#there are typically two of us in this kitchen because. well. two jobs

[ceruleanmage]

im gonna cry i think

[parkerslatte]

Clouded | Part One

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: blood and injury. mentions of torture. beron in general.

Summary: Y/N works as a servant in the Forest House when an unfortunate encounter with Eris leaves her without her job with no valid reason. When she is at her small house, Eris shows up covered in blood. Truths Y/N has wanted to know for years come to light.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

Part One | Part Two

•••

Y/N tried to carry herself with as much grace as she could muster. At least if she looked like she belonged, people would respect her more. Her servant clothes were ratty and torn, Beron had no care in the world to use his money to supply the servants who weren’t typically seen around the Forest House in a lavish uniform. The only reason Y/N was walking around the house was because her friend had gotten sick so Y/N took on her duties as well as her own. 

The hall was empty when Y/N entered it. No voices were to be heard so Y/N relaxed her shoulders. All she needed to do was get to Beron’s personal kitchens and collect all of the pots and pans to be swapped out with new ones. The only thing Y/N wanted to avoid on her way there was—

She collided with a firm chest and before Y/N knew it, she crashed to the floor, knocking all of the air out of her. 

“Of course it would be you I run into,” a voice sneered. 

Y/N finally looked at the person she collided with and her worry turned into anger. “Out of everyone, why have I been cursed to see your face this early in the morning.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “What are you doing in this part of the house? The last I heard you work four floors below where no one is witness to your unsightly appearance.”

“I am doing my friend's work while she is sick,” Y/N answered. “I guess it is a foreign concept to you. Both work and friends.”

Eris offered a sarcastic smile in return. “I see your comebacks have changed.”

“I see you have changed, for the worse,” Y/N muttered. 

Y/N remembered centuries ago when she once considered Eris a friend— perhaps even more. She thought he was the most amazing person ever. What a huge misjudge of character. 

Y/N held out her hand. “The least you can do is help me up.”

Eris looked around the hallway for a brief moment. Y/N sighed. Of course he would look before being caught touching a simple servant girl. 

The moment their hands touched, Y/N gripped onto Eris’s hand tightly before pulling harshly. The heir of the Autumn Court was swept off his feet and came tumbling to the ground. 

Y/N only intended for him to fall down next to her— not on top of her. Eris’s elbows were braced on either side of Y/N’s head as he saved himself from his entire weight pressing on top of her. His body was perfectly slotted between her thighs. His face hovered over hers, so close she could feel his breath brush her face like a gentle caress. 

Y/N met Eris’s eyes and her heart skipped a beat. She had forgotten how beautiful the colour of his eyes were. 

“Y/N, I—“

Footsteps echoed down the hallway and Eris rushed to get up from Y/N. The moment he was on his feet and straightening his jacket, Beron walked around the corner. 

Eris looked down at Y/N, a scowl on his face. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

Beron cleared his throat. “Eris, is this vermin bothering you?”

“No,” Eris said quickly. “She isn’t.”

“But, you mentioned—“

“I will escort her out, Father,” Eris said and gripped Y/N’s upper arm. 

Before Y/N could say anything, Eris dragged her down the hallway and out of sight. Once Y/N was sure they were alone, Y/N pulled her arm from Eris’s grip. 

“Eris, get off me!” Y/N exclaimed. “I need to get back and do my job.”

Eris only gