weapon.

Your right arm throbbed.

“Hey, are you alright?”

The deep, concerned drawl of the man whose hand you were holding snapped you out of the vestiges of Caleb’s feelings, the lingering webs of him. You shook your head apologetically. 

“Sorry, yeah. Got a lot on my mind.”

The man nodded empathetically, as if he could understand what you were going through. He tapped the top of your hand.

“Dancing with me might help you forget about it. At least for a while.”

In any other moment, your first instinct would have been to deny him. But your brother was dead. You were a few drinks in. No one was coming for you. You wouldn’t forget. Ever.

What was one little dance in the grand scheme of fuck-all?

So you nodded your assent, and let the man with the pretty curls lead you by the hand onto the dance floor. They bounced as he walked, like a cherub. You still didn’t even know his name, though he had probably told you. It didn’t matter. He made his way behind you, and his hands were warm on your hips as you leaned back against him. When you weren’t looking, you could imagine it was Caleb. Almost.

Even if one hand was too warm. Even if he smelled wrong. You danced for a time, leaning back into the wrong body. Trying to be one with the music. The man’s face was by your ear, and he started to say the beginning of a word, but he stopped short, and stilled. You looked up from where you had been watching the moving feet of the people around you. Some had begun to stop, to part. There was a tittering of proverbial feathers, an undercurrent of fear. People parted as a dark sea. A tall pair of boots came into your vision, then the large body of man in a black uniform, heavily decorated. A cap with a golden crest sat atop his head. Dark hair framed his brow, and amethyst eyes burned from within his skull. He came towards you with rhythmic footsteps, in time with the music that pounded in your ears, those of a trained soldier, the same hypnotic rhythm as he had counted for you as a child as you jumped rope. 

One, two, three, four…

The echo of the beat of your heart.

The man's hands were still on your hips. You no longer wanted them to be. Looking at Caleb, you weren’t sure you ever had. The man spoke, concern palpable in his tone. His hands left your sides, then. He stepped back from behind you, anxiety leaking into his tone. He rubbed a hand up your arm, probably hoping to be reassuring. 

“Do you know this guy? Why is he..?”

You heard the unspoken words in his ask. Caleb was an impossible figure, one that rose from the dead and imposed his presence. Returned to the clouds without you. Even if other people didn’t know him, they sensed him. Something different. Something powerful. Words slipped out of your mouth. The only ones you had. A dead man walking was standing before you. A man who had died as your brother, and come back as someone you didn’t recognize.

“Don’t worry. He’s my big brother.”

You heard the strange relief in your own tone, and it surprised even you. 

“Your brother? Not your boyfriend?”

You shook your head. How could you even begin to define Caleb? You couldn’t grasp him any more than you could tug his phantom from your memories of sunshine. 

The man seemed to dissolve back into the crowd, compelled by some force. Perhaps Caleb’s energy – perhaps his evol. Perhaps he could sense it was best to leave. It was impossible to say. His removal was wordless, calculated, painless. Caleb’s face was completely still. He was frightening, like this. A man who had once leaked liquid sunshine from all of his cracks, now the tall blackness of an obelisk. But even in all his terror, he was alive. Standing before you. Except there was something there, in the face of death. Walking with a little smile, hopeless, fond. A touch of an upturned lip. The surroundings seem to wash away. Caleb was stepping towards you, closer, closer, until he was leaning down to speak into your ear. His tone was strangely forlorn. Almost fond. It didn’t match that dead face.

“It’s been a while since you called me your big brother.”

I’m not your brother.

An echo of his own words. Of course it had been a while. He was dead. And then he wasn’t. He wasn’t your brother. He wasn’t dead. He left you behind. When he went to college. When he died. When he was no longer your brother. When he stood you up. You were always looking at his back.

Except now, when he was looking down into your face. He wrapped his fingers around your wrists, and used his back to part the people around you – leading you, walking backwards while looking at you. His face betrayed no anxiety, but his grip was so tight that it bordered on pain. He was wearing those leather gloves, so you couldn’t feel his skin. He guided you back to the wall you had been leaning on when this all began, and swiftly pressed you against it, rotating you with a grip on your hips to do so. He took up all of your vision, leaving you unable to see anything save for his face and chest. The other patrons of the club disappeared, leaving just you and him. Looking into the flint of his lilac eyes reminded you of just why you had ended up here in the first place, in the arms of someone who felt just vaguely Caleb shaped when he was holding you from behind. Your anger rose like black bile in your throat. You had been avoiding meeting him in person, despite his willingness to text and call. You always had an excuse. Another mission. You needed to protect Rafayel. Sylus commandeered your expertise for some clandestine event in the N109. Finally, though, you had relented. Agreed to meet up. Used a day off where you could have been in the sheets of your own bed to meet up with Caleb. Overcome your fear of touching someone who still had grave dirt on his back.

And he had blown you off.

Maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe he had forgotten. Maybe he had realized you weren’t the same person you were growing up. Figured out you weren’t willing to be his little shadow anymore. Not a creature he could clip the wings of and keep in a cage. You had a gravitational pull of your own. New orbiters. A different life. 

It was better that he didn’t care. It really, really was.

So he didn’t need to see your anger. It wasn’t a privilege that was afforded to him anymore. Even with the blood alcohol level you were sporting, your thoughts stayed comparatively level. You looked up into his handsome face. He looked down into yours. You spoke first, over the pulse of the music. You almost had to yell into his face to be heard.

“Why are you here, Caleb? Just let me go.”

Caleb’s eyes widened a fraction. His dark brow furrowed. He made no move to let you off of the wall. You pushed on one of his arms that caged you in. Once, then again with more force. He didn’t budge. 

“You’re asking me why I’m here? I’m here to pick you up. To take you home. I was–”

You pushed on his elbow again, interrupting him. He only leaned into you further. His scent was so strong. Honey, amber. Wheatgrass. Apple peel. 

You raised your voice, just a touch.

“My home is in Linkon. You made it clear you didn’t want to see me. So just let me go.”

His hand held the back of your neck, trying to guide you to look into his face.

“Baby, look at me. Please hear me out. Please.”

Hearing him plead so earnestly, so sweetly, did make you look at him, despite yourself. You saw the tension of his body. The sweat that beaded along his hairline. There was a dark spot on his collar, on his otherwise crisp uniform. Suspiciously red. Your anger was forgotten, if only for a moment.

“Is that blood?”

Your hands spread on his chest, underneath his uniform jacket, almost of their own accord. He was slightly damp from his sweat. He leaned into your touch.

“Not mine,” he breathed into your ear. His voice barely concealed his want.

You wanted to push him away. To pull him closer.

You swallowed. He continued.

“I was on my way to see you, but I got a call from the fleet. There was…an incident. One the Colonel couldn’t ignore. I couldn’t use my phone, princess. Not in all that commotion. All I could think about was gettin’ back to you. I came straight here, as soon as I could. As soon as it was over. I’m really sorry.”

A few things became clear to you, at that moment. The first was that whatever incident had occurred, Caleb was under order not to discuss it with anyone. Secondly, Caleb had likely ended multiple lives before stepping into the club. Thirdly, he had referred to himself as the Colonel, like it was a skin suit he put on and wore. A third person. Not himself. The Colonel killed. Caleb – your brother– came to pick you up, still wearing that skin. Lastly, Caleb somehow knew your location, despite you long since having removed the bracelet he had put on you to keep track of your whereabouts. His hands had moved from caging you against the wall to running up your stomach, your sides, your arms. Before you could respond, he was nosing your neck again, speaking.  His voice, sweet with his apology not moments before, had taken on a harder edge.

“You smell like someone else. You were with someone else when I came.”

It wasn’t a question. He hadn’t even given you a chance to get a word in edgewise to accept or deny his explanation, his apology, before moving on to what you had been doing while he was enacting whatever nonsensical violence the fleet required of him. Your anger had begun to dull into flat resignation. 

“Yeah, well, while you were taking care of your incident, someone else was taking care of me. So there’s no need to worry. Apology accepted. Now let me go, so I can fuck off back home and you won’t have to deal with me again.”

You saw real hurt flash in Caleb’s eyes, just as a strobe light illuminated his face. Then, it cooled into a smile with warmth that didn’t reach elsewhere.

“Takin’ care of you? There’s no one else that could take care of you like I do. Even if there was,”

Caleb made a motion next to his head, miming a gun with two fingers. His thumb pulled the trigger, and his head recoiled in a mock suicide. His smile had a sort of frenzied panic to it. It reminded you of when he had offered to build you a garden, to rebuild your little house in Linkon. A maze.

“I’d just make them go away. And it’ll only be us. Just like always.” 

His voice, though he almost had to yell, was chipper. Your eyes drifted to the blood on Caleb’s shirt. 

Your right arm ached.

“Caleb–”

But he wasn’t listening. Caleb hoisted you into his arms effortlessly, and any struggle you could put up was subdued by the force of his evol pinning you close to his chest. Your face was just next to his collar, next to that blood stain. You smelled the iron of it. Of someone else's blood on him. The hand that was hooked under your knees made a motion, and an eerie slowness fell over the club. People still moved, but it was as if someone had taken frames from them – like they were photographs spliced together to create the illusion of movement. The music slowed strangely, too, a low hum instead of a pumping bass, like a sound out of Hell. Caleb carried you, stalking through the mass of slowed bodies. He looked down into your face. You saw the fondness of your big brother in his eyes as he spoke, and you were as a child again in his arms.

“I’m going to take you home. You’re going to wash up, and I’m going to cook you dinner. You’re going to eat, and then I’ll put you to bed. Okay, princess?”

What could you do but nod when he was like this? Your body felt exhausted from the weight of his evol, from the weight of his possession. You leaned your head against his chest, and inhaled his lovely scent, clutching at his uniform. He took you from the club and into the cool of the night, where his car was parked in the street. You squirmed upon seeing it, and Caleb chuckled, his evol opening the passenger side door. 

“I hate this fucking car,” you complained. 

As if he could do anything about it right now.

He deposited you in the passenger’s seat. His big hands took their time putting your seatbelt on. He lingered over your hip, just barely brushing your ass, and adjusted the strap over your breasts. A touch that was barely there. Your body was too warm. The alcohol. His touch. You wanted him to take the softest parts of you into his hands. Instead, he pulled away, and answered your complaint with soft placation.

“I know, baby. Be a good girl and bear with it for now.”

He pulled away, and offered you a little smile before shutting you in. He came around the driver’s side, and got in next to you. The vehicle roared to life under his touch. You turned towards him, adjusting your body. You put your elbow on the console, resting your weight on it. Even now, you found yourself falling into the familiar rapport of your banter.

“And what if I wasn’t good? Are you going to punish me?”

You echoed his own words back at him. Caleb’s expression was unreadable, but his gloved fingers brushed delicately over your forearm as he guided the car onto the darkness of the street.

“Do you want me to punish you?”

Caleb’s fingers retracted back to the wheel. His voice was so soft compared to the tone he had used in the nightclub. More delicate than even his touch.

“Or do you feel like you need to be punished? Like you deserve it? The way you punish yourself?”

You stared at him, agog.  His eyes, face, hands – all were quiet. You snorted, indignant. Heated words tumbled out of your mouth.

“That’s rich, coming from you. As if you don’t punish yourself in every aspect – even your meals are punishments, Caleb. I’ve seen the way you eat, the way you push your body. I know you. Maybe I’m your punishment, too.”

Caleb chuckled, a little exhale of breath. He shook his head. The fingers of his gloved right hand slipped into yours. A passing streetlight illuminated his face brilliantly, just for the briefest moment.

“What sin did I commit to earn such a perfect little punishment like you? If that’s what you are, I was born to be punished.”

Caleb had insisted on carrying you from the car into his apartment. You no longer had the energy to deny his insistence, so you let him. You clung to his front, one of his hands securely under your ass, the other around your back. You buried your face in his shoulder. The decorations on his uniform dug into the places where your skin was bare, like proof of violences committed, embedded into your skin. You pressed closer to him as he walked, and heard him inhale, almost imperceptibly, as you tightened your hold. Rather than let you go, Caleb’s evol retrieved his key, and unlocked his door. He carried you in, and shut the door behind him with a kick of his boot. You clung to him tighter.

He was going to put you down, but you didn’t want him to. You wanted to crawl inside that stupid uniform, to be the Colonel. To be Caleb. To be your brother. To be him. 

He smelled so, so good.

But he didn’t put you down. He carried you into the living room, and deposited your combined bodies onto the couch. You naturally came to straddle him. You felt his chest move with a laugh. The ornaments that hung from his ribbons clinked with the movement.

“You’re like a little vine, clingin’ to me. We can stay like this, but you’d feel better if you changed out of your shoes ‘n dress, angel. You need to eat, too.”

You peeled yourself from his chest to look into his face. His hat cast a dark shadow over his eyes. You removed it for him, wanting him to be in the light. His face became a little more familiar. A little more Caleb. You set the cap aside on the couch. Caleb made no move to stop you. He merely tilted his head with a smile. His hair was a little damp with sweat.

“And what about you? You’re still in full uniform. Aren’t you hot? Uncomfortable? You’re still wearing your boots. You need to eat, too. Shower. Rest.”

Caleb twirled some of your hair between his fingers thoughtfully. He was still wearing those damnable gloves, like an intentional barrier between you. The longer you sat on top of him, the harder you felt him grow underneath you.

“What happened to the little girl who demanded I help her dress and undress? To feed her? I feel a little spoiled, havin’ you ask me to take care of myself. I might get the wrong idea if you keep it up.”

You took yourself from his arms, and he squeezed you for a moment, as if reluctant to let you go. But he did release you. You stood in front of him, and bent up your knee, so that your foot was on his knee as he sat, against the white pants of his uniform. If helping you would compel him to take care of yourself, you would indulge him.

“Take off my shoes.”

Caleb’s eyes came alight as you spoke. They roved over your leg, down to your foot on his knee. He could have looked directly up your dress, had he wanted. You wanted. But he didn’t. Instead, he trained his eye on your foot, and his hands began working the straps open, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. He slid the shoe from your foot, lifting it by your heel. 

“Even your feet are pretty,” he murmured, seemingly talking to himself more than to you. He lifted your foot further, and pressed a kiss to the inside of your ankle, before letting it down delicately. He held his hands out expectantly for your other foot, and you put it in them. He repeated the same routine. Your shoes were set aside. His compliance and the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream had put you into a playful mood.  Any thoughts of eating or resting left you. You knew Caleb.

I’ll always play with you. Always.

 You stalked away from him, out of the living room and into the kitchen. He stood and followed after you obediently, the smile still on his face. You heard the sound of his dog tags clink as he got up, even underneath his uniform. His footsteps were assured, confident. 

“Playin’ tag with me, pretty girl?”

You leaned your stomach and face against the counter of his kitchen island. It was pleasantly cool on your too-hot skin.

“Not tag. Just wanted a change of scenery.”

Caleb hummed thoughtfully. He came to stand behind you. Hovering. You had a bizarre sensation, like for a fleeting moment, you were him. Seeing yourself through his eyes. Feeling his want. Your arm ached. The same feeling echoed between your legs. 

Pain as a result of desire. Desire as a result of pain.

You blinked, slowly, and it was gone.

“I like this scene.”

You peeked back at him. He rolled his right shoulder. You wondered if it was hurting him. You stayed leaning over the counter.

“Help me unzip, Caleb.”

Caleb said nothing. His hips slotted against yours. You felt his dick hard on your ass, his gloved hands making contact with the zipper of your dress. He took his time, the sound of the teeth coming apart loud in the otherwise silent apartment. The seams of his leather gloves ghosted over the skin of your back, making goosebumps crawl all the way up to your neck. You lifted your torso as he made his way to the bottom of the zipper, and the dress fell in a pool around your feet, like the shed skin of a snake. You hadn’t worn a bra under the dress, so you were left in just your panties. You leaned back down against the counter. It was too-cold on your bare stomach and breasts. You melted into it. Your body felt like a heavy liquid. Caleb leaned over you, enveloping you with the heat of his torso on your back. He supported himself with one hand by your head. 

“I should undress you, too,” You said, nearly speaking into the countertop.

“Not should. I want to.”

Caleb was quiet. The leather of his gloved fingers trailed down your sides, as if mapping them. You moved your hips back against him, and drank in the sound he made with an eagerness that surprised even yourself. You wished he would crush you up with those hands, peel off your skin, look at your insides – anything besides touching you like you would fall apart.

Why did he insist on staying clothed? The barrier began to frustrate you more and more. You pushed your hips against him again. He gripped your hips, grunting. His touch forced you to be still. He whispered, close to your ear.

“Should I let you? Earlier, you said someone else was takin’ care of you. Now, I want to take care of you. Only me. Do you want it to only be me? Is it only me?”

You knew what he was asking.

Is there someone else?

Caleb slid the last of your remaining garments from your body. They joined the corpse of your dress on the floor. You were naked, bent over the counter. You shivered. He hadn’t even removed his boots. Caleb leaned up, away from your back. You heard the sound of his zipper.

“Caleb,” you pleaded. The words he wanted to hear – you weren’t sure you had them. What did it mean for you to accept his care? To let go of being alone? To let go of the fact that he was dead?

To let go of your brother?

“Please,” you tried. You heard a shuffling of fabric, a quiet exhale.

“It’s so hard for me to say no to you. You know it, too.”

He sounded relaxed, like had sounded when he was certain he would win a game for you as kids. You pushed your thighs together, anticipating his touch. 

“But I won’t say yes, either. Not until you tell me that it’s only me, pip.”

The nickname sent an inexplicable wave of sadness washing over you. Instead of giving you what you hoped for, Caleb’s gloves caressed your thighs, your ass. You felt no shyness about being exposed to him; only that it was right. Only that you wanted more from him, like you had for a long time. His hands squeezed with less delicacy than before, spreading you open. Gripping your muscles with big, strong hands.

“I’ve wanted to see you open for me like this for so long,”

His thumbs kept you spread apart. You looked back over his shoulder. He was looking at your sex with such intensity that it made your heart want to come out of your throat.

“So perfect. My pretty girl.” 

“Caleb,” you tried. You were used to making demands of him. Maybe he would give in to you. Like always.

“I want you inside of me. Please.”

You lifted your hips, stood on your tiptoes. Caleb made a frustrated sound in his throat.

“I’ll fill you up, baby. Don’t worry. But I won’t do anythin’ more than that until you tell me what I need to hear.”

A gasp left you as you felt the head of Caleb’s cock press against you. You were so wet that you were certain he wouldn’t struggle. Even with his size. You heard him spit into his glove, then wrap it around his cock, stroking himself with the wet leather.

Caleb was sliding himself inside you, then. Stretching you apart with himself, filling you in ways that you had imagined so, so many times. He was impossibly warm, perfectly big. It was like your body already knew his shape and size. It accepted him with only the smallest of difficulties. You overflowed with him perfectly. You scrabbled at the countertop, and Caleb trapped your wrists between one of his hands.

You both breathed silently, for a time. You, through your open mouth, he through his nose. His weight was reassuring on top of you. 

“Caleb,” you breathed,

“You feel so – so good inside of me.”

Caleb’s cock twitched inside of you at your words. 

“I know, baby. It’s ‘cause I was made for you. To make you feel good.”

As if to prove his point, he shifted his hips against you harder. Not fucking you, just trying to reach deeper inside. You lifted your hips into him. He gripped you, holding you in place. You still couldn’t feel any of his skin – just his uniform and leather. You hated it. Even while he was inside you, he punished himself. He punished you. 

“Touch me. Without the gloves – just..” 

His hands caressed your sides, your ribs. Your shoulder blades.

“Tell me the truth, then. Go on. I know you can do that for me, right?” 

He fisted a hand in your hair, and pulled your head up by your neck. His teeth grazed the newly exposed skin there. You swallowed with difficulty. The angle made it harder to speak. Your voice came out cracked, but assured.

“You’re the only one. My only brother. My only man. Caleb, please. It’s – it’s just you. It could only ever be you.”

A sound of pure aggression, arousal, ripped out of Caleb’s throat. 

“That’s my good girl.” 

His gloves came off, then. They landed with ferocity on the counter next to you, thrown down. Caleb’s hands – one metal, one flesh, caressed your skin. You were still full of him, his hands stroking every inch he could reach, cold and warm at the same time. He lifted you so that your back was against his chest, cock still inside of you. One hand, the metal one, went gently around your neck. Squeezed. The other went between your legs.

“You’re gonna’ cum on my cock, okay? I’m not going to fuck you, and you’re going to cum.”

You arched into him, wanting more than just his hand. More than just his stillness inside of you. More than a punishment.

“But–”

Your hands tugged at his mechanical arm, looking for purchase. Hoping to spur him on. 

“Do as you’re told.” 

His command came at the same time that his fingers started to move against you. As he touched you, quicker and with more urgency, you felt him grow impossibly larger inside of you, twitching with every sound and movement you made. You barely had time to whisper his name before you felt yourself tighten around him, your pleasure reaching its peak with just his fingers and his closeness, after being teased for so long. Your body stiffened, and he lifted you as you came, your feet dangling just above the floor. He held you tight, so tight you could no longer breathe, if only for a moment. His hips made one singular movement – only fucking into you once, the sound wet. 

“Fuck, baby girl, I’m gonna’ come inside of you –”

You felt the heat of his spill inside of you just moments after, his dick pulsing. You fell limply back into him, and he stayed inside of you, riding it out as he held your full weight. He slipped out of you as he began to soften, and you were lifted into his arms by his evol, into a princess carry. You hardly had the energy to cling to him, your body melting into his. He pressed soft kisses to your forehead as he walked. His gait, the heavy sound of his boots – they lulled you into a state of relaxation. Neither of you seemed to have words, for that time. Nothing was needed.

He brought you into his – your – bedroom, and laid you gently on the bed. You stretched sore limbs. He was still in that fucking uniform. He turned from you, and you caught him by the sleeve.

“Don’t go.” 

Caleb smiled, stroking his hand through your damp hair. 

“I’m just gettin’ something to clean you up. Two seconds.”

“One,” you counted.

Caleb grinned, and hurried to retrieve a towel. He returned with it shortly, and wiped you down, lifting your weary arms, between your legs. You watched him through your lashes as he did so. He had tucked himself back into his boxers, but he was clearly hard again. 

“Caleb,” you threatened,

“If you don’t let me take off that uniform, I’m going to throttle you in your sleep.”

Caleb’s brows shot up, and a cheeky grin erupted over his features. He pinched your cheek between his thumb and index finger.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, pip-squeak.” 

This was your Caleb. Not the Colonel. You rolled your eyes at him, and threw your legs over the edge of the bed. You stood, naked, yet somehow invulnerable near him. He stood, too. His hands hovered around you, like he expected you to fall at any moment. Instead of falling, you went for his tie. You made quick work of the knot, and discarded it on the carpet. Then came his jacket. It fell heavily to the floor. Then his dress shirt. Then his undershirt, until was left in just his pants and boots. You knelt. 

“Pip–” he protested. He sounded strained.

You hushed him, and unzipped his boots, tugging them off of his feet. He helped you lift them off. Then came his socks. Even over the sounds of fabric and leather, you could hear the intensity of his breathing pick up. You righted yourself, and slid both his pants and boxers off in one go. He stepped out of them, not sparing them a second glance. He hugged you to him, as soon as he was naked. His cock was hard against your naked stomach. His big arms crushed you against him, like he was trying to meld you to him. His body was so warm that it was like basking in the heat of the summer sun.

“Caleb,” you said, nearly imperceptibly, into his chest.

He stroked your hair with his big palm, rough from handling a yoke.

“Yeah, baby. I’m sorry. I’m home.”

[cavegirlpoems]

one of the most freeing things you can do in ttrpgs is let go of the idea that your player characters should be/are morally good. Once you've accepted that your characters might be bad people or do bad things, the possibility space of what your characters can do opens up wide. Plus, you no longer have to contort your setting into bizarre and problematic shapes to make sure your player characters are always in the right.

a good example of this is combat. The normal approach is:

violence is what our characters will do. therefore we must make it so it is good for them to do violence. therefore their enemies must deserve it. therefore we will create a class of being for them to fight that is inherently evil and deserving of violence.

Which, needless to say, veers into extremely racist territory extremely easily.

Whereas once you no longer need player characters to be in the right, you can instead get:

violence is what our characters will do. killing people is bad, and when our characters kill people they're doing a bad thing.

which is actually a far less fucked up set of ideas to express!

like, okay, a concrete example. Right now, I'm playing in a Vampire the Masquerade game. My character, Molly, follows the Path of the Feral Heart and is in the blurry border between the Anarchs and the Sabbat. What this means in practice is that she's totally abandonned any pretences of being human and instead embraces being a monstrous predator, with no qualms about killing to survive and get what she wants, and who is essentially a Vampire Terrorist who cheerfully murders, sets bombs and massacres humans in order to destabilise the vampire government.

Molly is not a good person. She is, in fact, a terrifying monster! You aren't meant to agree with the things she does and says! And, sure, when she explains her backstory, you can see how she got like this, but that doesn't make it okay, her ending up like this is meant to be itself tragic, because in a better world she wouldn't be like this.

The story becomes more interesting because I can, in fact, play a character who does horrible things and let them be horrible. Playing a sabbat-sympathising path-follower would be entirely meaningless if the game contorted itself so nothing she did was ever actually horrific.

[connection-terminated-blog]

Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name, But I'm afraid you've been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume, although, you have indeed been called. You have all been called here, into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach, but you will never find them. None of you will. This is where your story ends. And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you, although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you. For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don't keep the devil waiting, old friend. My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours, and then, what became of you. I should have known you wouldn't be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, so let me save you now. It's time to rest - for you, and for those you have carried in your arms. This ends for all of us. End communication.

Rat orchestra band PNGs

[florencebirdsong]

Can I request jealous Agatha x fem reader? Reader and reader’s friend aren’t doing nothing even remotely romantic, Agatha is just over analyzing everything they do together and driving themselves crazy over it

Thank you so much for this request!!! I really hope you enjoy the way I wrote it <3

Staying In

Agatha Harkness x Reader

summary: when you insist on going out with a friend who is clearly into you, Agatha takes matters into her own hands

tags: red flags with hints of mutual obsession, Mistress Agatha, sub Reader, jealous Agatha, magic bondage, light impact play, overstimulation, fingering

authors note: suspend your disbelief for not having a crush on Darcy. I’ve had to as well 😔

she/her pronouns used to refer to r

ao3 | masterlist

You’ve decided that Agatha is being silly. Mainly because her being insecure feels impossible. You aren’t into Darcy. You have never been into Darcy. It’s never even crossed your mind. Something Agatha is well aware of and yet she insists that something is there. At least on Darcy’s end. Which you highly doubt since she would have said something during the decade you’ve known her.

“It doesn’t matter,” you finally snap at her. “Despite what you may believe Agatha, I am my own person. I’m going to go to a nice restaurant with my nice friend and have a nice, platonic night with her.”

Agatha’s face goes blank in a way that makes you nervous. It turning into a slow smirk has you shifting on your feet. Agatha is rarely wrong. It’s a fact that you usually enjoy. Right now it’s too hard to think of your best friend seeing things differently to accept it. Plus, the fact that you have zero interest in Darcy and Agatha has made her claim very clear should defuse things. And yet.

“It’s not what you think, Agatha,” you insist.

“Of course, dear,” she says with that same deadly look and you swallow harshly.

You have to look away otherwise that traitorous warmth inside you is going to take over your rational brain. It’s not fair that she still has such a strong effect on you when you’re frustrated with her.

“I think I’ll retire to my lab for the night,” she says, already turning. You enjoy your nice night.”

You fight the urge to follow her and instead watch her go quietly. That had been a little too easy, especially with your earlier claim. You’re both well aware of how deeply Agatha owns you.

You only debate with yourself for a moment before moving to get ready. Your and Darcy’s schedules haven’t lined up enough for a proper meal for weeks. You’re both busy enough it’s likely to take even longer for them to line up again. You can survive one night of Agatha’s wrath.

—————-

Every other item you try to use disappears. It starts out subtle. Some things not being where you thought you left them, others being in odd but not impossible spots. It escalates until your perfume disappears right out of your hand.

“Agatha!” you finally shout in frustration.

Of course, you don’t get an answer. She’s three floors away. Not that it stops her from watching you but she so does love plausible deniability.

You’re about to rummage through her own drawers (more to make a mess than anything) when her personal perfume bottle appears in a little puff of purple smoke right in front of you. You huff a laugh. Of course.

You don’t try and refuse it. Or deny how much you want it. Every bit of Agatha entices you. Her scent is no different. Even if the perfume doesn’t quite contain every hint of her, it’s enough of a reward for her to use it against you often.

It’s hard to concentrate with her scent surrounding you but it’s something you have to contend with every time you’re around her. You have enough practice to still complete your goal, just not without thinking about her every time you take a breath.

Since Agatha has yet to bind you to the bed, you believe you’re consequence free, at least until you return home. Then you reach the door. The handle turns but the door doesn’t open. You try to flick the lock but it doesn’t move. Frowning, you try to tug it free but it’s too small to get a good grip. It jiggles a little but remains stuck. It’s weird and annoying but nothing Agatha can’t fix. Later. It’s not the best idea to go down to her lair while you still want to leave.

A thought crosses your mind but you don’t genuinely believe it until the back door does the same thing. She really has locked you in. You prefer it when she throws you into bed and traps you there. Huffing, you wonder if it would be too crazy to go out the window. It feels too crazy, and a bit silly. You aren’t a teenager anymore and this is technically also your house.

Instead of creeping out of a window, you creep down the stairs to her basement. While the house may equally be yours, Agatha’s lair is entirely her own. It’s a dangerous place for anyone that isn’t Agatha.

She’s standing at one of her benches, going between a book and some vaguely-witchy item in her hand. You risk a few steps inside.

“You locked the door.”

“Did I?” Agatha asks neutrally, not bothering to look up from what she is working on.

“I could be wrong,” you shrug casually. “If I am then you’ll have no problem forcing it open.”

“I’m very busy, dear.”

“It’s very convenient for both doors to be stuck on the night you don’t want me to go out.”

Agatha finally turns around. “Careful,” she says in a low voice.

You swallow hard. It’s not a smart idea to push her but you’re annoyed enough to do it anyway.

“I guess I’ll just go out the window,” you jut your chin out.

Her eyes darken but she doesn’t move. You know she’s waiting to see if you actually try or if you’re bluffing. It pisses you off enough to turn around. You get two steps before your arms are jerked behind your back and purple lifts you off the ground.

“Agatha!” you yell more in surprise than anything else.

“I did say to be careful.” She tilts her wrist and you fly towards her. “Look at you, all dressed up for her.”

“I’m not,” you snap.

What you’re wearing is nicer than usual but it’s hardly your dressiest outfit. You’re going to a higher end restaurant than the usual casual lunches you do with Darcy.

Agatha flicks her wrist and you whimper at the pain that lashes across your thigh. Sharp enough it’s like you aren’t wearing clothes at all.

“Agatha,” you half-whine, not wanting to admit just how turned on you are.

She flicks her wrist again and you squirm in the air.

“Tell me to stop,” she says as she slowly circles you. “Tell me to stop, and mean it, and I’ll send you on your pretty little way.”

You hate when she does this. You can never refuse her attention. It’s all you think about.

Pain lances again when you don’t answer quickly enough. You debate purposely staying quiet longer to feel it again but you doubt this will be the last of your punishment for tonight.

“Stop,” your voice wavers.

Agatha strikes you again and you can feel yourself begin to drip down your thigh.

“Try again.”

“I want you to stop,” your voice comes out a little firmer this time and Agatha raises an eyebrow.

“I almost believe you,” she says, which you highly doubt. “Unfortunately, you’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“I- I want to go to dinner,” you try instead because you both know you don’t truly want Agatha to stop.

“Maybe. But you want me to fuck you more.”

You swallow harshly. There’s no denying that. “You won’t though,” you say quietly.

“Aw, is that what has my pet all upset? She thinks I won’t fuck her silly since she’s been so naughty?”

“Think?” you ask hopefully and Agatha smirks.

“Why, of course. I want my girl to stay, don’t I? Denying her isn’t going to that.”

It sounds like a trap. It feels like a trap. Agatha’s face is telling you that it is a trap and yet, that heat within you rises. With the way your games usually go, she’s probably going to fuck you. There’ll be some sort of catch, especially after you’ve denied her so much. But just the idea of her touching you when you were so certain she wouldn’t has you giving in.

“I -” you lick your dry lips. “I do want you to fuck me more.”

“Well, now you’re just stating facts,” Agatha flicks her wrist and your clothes disappear. “I suppose it’s better than lying.”

Anticipation surges through you as her eyes run over you. They snag on the red welts caused by her earlier lashes before they stray to the wetness soaking your thighs.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she coos and steps closer. “No wonder you’ve been acting out You’re too desperate to think properly.”

You don’t even contemplate protesting with her hands on you. When she looks up at you for a response you nod eagerly. Her amusement doesn’t settle the voice saying there’s a catch somewhere but her touch soothes any growing anxieties.

“I can certainly help with that,” she says and trails her fingers over the red marks as she makes her way towards your soaked core.

Her fingers lightly run through your soaked lips and you shiver. Agatha has been so annoyed about Darcy that she hasn’t touched you like this in days. You hadn’t realised how much the lack was affecting you.

“There we go,” she murmurs as she runs her fingers over your clit, making you gasp. She circles there for a moment before moving down and smoothly entering you with two fingers. “Empty that pretty little head of yours.”

Nodding, you try to spread your legs further apart but Agatha’s magic keeps you still. You wish she would let you down. Let you touch her. But it’s a miracle she’s touching you at all so you don’t risk asking.

Agatha’s pace remains slow until you’re whining with need. She’s so mean, only giving your clit a quick swipe every now and then until you’re begging incoherently.

“Are you going to behave for me now?” she finally asks with a raised eyebrow. Long past words, you nod desperately. Anything, you’d do anything for her. “Good girl,” she says gutturally and you fly over the edge.

She speeds up for the first time and you writhe in pleasure as the orgasm flows over you, the slow build to it having heightened the intensity. She doesn’t slow, even as you come back down.

“Mistress?” you gasp in confusion when she doesn’t stop.

“Don’t worry. I’m just making sure no silly thoughts linger in my pet’s head.”

You don’t protest or plead. You don’t want her hands to leave yet. It’s been too long without them. A second orgasm won’t hurt. Especially when she pays so much more attention to your clit.

As she makes firm circles around your clit, you wish once again that you could touch her. You want to feel her warmth against you and use your teeth to encourage her to fuck you faster and pull her hair when she doesn’t. Instead, you’re stuck whining in the air as she has her way with you.

Her fingers curl and hit that special spot inside of you. Your head drops forward as you moan. She does it again as she makes firmer circles around your clit and you’re coming before you even realise how close you are.

Finally, finally she lets you touch her. Her magic lowers you down and wraps your arms around her. You cling tight and whimper when her fingers curl again.

“One more,” she murmurs soothingly.

You meant to speak but what comes out is a low whine that’s quickly taken over by a moan.

This one is slow and soft. You’re sensitive enough that Agatha’s slow pace builds you up easily. You whine into her shoulder as the overwhelming feeling of coming a third time floods you.

You tend and shudder in her grasp before going entirely limp.

“There we go. You know where you belong, don’t you?” she asks.

She cradles you like you’re something precious. You nod weakly, holding onto her. There was never a question of who you belong to but you don’t mind reminding Agatha. Or, well, Agatha reminding herself.

“You mistress,” you manage to say.

“Good girl,” she says and kisses the side of your head.

You shiver again.

“So mean,” you mutter light heartedly.

Agatha gives you an amused look.

“Three was getting off lightly and you know it.”

You snort at the pun.

“Can we go lay down?” you ask after a moment. “I’ve missed you.”

The dizzying sensation of teleporting envelopes you a second later.

[peachversace]

نحن كالقمر والبحر

we are like the moon and the sea—

[ sfw ] — light angst, hurt/comfort ;

bakugou katsuki x reader

🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You don’t remember what the fight was about.

Maybe it was something stupid—probably was—but that didn’t stop it from escalating, from turning into something ugly. You remember the heat of it, the way your voice cracked from screaming, the way Katsuki’s face went red, his lips curled into a frustrated snarl. He’d been mad as hell, and so had you, and somehow it had ended with you storming off, tears burning hot trails down your face, and him pacing the kitchen, fists clenched so tight they trembled.

And now, two days later, it still lingers.

You hate fighting with him. Hate the silence even more. Because it’s not a comfortable silence, not the kind that happens when you’re curled up on the couch together, his hand resting on your thigh as you both watch some random cooking show. This silence is thick, suffocating, a wall neither of you knows how to break down.

Instead of sleeping in your shared bed, you’ve exiled yourself to the guest room on the second floor. You hate it. The sheets don’t smell like him, the mattress doesn’t have the same familiar dip where he always sleeps, and the emptiness of it all makes your chest ache. You miss him. God, you miss him. But every time you think about getting up, about walking into your bedroom and crawling into his arms, something stupid and prideful holds you back.

When you wake up early for work, he’s already gone. Out on patrol before the sun’s even risen, leaving nothing behind but the ghost of his presence in the house. The first morning, you stare at the untouched coffee pot in the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly as you reach for a mug. The second morning, you don’t even bother making coffee at all.

You avoid each other. It’s childish, and you know it, but it’s easier than trying to talk when neither of you knows how. When he’s in the living room, you stay upstairs. When you’re in the kitchen, he’s nowhere to be found. The house, once so full of warmth and laughter, feels hollow.

It takes two days before something cracks.

You’re curled up in bed, knees drawn to your chest, swallowing down the lump in your throat as fresh tears prick at your eyes. You’re exhausted. Not just from work, not just from the fight, but from missing him. From wanting him so bad it makes your chest hurt.

Then, a knock at the door.

Your breath catches. For a moment, you consider ignoring it. But then you clear your throat, trying to make yourself look less like you’ve been crying, and murmur, “Come in.”

The door creaks open slowly.

Katsuki stands there in the dim light of the hallway, scowling like he’s forcing himself to be here, but his hands are clenched at his sides, and his eyes—warm, uncertain, soft—give him away. He steps inside, awkward, shifting his weight like he’s not sure if he should be here or not.

"Hey," he mumbles.

You swallow, pulling his hoodie tighter around you, eyes darting away. “Hi.”

A tense silence lingers between you, thick with everything unsaid.

Katsuki hesitates in the doorway, shoulders tense, brows furrowed deep like he’s still pissed—but not at you, not really. More like at himself, at the whole situation, at the fact that you’re here, curled up in the guest room instead of in his bed, next to him.

His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he should.

You sniff, eyes still burning from crying, and tighten your grip on the oversized hoodie swallowing you whole—his hoodie, the one you’ve been clinging to for the past two nights because it still smells like him. You don’t want to fight. You never do. But sometimes, things just explode between the two of you—like fireworks, like his quirk, bright and loud and all-consuming.

And then comes this: the silence, the space, the ache in your chest that doesn’t go away.

“You gonna keep avoiding me forever?” Katsuki finally mutters, voice gruff.

You swallow, shifting slightly but still not looking at him. “Dunno. Maybe. Depends.”

He lets out a sharp breath, like he wants to snap but knows he shouldn’t. Instead, he moves closer, slow and careful, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed.

“This is fuckin’ stupid,” he mutters.

You nod, still curled up. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence. Then another. You want to reach for him, want to fix things, but there’s still that fragile part of you that’s afraid, that’s hurt.

Katsuki rubs a hand over his face, sighing deeply, then looks at you—really looks at you, taking in the way you’re curled in on yourself, the way your eyes are puffy, the way his hoodie is bunched in your fists like it’s the only thing holding you together.

And something in him breaks.

“Shit…” His voice is quieter now, rough in a different way, like he hates that you’ve been hurting. Like he hates that he let it get this bad.

You finally glance at him, and his gaze softens instantly, red eyes flickering with guilt. “Did you cry yourself to sleep?” he asks, and his voice is so uncharacteristically gentle that it makes your throat tighten.

You don’t answer, but the way you look away is enough.

Katsuki curses under his breath, then suddenly, his arms are around you, pulling you against him, into his chest, his grip tight like he’s making up for every second he spent not holding you.

You let out a shaky breath and bury yourself in his warmth, in the familiar scent of burnt caramel and something undeniably him. His heart is hammering against your cheek.

“I hate this shit,” he grits out, one hand pressing against the back of your head. “Hate fightin’ with you. Hate not havin’ you next to me at night. Hate you sleepin’ in this fuckin’ room like I ain’t waitin’ for you to come back upstairs.”

Your breath catches. “…You were waiting?”

Katsuki exhales harshly, resting his chin on top of your head. “’Course I was. Couldn’t sleep for shit without you.” His arms tighten. “Bed’s too goddamn cold without you in it.”

Your heart clenches, and suddenly, it feels so silly, the way you both tiptoed around each other, how stubborn you both were, how much time you wasted not just fixing things.

You take a shaky breath, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. “…I missed you.”

Katsuki lets out a rough, almost exasperated sound—like obviously. “Missed you too, dumbass.”

You sniff, finally letting yourself melt into him fully, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. “Are we okay?”

His hands cradle the back of your head and your waist, holding you tight. “Yeah, baby. We’re okay.” Then, softer, almost like a secret, “Always.”

And just like that, the tension, the ache, the distance—it all fades, replaced by the warmth of him, the security of his arms, the steady rhythm of his heart against your cheek.

Finally, finally, you breathe.

"I’m sorry," you mumble, voice thick with emotion, barely above a whisper against his shirt. You sniff, your fingers curling tighter into the fabric as you shake your head. "I don’t even remember the fight, but—"

Katsuki exhales sharply through his nose, his hand smoothing over your back in slow, steady strokes. His grip is firm, and grounding. "Don’t matter," he mutters. "S’fuckin’ stupid anyway. Just glad we’re done with it."

You nod against him, but there’s still a lump in your throat, something fragile and aching that won’t quite let go. You hate fighting with him. You hate that it got to this point, that you spent two nights apart, that you let yourself believe—even for a second—that maybe he wouldn’t come for you first.

You hate that it hurt.

"I just—" Your voice cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut. "I don’t wanna go to bed mad at you ever again."

Katsuki goes still for a moment, his breath warm against your hair. Then he tilts his head, lips brushing your temple as he murmurs, "You won’t."

His voice is steady, certain—like a vow, like a goddamn promise carved into stone.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing your face deeper into his chest, feeling the way his arms tighten around you, keeping you close. The way his hand cups the back of your head, his fingers slipping into your hair, thumb brushing against your scalp in slow, soothing circles.

For all his sharp edges, for all his fire and bite and stubbornness, Katsuki knows how to hold you. How to anchor you.

He shifts slightly, tilting his head to press a lingering kiss against your temple before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are still intense, still burning like embers—but softer now, all molten heat instead of wildfire. "Y’know I love you, right?"

Your heart clenches. "Yeah."

Katsuki studies you for a moment, then scowls—like he knows you’re still carrying something heavy in your chest. He leans down, bumping his forehead against yours, warm and firm. "Say it back, dumbass."

A watery laugh bubbles out of you, but you say it anyway, because it’s true, because it’s easy, because you love him more than anything.

"I love you, Katsuki."

He sighs, almost like relief, before his lips press against yours—not rushed, not desperate, just there, lingering, warm, and steady. Like he’s saying I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.

You kiss him back because yeah. You’ve got him too.

"'M sorry too," Katsuki mutters, once he pulls away, his voice quieter than usual, a little rough around the edges like it doesn't quite fit in his mouth.

You shake your head against his chest. "It’s fine," you say, but he makes a sound—a low, dissatisfied grunt, like he doesn’t quite believe you.

It’s not fine. Not yet. But you’re both here, trying, and that’s what matters.

Katsuki exhales through his nose, then shifts, pressing a kiss to your temple before pulling back just enough to look at you. His hands stay on you—one at the small of your back, the other curling around your wrist, warm and solid. "C’mon," he murmurs, voice softer now, steadier. "Let’s go to bed."

You nod, exhaustion settling into your bones, letting him take your hand and guide you out of the guest room. His grip is firm, sure, fingers laced with yours as he leads you upstairs.

The house is quiet, just the soft creak of the floorboards under your steps, the distant hum of the city outside. The moment you step into your shared bedroom, a sense of relief washes over you—like you can finally breathe again.

Katsuki lets go of your hand just long enough to tug back the covers, waiting for you to climb in first before sliding in beside you. The moment he’s close enough, he hooks an arm around your waist, dragging you against his chest like he needs you there.

You sigh, melting into him, the tension in your body finally easing. His warmth, his scent—the familiar mix of caramel and smoke and home—wraps around you, and for the first time in two nights, you feel right again.

There’s a beat of silence, just the sound of your steady breaths mingling in the dark, and then—

"You owe me some sex later," you murmur, voice teasing, pressing your cold toes against his shin just to be a menace.

Katsuki snorts, shaking his head before he leans down and bites your cheek—not hard, just enough to make you yelp and squirm against him.

"Brat," he grumbles, but his voice is warm, and you can hear the grin in it.

You turn in his arms, your own curling around his neck as you nuzzle closer, breathing him in. Katsuki sighs, pressing his forehead to yours, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your hip.

Neither of you says anything for a while. There’s no need to. You’re here, together, tangled up in each other, and for now—that’s enough.

نغضب، نبتعد، لكننا دومًا نعود

—we rage, we pull away, but we always return.

[4linos]

empty words pt. 2

hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

synopsis: after hyunjin leaves, you struggle with the pain of betrayal, facing the challenges of being pregnant and alone. you find strength in yourself, determined to raise the child on your own despite the heartbreak.

wc: 3179

[empty words pt. 1]

The air was thick with the weight of unanswered questions, and your mind was swirling with confusion and hurt. The test, now a distant memory hidden in the drawer, seemed irrelevant in the face of everything Hyunjin had said. Your body trembled with the aftershocks of his words, each one carving deeper into your heart. Alone. That was the word that echoed in your mind, a word you never wanted to associate with this moment.

How did it all go wrong so fast? One moment, you thought you were preparing for something beautiful, something that would bring you two closer together. The next, you were left alone in the silence, the empty room echoing your pain.

The thought of facing the future alone with this new life inside you seemed almost unbearable. You had dreamed of a shared path with Hyunjin, of building a family, of holding hands through the uncertainties and joys. But now, it felt like those dreams were slipping through your fingers, disintegrating with every passing second.

The sobs came harder, and your body shook as you held your stomach, your mind racing. You hadn’t planned for this, not like this. Not with the weight of betrayal and abandonment crushing down on you. You couldn’t help but wonder if you should have seen the signs earlier. His distance. His frustration. His sudden coldness.

But in the end, it didn't matter. The reality was now in front of you. Hyunjin had left. He was gone. And you were here, alone in a world that suddenly felt much too big to navigate by yourself.

You wiped your eyes, wiping away the tears that still streamed down your cheeks, your chest tight from the shock of what had just happened. The room around you felt colder, darker, almost as if it were closing in. Your thoughts turned to the test you had hidden in the drawer, which still carried the weight of your anxieties. It was more than just the end of your relationship; it was the start of something new, something you weren't prepared for. A life you didn't believe you could carry on your own.

But you would. You had to. For the little life inside you.

When you heard the sound of his footsteps hesitant, almost unsure you didn’t look up. You refused to. It had been four months. four months of silence, of picking up the pieces alone, of forcing yourself to believe that you’d be okay without him. And you were. At least, you were trying to be.

But hearing him now, standing in the apartment he abandoned, it was like ripping open a wound that had barely begun to heal.

You kept your focus on folding the baby clothes in front of you, smoothing over the soft fabric with shaking hands, pretending you hadn’t noticed his presence. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Hyunjin stood frozen by the door, his breath caught in his throat. He had no idea what he was expecting when he came back. Maybe he thought you’d still be the same, that time hadn’t moved forward without him. But seeing you now your face calmer, but somehow more exhausted, the way you carried yourself as if you were forcing strength into every step, and most of all, the undeniable curve of your belly he realized he had no idea who you had become in his absence.

His mouth opened, but no words came out. His eyes were fixed on you, or rather, on the life growing inside you. His child. His mind reeled, grasping for an explanation, a way to understand why you hadn’t told him. But as his gaze flickered back up to your face, the answer became painfully clear.

He had left.

You didn’t owe him anything.

And yet, he couldn’t stop the storm brewing inside him, the overwhelming mix of emotions crashing down on him all at once guilt, regret, shock.

"Are you—" His voice cracked, the first sound he’d made, but you cut him off before he could even finish.

"It doesn’t matter." Your voice was steady, sharper than he remembered. "You’re not part of this, Hyunjin."

His chest ached at the way you said his name, so distant, so indifferent. Like he was nothing more than a stranger. He took a hesitant step forward, but you didn’t flinch. You didn’t even look at him.

"You weren’t supposed to find out," you continued, folding another tiny onesie with meticulous care. "And honestly, I don’t know why you’re here, but if it’s just to satisfy your curiosity, then you can leave. Again."

Hyunjin flinched. He deserved that. He deserved worse.

"I—" He ran a shaky hand through his hair, struggling to find something anything to say that could make this even remotely better.

But what could he possibly say?

I’m sorry?

Those words felt so small, so insignificant compared to what he had done.

I didn’t know?

Of course, he didn’t. He hadn’t been around to know.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

You let out a bitter laugh, finally looking up at him. "You made yourself perfectly clear, Hyunjin. You didn’t want me. You didn’t want this.” Your hand instinctively cradled your stomach, and the sight of it made his heart clench painfully. "I wasn’t going to beg you to stay. I wasn’t going to trap you with a baby you didn’t want.”

His eyes widened in horror. "I—"

"But it doesn’t matter anymore," you cut him off again, turning away from him. "I’ve accepted it. I’m doing this alone. And I’m okay with that."

Hyunjin took another step forward, desperation creeping into his voice. "But I—"

"You should go." The words were final, dismissive.

He hesitated, every instinct in his body screaming at him to fight, to say something, to make this right. But how could he?

He had left you. Alone.

And now, standing here, watching you turn your back on him, he realized…

Maybe this time, you were the one leaving him.

You had already made peace with the fact that you were doing this alone. You had spent months picking yourself up, forcing yourself to move forward, and now, just as you were finally starting to feel like you could handle this, he had the audacity to show up. And for what? To act like he cared?

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was far from indifferent. From the moment he saw your belly, something in him snapped back into place. It seemed as if the months had not passed. He began showing up unannounced, uninvited, and way too often. Sometimes he didn't even knock. He'd just let himself in, carrying bags of snacks, drinks, and other things he knew you loved, as if he was making up for missed time with tiny gestures.

At first, you assumed it was a one-time thing. That maybe, after seeing you pregnant, he just needed to mentally process it. But eventually it became a habit.

He started helping around the house without asking. Dishes? He’d wash them before you could get to them. Laundry? He was folding your clothes like he lived there. Groceries? He stocked your fridge before you even had a chance to make a list. At first, it was… fine. But as the days passed, it became suffocating.

Because you had already learned how to do this on your own. You had already spent months figuring it out, struggling through the exhaustion and the loneliness, only to come out stronger. And now? Now he was here, suddenly deciding he wanted to help? Like you hadn’t cried yourself to sleep thinking about how much easier it would’ve been if he had just stayed in the first place?

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t thoughtful. It was annoying.

"Hyunjin, stop." You snapped one evening as he reached for the dishes in the sink.

He blinked, surprised. "What? I’m just—"

"You’re in my way." Your voice was sharp, but you didn’t care. You crossed your arms, staring at him as frustration bubbled inside you. "I don’t need you to do that. I don’t need you to do anything. I’ve been fine on my own. I’m fine on my own."

Hyunjin flinched at your words, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he let out a small sigh, his jaw tightening. "I just want to help."

"Well, I don’t need your help," you shot back. "You don’t get to walk out on me and then come back when it’s convenient for you. That’s not how this works, Hyunjin."

For the first time since he started showing up, he was silent. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. And for a moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes regret, guilt, something deeper than the usual stubbornness. But you didn’t let yourself think too much about it.

Because it was too late for him to start caring now.

Hyunjin stood there, his fingers tightening around the edge of the counter, his gaze flickering between you and the dishes in the sink. You could see the frustration in his eyes, the way he clenched his jaw like he was forcing himself to stay calm.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was quieter than before, but there was an edge to it, something raw and unfiltered. “That I don’t deserve to be here? That I don’t have the right to just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “But I want to be here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “That’s not your decision to make.”

Hyunjin let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Yeah? Then tell me to leave.”

You opened your mouth, prepared to do exactly that. Ready to tell him to go and never come back. But the words wouldn't come. Because, as much as you wanted to drive him away, as much as you despised the fact that he felt he could just come back and reinsert himself into your life, a small, bitter part of you still wanted him to stay.

And he knew it.

Hyunjin took a slow step forward, watching your reaction carefully. “I messed up,” he admitted, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I know I did. And I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But I’m here. I’m not trying to take over your lifeI just want to be in it.” His gaze flickered downward, toward your stomach. “Their life.”

Your throat tightened. “You don’t get to just decide that.”

“I know,” he said, and for the first time, there was no defensiveness in his voice. Just quiet, aching sincerity. “But I’m still going to try.”

The air between you was thick, suffocating. You didn’t know what to say what you could say. Because you had spent months trying to convince yourself you didn’t need him. That you were fine on your own. And maybe you were.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t want him.

And that was the worst part of all.

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the counter's edge as you tried to ground yourself. You felt infuriated and annoyed but there was something else underneath it all. Something that scared you.

Hope.

Hyunjin stood there, waiting, his gaze locked onto you like he was afraid that if he so much as blinked, you’d disappear. And maybe that’s why you hated this so much. Because you had spent so long trying to convince yourself that he had disappeared. That he was gone, that you were doing fine without him.

But now he was here.

And he wasn’t leaving.

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “I don’t know what you want from me, Hyunjin.” Your voice was quieter now, less sharp but just as exhausted. “You left. You broke me. And now you’re back, acting like you can just fix everything by showing up with snacks and helping me clean.”

He flinched at your words, but you didn’t stop.

“I don’t need your help,” you continued, your voice shaking slightly. “I’ve been doing just fine without you.”

Hyunjin swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I know,” he admitted. “I know you don’t need me. But I need you.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs. You stared at him, blinking rapidly, trying to process what he just said.

“I was scared,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I was an idiot. I thought leaving would be easier than facing my own fears. But I was wrong.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “Every single day, I regretted walking out that door. And now, seeing you, seeing them, I can’t just pretend like I don’t want this.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, loud and insistent. But you couldn’t just let yourself believe him. Not yet.

“You left me,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “You left when I needed you the most.”

Hyunjin took another step forward, his hands hesitating at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but knew he didn’t have the right to. “And I hate myself for it,” he murmured. “But please… let me try to make it right.”

The room felt too small, too suffocating. You turned away from him, pressing a hand to your stomach as if that could steady you. You felt his gaze on you, waiting, hoping.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you spoke.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

Hyunjin nodded, exhaling shakily. “Then I’ll prove to you that you can.”

You didn’t respond. Because part of you wanted to believe him.

And that scared you more than anything.

The silence that followed his words hung in the air like a heavy cloud. You could feel your pulse thrumming in your ears, the weight of everything the hurt, the anger, the longing crashing over you all at once. Your fingers trembled as you tried to calm yourself, but it felt like trying to hold back an ocean with your bare hands.

Hyunjin was still standing there, eyes locked on you, as if every breath he took depended on the next words you would say. You could see the desperation in his gaze, the vulnerability that had never been there before, and for a moment, you almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

But then reality hit, sharp and unrelenting. He had left you. And you had survived. You had found your strength, rebuilt your world, and you weren’t sure if you could let him back in again.

Your voice, when it finally came, was quieter than you expected. “You hurt me, Hyunjin. You broke me. And you can’t just waltz back in and expect everything to be okay.” You took a shaky breath. “I’m not some prize to be won back. I’m not a mistake you can undo.”

He flinched at your words, but there was no defensiveness, no argument. Just the raw weight of regret and guilt that seemed to drown out everything else.

"I know," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t expect you to forgive me just like that. I’m not asking for that. All I’m asking for is a chance to show you I can be better. For you. For them. For us."

You could feel the battle waging inside you. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him to leave and never come back. Another part, the part you hated, was desperate to reach out and let him in. To let him fix the broken pieces, to let him try.

But you weren’t the same person you had been four months ago. You were stronger now. You had learned to stand on your own. And you weren’t about to let him erase all that growth with a few apologies and empty promises.

"I’m not asking you to be perfect," you said, finally turning back to face him, "but I can’t keep living like this. We can’t keep living like this."

Hyunjin looked at you, and for a brief moment, you recognized the boy you had once known, the one who had laughed with you under the stars and held your hand as if it were the most important thing in the world. But that was a lifetime ago. You had grown out of that version of him. Now you had to consider whether you could make place for the man standing in front of you.

"I'm not asking you to make room for me," he added as if he knew what you were thinking. "Please let me try. To try to prove to you that I can be the guy you need, the dad they need. Not just for a week or a

The sincerity in his voice cracked something inside you. The hope, the fear, the longing it all swirled together, and you felt the first stirrings of something you had buried deep down: the desire for a future with him. A future you weren’t sure you could ever have, but the idea of it was impossible to ignore.

You closed your eyes, swallowing hard, trying to steady yourself. "I don’t know if I can trust you again, Hyunjin. I don’t know if I can let myself need you again."

His eyes darkened, but he didn’t move. He didn’t try to convince you with more words, more empty gestures. He simply nodded, as if he understood that this was not something he could fix with promises. This was something he had to show you, every single day.

"I’ll prove it," he said, the weight of his words pressing down on both of you. "But I need you to give me a chance."

You stood there for a long moment, torn between the part of you that wanted to push him away and the part of you that ached for him to stay. It felt like the hardest decision of your life.

Finally, you let out a slow breath. "You’re right," you whispered. "You don’t deserve forgiveness. But maybe you deserve a chance to earn it."

Hyunjin’s face softened, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a victory smile, not yet. But it was the first step.

"I’ll take it," he said quietly.

And for the first time in months, you felt like maybe just maybe things could be okay again. But you weren’t ready to give him everything yet. Not right now. But you could allow him to stay. To try.

You nodded, your voice low but firm. "Then prove it, Hyunjin. Prove it to me. Prove it to them."

He stepped forward, slowly, cautiously, as if testing the ground beneath him. His hand hovered for a moment, unsure of how far to go, but when he finally reached for you, you didn’t pull away.

It wasn’t forgiveness yet. Not even close. But it was a beginning.

And sometimes, a beginning was all you needed.

//

masterlist.

[taglist: @ka0ila..]

[gpcwsl]

Lia wälti x reader where reader comes down with food poisoning and is beyond sick but still insisting she can go to training after spending their day off and the whole night being sick. Lia looks after her and tells her that she is not training she needs to rest

Lia Wälti x Reader

- I’ll be fine -

WC: 713

MasterList

Warnings: short, sick?

You wake up to the sound of your alarm blaring and immediately regret it. The moment you move, your stomach churns violently, a fresh wave of nausea washing over you. You groan, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes in an attempt to will it all away.

You’ve been like this since yesterday—your one day off, ruined by what you’re now certain was a bad meal. The day had started fine, but by the afternoon, you were battling stomach cramps, and by the evening, it was a full-blown war. A sleepless night followed, leaving you shaky, exhausted, and feeling like you’d been run over by a truck.

Still, it’s training day, and you’re convinced you can power through it.

You manage to sit up in bed, though it takes far more effort than it should. Your head feels heavy, your limbs even more so, but you start to shuffle toward the bathroom to splash some water on your face.

That’s when Lia appears in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression caught somewhere between concern and disbelief.

“Are you seriously trying to get up right now?” she asks, her Swiss accent soft yet pointed.

You freeze, mid-step, and try to muster up a nonchalant tone. “I’m fine, Lia. Just… a little tired, that’s all.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You’ve been throwing up all night. You barely slept. And now you think you’re going to training?”

You sigh, leaning against the doorframe for support. “I have to go. Jonas will kill me if I don’t show up.”

“Jonas will understand,” Lia counters, stepping closer to place a gentle but firm hand on your arm. “You’re not going anywhere in this state.”

“I can do it,” you protest weakly, though even you don’t believe it at this point.

Lia shakes her head, her expression softening as she guides you back toward the bed. “No, you can’t. And you don’t have to.”

You’re too tired to argue further, allowing her to help you sit down. Your body sinks into the mattress, relief flooding through you despite your stubbornness.

“I’ll be fine,” you mumble, though your voice lacks conviction.

Lia crouches in front of you, her hands resting lightly on your knees. “You’re not fine,” she says gently. “And it’s okay to admit that. No one expects you to push through when you’re this sick.”

You glance down at her, guilt creeping in. “I just don’t want to let anyone down.”

Her expression softens even more, and she reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re not letting anyone down by taking care of yourself. In fact, you’ll be letting the team down if you push yourself too hard and end up even worse.”

She’s right, of course, but it’s hard for you to let go of the guilt. You sigh, leaning your head back against the headboard. “I hate being sick.”

“I know,” Lia says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But that’s why I’m here—to make sure you rest, even if I have to fight you on it.”

True to her word, Lia spends the entire day looking after you. She brings you tea and dry crackers, though you can barely stomach either. She adjusts the pillows behind your back when you’re lying down and puts a cool cloth on your forehead when you complain about feeling too warm.

At one point, you manage to fall into a restless sleep, only to wake up to the sound of her soft humming. She’s sitting in a chair beside the bed, reading a book, but her attention shifts to you the moment your eyes flutter open.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, setting the book aside.

“Like I got hit by a bus,” you admit, your voice hoarse.

Her lips twitch into a small, sympathetic smile. “Sounds about right. But you’re not getting up until you’re better, understood?”

You nod reluctantly, too tired to argue anymore. “Thanks, Lia. For… all of this.”

She reaches over to squeeze your hand. “Always. Now, get some rest. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

And with her by your side, you finally feel like you can let go of the guilt and focus on getting better.

[shinningdance]

Washed clean

Trying angst for the first time, tips are very welcome!!

warnings: waterboarding, flashbacks, nudity (no one sees or does anything), let me know if i need to add more

summery: After a bad mission when the enemy took you for information, they waterboarded you which left Memorys. After your team got you back, you're still having troubles.

words: 1755

The restrainments are hurting.

You keep pulling to try away, trying to get away from the water that's being poured over your face.

Your throat hurts.

The water getting down your throat results in gagging, which hasn't stopped yet.

It feels like you're drowning.

Which isn't right, it's way too little water and you're currently dodging that.

They keep talking, they want Information. Information you're not giving them, they'd have to kill you.

Every day for the last week they have been pouring water over your face, trying to get you to break.

They keep going for what feels like hours but realistically are only a few seconds up to barely a minute. But in that very moment, it can only be described as hours.

At this point, they should just end you. It would be mercy. No. No, you can't think like that, your teams gonna get you. Safe and sound.

With too much force they throw you on that stupid chair, ropes going around your arms and legs. Your head is yanked back by your hair, a cloth over you mouth and nose.

Almost immediately they throw water over your face, making you choke on it as you somehow try to dodge it. Head going left and right as the water follows.

"Dove?"

Your eyes snap open, starring at the white door fro where the voice came from. You look back and see the safe house's bathroom.

Right.

You're safe, you've been safe for the last 3 months. They saved you 3 months ago.

Water has been a touchy subject. While they understand what happened and how it might have affected your mind, they don't actually know how to help.

"Dove..? Are you alright?" The voice, Kyle, is followed by a small knock after you don't answer, again. "I'm opening the door.." He warns and very slowly looks inside.

You're sitting on the floor again, towel around your dry body and the shower is on. He doesn't need to ask what happened, he already knows.

He sits down next to you, back pressed against the marbel tiles. His arm goes behind your back and very softly grabs your waist, pulling you towards his side.

"Another flashback?" He asks, rubbing your arm.

You hum in responds, head dropping on his shoulder.

"You don't have to shower, there are other possibilities..." Kyle offers.

"My hair stinks." You counter, pointing at your hair.

"hm.." he huffs, smiling. "Think you can put your whole head under water?"

"..." You know the answer, yet you have to try. "..Maybe."

"Maybe what?" Johnny asks, stepping into the bathroom.

"Maybe i'll finally be able to wash this bird nest." You hum, watching as he flops down onto the ground next to you, leaning against the wall.

"It's not that bad..." Kyle interjects, his hand petting your head.

You stare at him, not believing him one bit. You have seen yourself, it's bad. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to step under the shower, the water on your face only bringing up bad memory's.

"He's wrong, dinnae trust 'im." Johnny whispers into your ear, earning himself a smack to the head by the other sergeant. "'ay!" He nags, rubbing the spot on his head.

"If something goes wrong just scream, yeah?" Kyle smiles, rubbing up and down on your arm.

"We'll save you from the water monsters." Johnny claims, wrapping one arm around your shoulder to pull you to himself.

You can't help but smile, nodding along to whatever they're saying. "My knights in shinning armor, hm?" You joke, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Yup." Kyle nods, standing up to give you some privacy.

You watch him leave, only for him to re-enter 2 seconds later. "Johnny, get your ass out and give the lady some space."

It's funny watching him almost bolt out, flashing you another grin before closing the door behind him.

With shaky knees you stand up, towel still around your body from your earlier attempt. The water is still running and you carefully reach out, checking the temperature. After making it's warm, you take baby steps and get in the bathtub. Washing your body isn't a problem anymore, with some help at the very start you could take small showers again. This isn't a small shower anymore, the water would be over your head, recreating the feeling you loath.

You drop the towel after getting in, making sure it stays dry. With a shaky breath you step closer, the shower head close to your face. Closing your eyes would only make it worse so you force them to stay open, making sure no one's forcing the water over your head.

It's touching your hair, a lot of the water it. One small step back and it's touching your eyebrow. The small bit of water that streams down your face is enough for you to step back out and wrap your body in the towel. Immediately walking to the bathroom door and opening it, you're face to face with the same men from earlier. With a sheepish look on your face you mumble. "I couldn't do it..."

You don't bother to look at their faces, already imagining their disappointment.

The two men look at each other before smiling at you. "Would you like some help?"

You think you misheard, how would they help you? You lift your head, looking at their determinated faces.

"I'm scared to ask but...how?" You mumbles and watch as they both start smiling.

Kyle softly grabs your shoulders and brings you back inside the bathroom, Johnny is already starting to fill the bathtub and...taking off his shirt.

"Easy." Kyle smiles and forces you to sit down on the floor again. "One will be in the water with you and the other will be washing your hair, that sound good to you?"

It takes you a small moment to process this words. In the tub. with you. One of them, not both. They would do that just so you can have normal hair again. With a small nod you watch as they prepare everything.

Kyle is grabbing your hair brush, Shampoo, conditioner and a leave in mask.

Johnny is putting stuff in the tub, lots of bubbles appearing within seconds, he keeps putting in his hand to make sure it's not too hot for you.

After a few minutes he gets in, shorts still on, and spreads his legs to make room for you. "I'm not peaking, swear!" he smiles puts both his hands in front of his face, Kyle is turning around, giving you a bit of privacy.

Slowly you let the towel drop and get in as well, back to Johnny's chest. You gather some of the bubbles and hide your body with it. Almost immediately you can feel his hands around your waist, holding you in place. You melt into him, head dropping to his shoulder.

"ay think I'm comfy" Johnny claims, his chest shaking slightly from his laughing.

"Very." Kyle affirms.

You might need to question how he would know that if you're leaning against him, but that's a question for later. Kyle slowly starts to brush your hair, adding a bit of water every now and then. He's careful to not get it anywhere near your face for now, you hardly notice, too busy chatting with your pillow.

"thank you..for doing this." You mumble, nose pressed against the side of his neck.

"Dinnae worry...we'll always help you out." Johnny smiles, one hand slightly squeezing your waist.

Kyle keeps working on your hair and every now and then you tense up, feeling the water close to your face. He places his hands by your Forehand, even if the water ran down the opposite side, it wouldn't get in your face.

You get a small warning from Kyle and a gentle squeeze of encouragement from Johnny before a bit of water streams down from the very top of your head to your ends. This repeats a few more times before you can only feel soft hands massaging your head. You hum and close your eyes, going very limp against Johnny

"Don't fall asleep now.." Kyle warns with a small chuckle, hands leaving your head to grab your towel and dry your hair for you.

"But it's no comfy..." You mumble, head pressing further into the side of Johnny's neck.

The water is still comfortably warm but the bubbles are slowly disappearing.

Kyle stands up and turns around but still holds the towel out for you. You turn your head, staring at the Scot who's eyes are already closed. You smile and slowly stand up, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around your body once more.

"Thank you again...means a lot." You mumble, drying yourself off while the guys avoid looking at you.

"Of course, no need to thank us." Kyle counters, lips turning into a small smile as he feels your form pressed against his.

"Ay, so i dinnae get a hug?" Johnny mumbles, standing up from the tub. He's completely wet but doesn't seem to care.

"Why are your eyes open? What if i was naked, huh?" You challenge, smiling as you clutch the towel to your body.

"Then i would have enjoyed the sight." He shrugs, smirk plastered onto his face as he grabs his own towel.

"Stop being a pervert." Kyle mumbles, already walking outside with the other man following.

You shake your head in amusement and start changing clothes, something comfortable.

After that you find the two men in the common room, watching some random movie. Without words you sit down between them, they don't seem to mind with the way they get closer to you.

"This is trash." Kyle groans crosses his legs.

"What?! Take 'at back!" Johnny shouts, fully offended his silly little drama show was insulted.

"There are so many better shows." Counters the other man

"nu uh. This is the best show." Johnny remarks, crossing his arms.

"What do you even like about this? Everything is so obviously fake."

"Fake like your personality-"

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

"What am i looking at?" John mumbles, starring at the three sleeping people before him.

"No idea." Simon replies, equally as confused as his captain.

They were called because of some people fighting and cursing and what not and now they see this.

Kyle laying on his back, leaning against the couch.

You on top, back against chest.

And lastly, Johnny sleeping on his stomach and using your stomach as a pillow.

All three knocked out, hard.

...

"Tea?" offers John

"please" confirms Simon.

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

a/n: i've been sick since last week monday so you're going to take this and never talk that i didn't post this on the weekend :)) also not proofread!!!

[madelinenerdfighter]

Please can the Communists take away my bad air?

Today 54 pm2

At is worst 90pm2

I live in social housing in BC Canada. This has been going on since august. Now I'm taking them to the residential tenancy board who seem to be taking it seriously as they triaged the hearing much earlier than is normal. But who knows what that will actually mean.

And it turns out that nowhere in British Columbia do we have a residential air quality division even though we have Civic codes around it. That was quite the runaround is divisions kept sending me to other divisions and back again

It's making me so sick. Before they put me on mega doses of antihistamines this happened mid-august 2023

Ventilation ductwork has not been cleaned in the 27 years that I've lived here. Unless elves did it while we were sleeping LOL

I have to keep the heat off or it sucks up the bad air through the walls. I have to keep my window and balcony door open to try to mitigate the air and keep the temperature down because the downstairs neighbors like to cook bake for up to 19 hours and there's two of them so it's like someone is pooping and showering and using fragranced products and cooking and baking inside my apartment.

Temperature inside my apartment

There's more terrible to the story, but I think that sums up why I definitely want the Communists to take away my bad air!

Also please can the communists also take away my bullying property portfolio manager as well? Rather than deal with what was clearly a bad air issue before my air got bad, this is the notice he sent to the whole building populated by low income seniors and persons with disabilities under the guise of protecting people's right to enjoy their apartment rather than buying a vowel and realizing that the sudden increase in complaints means the there is something wrong with the valentilation system.

FYI marijuana is legal here and my building is designated is allowing smoking inside residents apartments. Also FYI I am very allergic to all these substances, but even so thought this was a ridiculous notice especially considering it was the middle of summer, beyond hot, and this is a population that can't afford air conditioners. So I have this crazy idea that maybe they should deal with the actual issues not threaten a vulnerable population

Notice reads on pale pink paper like that makes it okay:

*dear residents

(bold) RE unacceptable behavior marijuana tobacco smoke and other substances smoke

Recently our office received at several complaints regarding the strong smell of marijuana as well as tobacco smoke emanating from some of the suites into the common areas of the building and property. Another problem that was brought to our attention is the issue of some tenants smoking tobacco marijuana and other substances with open windows/doors

I would like to remind to all tenants that this behavior is clearly taking away from the other residents their right to have enjoyment of their homes and / or property as it creates public nuisance. Please note this unacceptable behavior may result in and steps being taken to end tenancy

If you wish to discuss this forever you can contact me at, redacted

Sincerely, redacted*

So yes, can the Communists please come take away this ppm who has confused property portfolio manager with feudal Lord.

And this is all on top of the fact that I can't get baseline supports to survive. Info in petition

And the bad air situation is making me extra extra sick and it's costing me so much money in HEPA filters and mega dose antihistamines, ER visit an extra Health supports that I was already out of pocket on etc which is taking away critical energy from focusing on this petition.

And All the while I've been living month to month on GoFundMe money after going 45,000 in medical debt on a disease that no province in Canada even has a medical service provider healthcare category of coverage so the feds have stats so they can start properly doing research and educating physicians.

I still haven't gotten a Canadian legacy Media to do a story and how the heck does anything change if the supreme Court and the human rights tribunal in Canada and British Columbia consider what's happening to me to be a political(yeah I spent years trying to push your rock up that hill). Although I'm extremely grateful for this UK article

And a small market piece that happened the year before

And there have been other small market pieces (pinned tweet of @iammadelinepod Twitter). And I have definitely appreciated that

But seriously, Canadian legacy Media said the only reason they weren't doing stories about my situation is that I wasn't fully public. They wouldn't protect my identity to protect my life. So I've thrown caution to the when, and I'm now fully public and crickets continue. And this for a disease, longviral myalgicE, that stats Canada says has been gaining additional sufferers at a rate of 37% at the third covid infection. Epstein-Barr got me 45 years ago, and I can say with 100% confidence that I am theur Canary in the coal mine

So when low income people especially low income people with disabilities, on top of all the other obstacles that we're dealing with, have to deal with unhealthy living situations, it can be a capsizing and deadly situation.

So yes, definitely, can the Communists come and take all this nonsense away too? I'd very much like to not be dead due only to lack of supports

The communists want to take away YOUR MOLD

[loverofwomenswrongs]

TWO, THOUGH

****** Pairing: Billie Eilish x singer!fem!reader Words: 0.8K

****** [So, sabrina carpenter's songs are reader's in this]

Showing her music to people had always been nerve-wracking for Y/n—especially when that person was Billie Eilish. Her girlfriend. A singer. A songwriter. Someone who wrote her own songs with her brother and whose opinion meant everything to Y/n.

Billie had always been honest with her, which she appreciated. But that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

So when Y/n, curled up in bed with Billie, casually mentioned that she wanted to show her some new songs from the album she was working on, Billie lit up instantly.

“Right now?!” she asked, already halfway to pulling Y/n out of bed.

“Baby,” Y/n groaned, laughing as she held onto the blanket. “Can’t you wait at least eight more hours?”

Billie huffed dramatically before snuggling closer into Y/n’s chest. “Alriiiight,” she mumbled. “But first thing in the morning.”

“Anything you want, love.” Y/n kissed the top of her head, and just like that, they drifted into sleep.

—

That’s how they ended up at the studio by 9 a.m. sharp.

Billie, still buzzing with excitement, practically dragged Y/n inside, her eyes gleaming. Meanwhile, Y/n watched her with so much adoration that it made Billie’s cheeks turn pink.

Noticing this, Y/n laughed and leaned in to peck her cheek. “I love making you blush. You look so cute.”

“I’ll show you cute,” Billie huffed, pretending to be offended.

“Oh no, I’m so scared,” Y/n teased, pushing open the door. She barely caught Billie muttering something under her breath—something along the lines of you should be. And if she didn’t have to shake certain thoughts out of her head at that moment, she’d be lying.

Once inside, Billie made herself comfortable on the couch while Y/n set up the session—connecting the speakers, preparing the tracks, and grabbing the wireless keyboard. When everything was ready, she walked over and settled herself between Billie’s legs, leaning back against her chest as Billie wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Ready?” Y/n asked, though her voice betrayed her nerves.

Billie could tell. So instead of answering right away, she kissed Y/n’s shoulder, tightening her grip around her. “Don’t be nervous, baby. I know I’m gonna love them.”

“I know,” Y/n exhaled, tilting her head slightly. “But I always get anxious when showing you my music. I don’t know if it’s because this isn’t exactly your usual style, or if it’s just because I care about your opinion so much… Maybe both? I just—” She sighed. “I just want to make you proud.”

Billie pressed another soft kiss to her skin, then another, knowing it would help ease the tension in Y/n’s shoulders. “I’m already proud of you,” she murmured. “And I’ll always love anything you do.”

Y/n let out a small, relieved breath. “Okay,” she nodded. “So, I have four songs to show you—Juno, Slim Pickings, Good Graces, and Sharpest Tool.”

Billie grinned. “Let’s do it. They already sound amazing.”

—

After about twenty minutes, all the songs had played through. Y/n took a deep breath before turning to face Billie, eager—but also terrified—to hear her thoughts. She had insisted on letting Billie listen to them all in one go, though that hadn’t stopped her girlfriend from making the occasional excited comment:

"Oh, that vocal run—""Babe, these lyrics are insane.""That guitar? Absolutely unreal."

Now, with the final notes fading into silence, Y/n hesitated. She busied herself with playing with Billie’s rings, avoiding direct eye contact. “So… what do you think?”

Billie, however, wasn’t having that. Gently, she took Y/n’s chin between her fingers, tilting her face up until their eyes met.

“I cannot believe you were so nervous to show me these,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “They were amazing. You are amazing.”

Y/n’s entire face lit up. “You actually liked them?”

Billie huffed, feigning exasperation. “Yes! How many times do I have to tell you? Like I said before, I love everything you do. Always.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Y/n’s ear. “Wanna know my favorite one?”

“Obviously,” Y/n said, grinning as she shifted back into Billie’s arms, tilting her head slightly to still see those familiar blue eyes.

“Juno,” Billie answered without hesitation.

That caught Y/n off guard. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that. “Wait—really? Why?”

Billie smirked, her fingers tracing slow circles on Y/n’s waist. “I mean, I loved all of them. But now you’ve officially put the idea of a mini you in my head, and I’m afraid there’s no going back.”

Y/n’s eyes widened as she let out an amused laugh. “Billie.”

“Give me one. Right now.”

Y/n died laughing, shaking her head at her girlfriend’s ridiculous—and very on-brand—impulsiveness. She decided to play along. “Okay, see, I love that you think that, but for some reason, I don’t think we can exactly make that happen right now.”

“Oh, I know it won’t work,” Billie admitted easily. “But we can still try.”

Before Y/n could protest, Billie was already pressing slow, lingering kisses along her neck, her lips warm and soft. Y/n sighed, instinctively tilting her head to give her more space.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her breath hitching slightly. “That… we can definitely do.”

[kawhh]

I was gonna go on anon with this, but you know what? I'm a whore for all three of our boys and I'm proud. So with that being said, what about being shared between Jack, Quinn and Trevor? Thoughts?

UNASHAMED WHORES UNITE. (before I sleep, it's 1am and I need a nap)

It keeps me up often. I'll admit. There's something about the balance of all three of them and how they'd make eachother worse.

They all have different levels of restraint but they'd all end up complete monsters. Constantly poking eachother. To the point of even making Q snap.

I feel like trevor would be the first to touch you. Forcing you on his lap, hooking your legs open. The way he'd trail his fingers slowly up your thighs, the way he'd threaten to violate you, hooking his thumbs under the lace of your underwear, snapping it back against your skin.

Burying his head in your neck, smirking at the brothers. If they're gonna be cowards about it, he's not gonna let that delay him ruining the cute little slut in his lap. A cruel look in his eyes as he bounces you slightly in his lap, forcing you to feel his cock press against you. Only getting harder with how they're glaring at him. Oh, if looks could kill.

Taking it further, licking a stripe up your neck as he lets his fingers dip under your underwear, close enough to your adorable little hole that he knows they won't know if it's actually touching you. Moaning in your ear, pretending that he's feeling you soaking his fingers.

He can see it working, he can see how worked up Jack's getting. His clenched fingers are pale. The slight tremble in his arms, the restraint he's using to not pounce on you. He swears he's almost drawing blood with how tight he's biting his lip. He won't take long. Just needs a little push.

"Mhmm.. Jaaack.. you really should feel how fucking soaked our little slut is. She's clenching around nothing.. such a fucking whore. Soaking my hand."

Biting your ear, making you squeak, giving your clit a harsh stroke, relishing in how Jack's eye's twitch at the sound of your arousal.

He's not focusing on Quinn. He won't snap until it's both of them bullying you. Too much of an ego. Too much self praise of his control.

The sound's too much for Jack, he's grabbing your ankles, yanking you down the bed. He can't handle not touching you. Can't handle someone touching his property. Trevor can't fuck you like he can. He's too selfish. He won't focus on you. Too focused on his own need to cum. Unlike him. He'll have you screaming before he even bottoms out in you.

Trevor's forgetting the numbers advantage. If he can get Quinn to snap, they're so in sync that he won't stand a chance. You'll be begging to be shared between them. You could wake up every morning with them, spit roasting you for breakfast.

He lets out a borderline growl as he watches Trevor rest your head against his cock. See? Selfish. Even now he's trying to get his dick sucked instead of worshiping you.

Fuck that.

He's yanking you even further down the bed, ignoring your comfort now that he's wrapped up in this ego battle. Blinded with how irritated he is. Giving you no warning as he rips your underwear, diving in to bite your hip, tearing the scraps from your body with his teeth. Glaring up at Trevor. He's still smirking. Still thinks he has the advantage. So what if he was the first to touch you?

Slapping your soaking pussy, the smugness increasing in his glare as you moan and jolt. Pussy clearly knows who it belongs to. Resting his head against your inner thigh, slowly leaving kisses around your hole, teasing you, the way you squeak if he gets too close.

Seeing Trevor twitch, kissing you directly on your tight, wet hole, frenching your cute little lips. Dragging his tongue along your walls. Eyes rolling back in his head at your taste. 'Course his girl tastes delicious. Digging his hands into your ass, lifting you up towards him. Needing more leverage to tongue fuck you. Smothering himself in your arousal. Feeling it drip down his chin, soaking the bed.

He can feel Quinn sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, looking up briefly to see him stroke your hair.

"Being a good girl for Jack, angel? Yeah? You gonna cum on his face? Warm your cunt up for me, yeah?"

You're crying at the contrast. The softness of Quinn's actions.. the brutal way Jack's swirling his tongue inside of you. Firmly trapped in their grip, far away from Trevor.

Helpless to defend against the way Jack manhandles you, flipping you onto your stomach, tugging your hair back, forcing you to look at Trevor. Murderous looking Trevor. He's suddenly thrusting into you, giving you no warning, no time to warm up. Going back on his need to make you cum and scream first. He needs this. Feeling his balls slap against your skin, the sound echoing through the room. Every slap making Trevor twitch.

Hammering into you, pushing you further into the bed. The drag of his cock against your walls is brain numbing. You don't know if you're crying, screaming or dying. He's slamming into your cervix, a little circle to his hips at the end of every thrust, making sure you can feel how big he is, how he fucks you better than anyone ever will.

Yelping as you feel hands on your ass, taking a second to realise what's happening. You'd almost forgotten. Whimpering as you're attacked with an even harder thrust, like he's telling you off for forgetting Quinn in your cock drunk haze.

Trying to squirm up the bed as your feel Quinn playing with your ass, stretching you apart to spit on your untouched hole, giving Jack a better view of how your cunt is gripping him, desperate to keep him inside.

It's no good. Good little sluts don't crawl away from what they're being given. You're being yanked down towards them, feeling like you're actually going to split apart on Jack's cock. Your vision blurs at the brutality.

Feeling Quinn slowly drag his thumb around your hole, threatening to push in. The pressure, the threat, making you whine loudly, begging them for mercy.

"Want me to really show you a good time, angel? Or do you want us both in that stretched little cunt?"

Jack's collapsing against your back at his brother's words, the darkness in his voice. Slamming into you one last time before he floods you. Watching his cum leak out, eyes widening as Quinn scoops it up with his thumb, pressing it against your ass. Forcing it in slightly, giving your ass a smack as a parting gift.

You're barely conscious, dragging your face up the soft bedsheets, glancing up at Trevor. He's a fucking mess. You can see his cum soaked boxers from here, the redness on his cheeks. The way he's just staring at you.

You're being grabbed, the brothers half throwing you up the bed, making you land close to Trevor. They're sandwiching you in a huddle on the bed before you can move. Quinn holding your leg up against his grip, grinding himself against you.

"Best you get some sleep.. before you wake up with my cock down your throat. Still have to show you who the best brother is, don't I?"

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

Hear me out...but an AU where König has a wife and kids (2 boys 1 girl and of course all of his kids are feral especially his little princess who he thinks can do no wrong) and his and his wife are called up to the school because his little girl got into a fight and of course her brothers go into it as well.

You his wife is beside yourself because you all just moved to this neighborhood and school district and you wanna make a good impression. You get to the school and enter the headmaster office and your darling husband freezes up. He's tense as he stares at the other kid's parents. It's some guy in a black medical mask, who's just as equally big and his wife who looks quite annoyed. These two men just kinda stare at each other, but don't say anything as the headmaster goes into explaining the issue.

Your daughter was called a name. She opened her mouth and said some mean things back (the exact insult was her saying, 'you have fatherless behavior, is that why you need to act like that?'). The other kid, a little boy around her age, may be a bit older, didn't take her dishing back the mean comments to his brother, someone got pushed. A fist thrown, and your two older boys jumped in and it was chaos. With your daughter yelling for her brothers to 'Do what Daddy does and tear them apart'

Truth be told you're worried but your husband has a blank face. And of course your husband shows exactly where his daughter gets her smart mouth from.

"You expect me to punish my daughter for being some kids karma ja?" His accent is thick and annoyed, "sounds as if it was fatherless behavior."

And for some reason, the dad with the mask on his face growls and says, "Of course it's your spawn that say something of the sorts, damn Austrian."

It's tense in the room and after the headmaster says that all of your children are going to have detention. Fighting isn't tolerated. Upon leaving you stop and chat with the other woman who didn't say much and was just over the whole thing. You both apologize for children's behavior outside the office, and then apologize for both of your husbands.

"I'm so sorry about Tommy." She says with a sigh, "He told me last night that he had a crush on your daughter and I told him that he should say something nice to her...didn't think he'd tell your daughter that her hair is soft like sheep wool..." she winced as she said that.

You just laugh "a misunderstanding really, kids will be kids." You both end up exchanging numbers with promises to get your kids together so proper apologies can be had. (You both may or may not have to get your husbands to go along with it. Neither of you know why they already hate each other and can't appreciate a good childhood crush and misunderstanding).

Idk...I like the idea of this and may flesh it out...because it's giving König's daughter and Simon's son getting married and these two have to put away their animosity for the sake of their wives and children.

[hipstersfoundmyrobot]

Over the past ten years, Danny Fenton’s life has been a whirlwind, and that’s an understatement. Nonetheless, despite being the Ghost King and a consultant for the JLD as Phantom, Danny’s life is ordinary. Or as ordinary as a halfa king could manage.

Danny remembers being 17 and feeling so helpless and overwhelmed, especially when Jazz moved away for college. He didn’t expect that to be the end of his struggles. His sister coming back for Christmas break with the Justice League in tow was not on his bingo card, nor were his parents and Vlad being tried for supervillainy or the Anti-Ecto Acts and the GIW being a hoax. However, according to Tucker, the most surprising part of their senior year was their trio graduating with near-perfect attendance and good grades.

Nowadays, life is good for Danny. While his responsibilities as the High King of the Infinite Realms and his attachment to his haunt keep him from leaving Amity Park, he has found balance. After his identity as Phantom was revealed to the town, the community rallied in support of the half-dead teenager who saw his parents go to jail. Following Jazz’s insistence, he has enrolled in an online Astronomy and Engineering degree, which he finds much easier than high school. He doesn’t even have to worry about money, being the new owner of FentonWorks and DalvCo.

All in all, life is, finally, cutting the halfa some slack, which is why he now has more free time to fill, ergo his current situation. Sam, Tucker and Jazz are debating on his computer screen about what hobby he should try.

“Danny, dude, I’m telling you, you should take programming classes. We could make our own video game and-“Tucker’s excited rant cuts off as Jazz mutes the both of them.

“After the ecto-contamination of everyone in Amity, you’ll probably find a lot of people willing to join an environmentalist group. You know my activism rubbed off on you.” Sam’s voice is almost covered by the deep sigh that escapes Tucker and Danny can’t help but smile at his best friends’ antics.

“You guys, we’re trying to figure out something Danny would like. Baby brother, what is something you’d like to do ?” Danny can’t help but miss his sister when he sees her exasperated smile at his friends’ insistence that he tries something they like.

Leaning against his desk, his face in his hand, he shrugs, a bit embarrassed. “Actually, I did have an idea but I’m not sure.” On his screen, his sister’s face is open and supportive, meanwhile, Sam and Tucker don’t seem to have noticed they were inaudible. “I, maybe, wanted to try streaming ? You guys obviously don’t have as much time to play video games with me and it’s really not the same on my own… I like the idea of finding a community of people who enjoy listening to my weird space and ghost rants without having to leave Amity. Not that the Parkers aren’t my friends but—” He pushes his hair out of his face with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “I guess I want to meet new people ? But I don’t actually want to meet them.”

“That sounds great, Danny.” Jazz, supportive as always, finally unmutes the two.

“Yeah dude, I’m down to help you set it all up. You’re gonna need equipment-“

“And you’re gonna need to ectoproof it too. Are you going to hide your identity ? Acting like ghosts and your powers are the norm would be so funny.”

“Right, you could ask a ghost artist to make your channel art. You clearly already have a niche thing going, you know ?” His Fraid’s excitement makes Danny feel more confident in his idea.

“What do you guys think of the name CosmicSpecter ?”

Jason has been back in Gotham for about two years. His relationship with his family is still strained but it is improving. He has a good thing going with Red Hood and his gang. However, he is still plagued by the Pit Madness, despite his best efforts he still doesn’t feel like himself. Meanwhile, everyone around him has accepted, however reluctantly, that this is who he is now, but Jason refuses to. He knows this isn’t him, but he is resigned that the foreign rage trying to control him will torment him until his (next) dying breath.

Maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s the scary TubeYou algorithm that has him clicking on the livestream thumbnail while tittering close to the Pit Rage. The guy has 463 subscribers and 6 current viewers and he’s halfway through a burrito when Jason joins. The light is dim, and his eyes seem to be reflecting the light. A meta, maybe ?

“Hiya ‘botched-resurrection’, nice to see a fellow undead here.” He takes a swig of a too green liquid from a soda bottle and flashes the camera with a wide smile. “We’ll go back to playing once I’m done eating. This new joint opened a few years ago, since our town isn’t under a fake government lockdown anymore, and honestly, I’m pleasantly surprised. My sister is probably relieved I’m eating something other than a burger.” The guy’s eyes widen slightly when a $20 donation comes through from one ‘jazz_hands’. “Really Jazz ? ‘Twenty whole American dollars in hopes you’ll eat healthier food one day’. There are real vegetables in here you know ? You’re being too harsh. Also stop sending me money as an excuse to embarrass me on stream.”

This is the start of the prologue I'm posting on ao3 tomorrow probably, I'll link once it's up

Streamer Danny AU, but he’s a really minor streamer. Like, he does it mainly just for his own fun and only has a few intermittent viewers.

But somehow Jason finds his channel anyway, and something about his voice is captivating. The pit rage quiets down in his presence. So he starts tuning in to basically every stream, or just putting on the VODs in the background to fall asleep to.

And on the other side, Danny takes note of this new subscriber who’s quite possibly his first truly dedicated viewer. So he starts interacting with him on stream sometimes - greeting him when he shows up in the chat, specifically asking/answering questions, etc

Needless to say, this did not help Jason’s growing semi-parasocial crush in the slightest…

[bump1nthen1ght]

The Family Jewels (Pt. 3/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Chapter Summary: You didn't think your new home could become any stranger. Shadows have started to follow you, the night no longer the safe haven it once was. It leads you to the one person who may be able to help.

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Stalking, Isolation, Slight Infantilization of Reader

A/N: The penultimate chapter 👀. Had a lot of fun with this series and I hope y'all have too! Last Chapter should be coming out sometime later this week/early this week. It's gonna be quite a doozy 😈

Part 1 Part 2

You think someone is watching you.

You didn’t think the eeriness of your home could be more uncomfortable, but the unmistakable feeling of attention has made it so. Only worsened by the fact you have no understanding of whose attention it is. Your first thought was perhaps the staff, but you can’t imagine months of your droll day-to-day life would suddenly gain their attention. Not when they skirt around you, ignoring all attempts to make conversations or eye contact, just as they’ve always done.

You’d learned to enjoy the solitude of your home, to be content with your own company. Reading, wandering the grounds, pondering the sky was now your beloved routine, not a prison of listlessness. But now you whip your head around at the slightest shadow. Something prickles on the back of your neck at odd moments, uneasy shivers coming down your spine when you turn the corner, your fight-or-flight instincts expecting something there.

The only other two options would be your father-in-law and your husband. The prior is an obvious no, well aware he confines himself to his study during the day so he may work in peace. The latter is absent during the daytime, supposedly sticking to his habit of sleeping with the sun, so you’re left with no clues.

To make it all worse is the fact that your husband has been present for dinner lately; Every night for the past week, to be precise. It seems to be the one meal he deems worthy of being awake for. But you figured that this was another kink to get used too, surely a momentary lapse before he returned to the routine.

But then he started talking to you.

—

“Was your day enjoyable?”

Your husband opened with, as if this was a normal dinner and you were in a normal marriage.

You hesitate to respond, convincing yourself that you had misheard one of the servants. Caleb isn’t even looking you in the eye, focused instead on cutting his steak.

“Well?” He juts in, right before taking a large bite. It's only then you realize it was in fact him speaking and in fact you who he was speaking to.

“I suppose so.” You finally deign as a well enough response. A suitably polite answer. “It was nothing remarkable.”

“Hmm.” He says, chewing on his wad of meat as he takes a sip of that curious wine of his. You return to your food, figuring that is the end of that. One of your husband's many irregularities, that was all. “What did you partake in?”

That brings you pause, halting your fork, currently being used to awkwardly move around fingerling potatoes. Your appetite starts to leave you.

“...Some of the books from the library.” Your stab at a potato, wishing you could dissent from proprietary like he could and eat through this conversation. “The estate has quite a robust collection. Especially the astronomy section.”

The sound of cutlery scraping against porcelain makes you wince, draws your full attention to your husband. For a second, you swear his eyebrow twitches.

“I see.” He stabs his steak like it’s a vicious enemy, and rips away another piece. “Anything else?”

Why are you doing this?

You desperately want to ask. You swallow that urge down.

“I began a new cross stitch today.” You swallow. “My skills are unfortunately unrefined, but I found some beautiful thread I forgot my sister had packed away when-” I was shipped off “-when I first moved in. I’m planning to embroider a Mourning Dove.”

It had been more comforting than you expected, cross-stitching. Forever it had been a habit your mother forced upon you, imploring that good embroidery was only right for a proper lady to know. Now, all alone and homesick, it felt nice to create something that could fly away.

“Hmm.” Caleb says, and that is the end of it. What follows is uncomfortable minutes of silence. Too uncomfortable to eat, you gently push your plate away and stand up, another informal curtsy and a “good night”, hoping that would be the end.

It unfortunately was not.

Edric had let you know the night prior that he’d be busier these upcoming weeks, several meetings with important men or something of that matter keeping him away for the nights as well as the days. You told him it was no issue, even though your heart had tugged at the idea of spending those dark hours alone.

To your great shock, upon arriving at your favorite spot in the garden, your husband is there. Not lounging as he did before, but sitting on the bench. Your bench.

“I did not know you had finished dinner.” You remark, trying to act less flustered than you were. Months ago you would have rejoiced at this change of pace, so bored and listless. But now it left you feeling more than a little aggravated.

“I did shortly after you.” He says, actually acknowledging you with a look over his shoulder. Weirdly, a bottle does not accompany his side. “Thought I’d go for a walk. It is quite a big garden.”

I’m not here for you. He seemed to scream with every word, his very soul. You don’t why know he’s being so insistent, he’s made that opinion very clear in every other interaction so far.

“I see.” You parrot, a surge of obstinance making you bolder than normal, sitting down next to him. This was your favorite spot, you refuse to give it up to him on a whim.

It brings great satisfaction when he scoots away, his body jerking, clearly surprised by you being so close. You’re sure he thought you all figured out, some girl he could walk over whenever he pleased.

You don’t bother speaking first, figuring his stint during dinner was a temporary lapse in judgement. His sheer disinterest made it clear it was from a source of boredom, not genuine curiosity, which spurred this change. Surely, that was the end-

“That’s Cassiopeia.” Caleb says, his long hand, usually adorned with a bottle, points at the night sky. When you don’t respond immediately, he goes to lengths of drawing the ‘W’ shape with his finger.

“..Ah, yes it is.” You say, surprised that he has continued talking to you and that he knows any constellation. “She is quite beautiful. Though, I suppose that is part of why she is in the sky in the first place.” You chuckle at the joke, the mood quickly souring when Caleb doesn’t, looking at you like a strange sort of insect.

Edric would’ve laughed.

“And from her,” Caleb traces his hands away from Cassiopeia to another, “-You can find her daughter, Andromache.”

“Andromeda.” The words whip out immediately, before you can think better of it, although your tone is gentle. Caleb turns to look at you, wordlessly once more. For a second, you wonder if he’ll snap at your correction. “Her daughter is Andromeda, not Andromache. Andromache was Hector’s wife.”

Caleb pauses for a moment, retracting his hand.

“Hm.” He hums and turns away.

The awkward atmosphere lingers afterwards, and you almost feel bad for correcting him. You hadn't meant it as a criticism, just as a reminder.

But that just makes you more upset. Why should you care how Caleb feels about your words, unintentional or not? He has made no such consideration for your feelings during your time here, nor does he seem to intend to anytime in the future. He’s a cad, a rake, he could stand to be knocked down a peg or too.

Luckily, the rest of the night is blissfully quiet. You try your best to bat away any lingering feelings of anxiety or awkwardness, simply savoring what you could.

—

Caleb isn’t sure what he is doing.

It was bad enough foregoing his rest and haunting you like a phantom, chasing this incessant new urge of his. Like picking at a scab you know would be healed if left alone, he can’t seem to resist. His body follows you naturally now, using his more inhuman qualities to blend in the shadows, avoiding the poisonous daylight and lingering on your every move. You make it too easy with your rhythmic movements, keeping regular in your entertainment about the house. If not in the library, you were in the garden having tea. If not in the garden having tea, you were embroidering on the lounge. What should be so dreadfully boring is now enrapturing, although it is wounding it feels too good to stop.

Look at him now, bumbling around like a fool, words falling out his mouth like hail against your soft skin. Even when he does catch your attention and get a genuine response, he loses himself in the memories of said moments, reimagining it as vividly as he saw it from the shadows. He remembers the jump of excitement when you found a new book on Greek Mythology on the shelf, having thought you had already read them all. He remembers the look you made when you had made a mistake in your embroidery, your brow furrowed as you undid your stitches. When focused on your work, a tiny sliver of your tongue would sit out at your mouth, something he’s sure your mother scolded you for time and time again. By the time his mind got back to him you were leaving, the same curt response and rigid curtsy as before.

Desperate for a fix, he even ambushed you at your stargazing spot. He could barely look you in the eye, too nervous you would see through his ruse, point and laugh at his boyishness. It was made even worse when you sat near him, tantalizing him with your blood and the beating of your heart, which sang to his very ears.

“That’s Cassiopeia.” Caleb attempts, wondering if this will have greater success. Given your silence, he wondered if perhaps his maker hadn’t pointed it out to you yet. Pride fills his chest as he traces out her shape, wondering what look you have in your eyes.

“..Ah, yes it is.” You reply, and Caleb’s monstrous heart skips a beat. “She is quite beautiful. Though, I suppose that is part of why she is in the sky in the first place.”

Caleb freezes, caught off his rhythm, you giggle making him realize that he isn’t understanding something. The disappointed look on your face feels like a blade in his stomach.

He should be angry, furious even. It had been years since anyone had made him feel this way, this inferiority. He had outgrown that, had ripped it out with his own bleeding heart and tossed it outside.

“And from her,” Caleb pivots, hoping the skills of aloofness can work in favor “-You can find her daughter, Andromache.”

“Andromeda.” Caleb’s stomach turns. Frozen in his best laid plans, this windstorm of his wife has blown them away. “Her daughter is Andromeda, not Andromache. Andromache was Hector’s wife.”

It’s all he can do to not scream at that moment. But he fears that too will be as awkward and foolish as the rest of his words, choosing instead to say nothing. To his consternation and relief, you follow suit and do not speak as well, returning to your own stargazing.

When you eventually retire, Caleb should go out. He should find the nearest beast and rip their throat, soak in their blood and be reminded that he was the fearsome beast. He was not the stupid farm boy, he was an unholy abomination built to feast and terrorize.

Instead he paces around his room, wondering what he should say. He looks in the mirror at his facade self, the beautiful face that makes ladies of all classes swoon, and wonders what would catch your eye.

You were smart, clearly, smarter than he anticipated. He thinks you might be catching onto his voyeur-tendencies, once or twice hiding around a corner and popping out, as if to confront your own shadow. Once, when he had left your book an inch or two over from where you had left it, you returned to the room with a quirk in your eyebrow. You had searched the room up and down, even flagged down a servant to ask if anyone had cleaned the library recently.

He had assumed your quietness came from a dull demeanor, just as boring as one would expect from the “wife.” But you had good humor. He saw you joking around with his creator, possibly the stodgiest vampire to ever roam the world, and even make jests of your own. You had tried with him tonight, although it seemed to fly over his head. And you seemed to enjoy dancing, like most ladies, if the way you hummed and swayed down the halls when you thought you were alone was enough indication. These were all things he was used to; Wining and dining ladies with his good charm and superb dancing skills, yet he found himself at a standstill.

His head falls into his hands, a frustrated hunger stirring in his gut. He needs to feed. At least that was an aching he could satisfy.

—

A whole fortnight of this. No peace, no privacy, no respite from the dreadfulness of the estate. During the day you tremored, aware that someone followed in your footsteps but not who it was. During the night all sense of comfort was robbed by him, your husband who, after several months of blissful avoidance, could not leave your side.

The conversations had not gotten better since the first. Mostly one sided, your husband seemed to force himself through every word, barely listening when it was your turn to speak. You don’t know why he bothers with the painful effort, his head off in the clouds, clearly wishing he was somewhere else. It's worse than the silence by a landslide, and you find yourself begging for your husband to start ignoring you again.

But like every one before it, your wishes go unanswered. The pain of it all forces you to focus, to try and find the source of this newfound vigor for this falsehood of a marriage.

All your hypotheses lead you back to one person. One person whom, unlike your husband, could hopefully be reasoned with.

—

You make quick work to scurry out of the dining hall after another painful dinner, hoping the distraction of his meal will keep your husband from noticing your divergence from routine.

Striding deeper into the bowels of the estate reminds you of just how unsettling the rest of the house feels. Each hallway is cleaned too perfectly, each decoration too precisely placed. You never knew furniture could feel so cold, that the sterility of a cleanliness would be so unnerving. It felt as if no one had ever really walked these halls, not for a long, long time.

But you push on, too determined in your mission. You had finally been able to corner a maid during the day, making up a vague excuse for returning a book to have her point the way to the Earl’s office. You’re happy you had the forethought to write it down, sure the enticing darkness around each corner and the amount of turns would’ve befuddled you. But with your trusty papers, you're able to navigate yourself to a beautiful mahogany door, befit with a golden knob and intimidating presence.

Why must everything in this place feel so hostile?

You ponder, wondering if the architect of this place had a hatred of joy and fresh air. But you digress, rapping your knuckles onto the thick door frame. Through the wood you can faintly hear the scribbles of an ink pen and the focused voice of The Earl.

“You may enter.”

His tone lacks the familiarity you’ve grown used to. For a discomforting second it reminds you of Caleb, not of these past two weeks but the months before. You banish that thought away. They are father and son, it is only natural.

“Sir?” You default to polite terms, peaking your head past the grand entrance. Even now the study feels untouchable, makes you hesitant to walk inside so boldly.

The Earl quickly leans his head up, shoulders falling down and a smile gracing his lips. You smother your fluttering heart, reminding yourself of your mission.

“My dear, I was not expecting you.” Edric stands with a dramatic push of his chair, setting his ink pen into its pot. “I apologize, but I fear I cannot join you again tonight. There is still much work to be done.” Edric taps his fingers against his desk.

“Oh it is no issue, Si-Edric. I understand completely.” Finally comfortable enough, you enter the room completely and shut the door behind you. Though this does little to calm your nerves, both for the conversation you must have and the idea of being alone in a room with him. As silly as it is, the hesitance of being alone with a man who is not your husband lingers, even if it is someone proper like your father-in-law. “I actually wish-” You words catch, but you will the butterflies in your stomach away, “-I wish to talk to you about something else. If you are available to it.”

Edric’s brow quirks, a minor change in his usually flawless face. For the very first time, he looks caught off guard.

“Of course, my dear.” Edric pulls out a chair for you to sit, moving his own so the desk won’t block you from each other. You nod in thanks, knees knocking together. You were never great at confrontation, and after finally finding peace in your new home, you fear disturbing and ruining what you have.

But Caleb is doing a fine job of that all on his own.

Your hands fiddle with each other in your lap, forcefully distracting you from making eye contact with Edric. He sits now with his ankles crossed, his arms resting on the sides, looking all like a king receiving his subject. Given his authority and your desperation, he might as well be.

“Now, what would you like to speak about?”

“I-” You swallow the lump in your throat, “I would like to start with my appreciation for your kind intentions, as I know it is what most likely drove you to act in such a way.” Your finger bones ache with how tightly you clench them. “That I appreciate you taking the effort to…encourage Caleb to spend more time with me.” Encourage is probably the incorrect word. If you knew anything about your husband ‘bribed’ was most definitely more accurate. It is the only thing that would make sense given recent circumstances. “But while I understand why you would think such a move was for the best, I’d like to implore that it is not necessary.”

You can hear a pin drop, your father-in-law quiet as the dead. It urges you to keep speaking, to fill the uncomfortable silence with something. At the least to release the issues from your mind, to get them off your chest.

“I know you are a good and honorable man, and that from the outside I must look so pitiful to you. That my lonesome nature most likely urged you to aid in my companionship, but I have found much happiness in this place in these past months. I see it as my home, and I do not mind the quiet.” You’ve released the fabric of your dress, moving instead to the fascinating shapes of your palm lines. Still, you proceed. “As…uncouth as my husbands, they seem to make him happy. He does not seem to enjoy the quiet nights like you and I do.”

A heat decorates the apples of your cheeks, spreading all the way down your neck and up to the tips of your ears. It seems silly looking back on it, having more in common with a man no doubt twice your age than your own husband.

“So, if you could speak to him and let him know that he is free to live as he likes, that he should not feel responsible for me, I would most appreciate it. Please tell him that I am quite happy with the way things were before.”

With you.

Your twisting heart does not know if it wants Edric to understand that unspoken sentiment.

The tapping of Edric’s fingernails on the chair arm finally pulls you attention, sounding cacophonous in the void created. It draws your eyes to finally look Edric head on, to gauge his reaction. Unfortunately, his reserved face leaves it difficult for you to do so.

“I see.” Edric finally breaks it, his fingers speeding up in their rapping. Something squeezes in your chest, wondering if perhaps you’ve offended him with your presumptions.

“I did not-” You bluster, trying to explain before he assumes anything. But a wave of Edric hands stops you in your tracks.

“I am not offended, dear.” The Early gives a gentle smile, a nod to show the truth of his word. Relief washes over you. “I am simply…surprised.”

You swallow your response. As attentive and understanding as Edric is, he is still a man, still subject to misunderstandings of a woman’s true heart. While Caleb is quite handsome, it takes much more good looks and the bare minimum to curry your favor.

“I shall speak to him.” Edric finally commands, standing up from his seat and sending you scurrying to do so on your own. A bubbling feeling fills your chest, the relief of knowing things will finally return to normal. At least the nights.

“Thank you, Edric.”

“It is no problem.” Edric says with a wave of his hand. “I commend you for bringing it up with me promptly. I understand that can be a difficult feat, especially when I am such a recluse.”

That lightens your mood even more, giving you a gentle giggle.

“I think you presume too much of your intimidation, good sir.” You lie, as if you were not petrified of facing him not 10 minutes ago. That fear seems silly now. Of course Edric would listen, when hasn’t he?

You don’t notice the way Edric’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips, the way his eyes for only a second dip down to your collarbone.

“Perhaps I do.” Edric pats the back of his seat. “Well, while I do enjoy your company, I'm afraid I must get back to work. Shall I escort you to your room?”

“Oh that won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to disturb and I am quite confident I can find my way.” You weren’t really, but you also were not ready to admit that to him.

“Then I bid you goodnight, my dear.” Edric nods his head, quickly moving his chair back behind his desk, no doubt to resume his business. You drop into a small curtsy yourself, a new energy in your steps as you leave. Even with the labyrinthine task of returning to your room ahead of you, you can’t be despondent.

You have a feeling things are taking a change for the better.

—

It takes everything in Edric’s immortal power to not burst into laughter the second the door closes behind you. Even with the thick wood as a barrier and your inferior human hearing, Edric is sure his cackling could be heard from miles away.

He had planned to court you slowly. Push the boundaries of his affection with every visit, subtly make you dependent on his touch and his closeness. Then, he would pull away, make you truly long for him. It would make his return all the more dramatic, hopefully swell your emotions to such a size that you would not turn away more uncouth behavior. A hug, a kiss to the cheek, maybe even a peck to your soft lips.

But now his son had revealed his hand, clumsily so. Scrambling to hold on to the toy now that it was being swept away, every bit the petulant child. He had made his own desperate move for your affections and was failing miserably.

It's cruel how much glee that gives him, Edric thinks, chuckling into his hands. He needs to remind his son that such obvious peacocking is hardly a foolproof strategy, teach him subtler ways of luring and ensnaring prey, nonetheless a partner. The boy had been riding on his good looks and inhuman charm for too long.

Ahh yes, and you. Who came to him, who chose him. Who ran into his arms and pleaded for safety. How could he not give it to you? His sweet dearest, his darling future. Edric’s nails dig into his palms and he’s sure if his heart still beated, it’d be racing a mile a minute. A palpable thirst burns in the back of his throat, one Edric knows won't be satisfied by any half-thought meal.

This has all but confirmed it: plans are changing. It seems the timeline for his machinations are moving up, given your clear displeasure. Who is he to deny you?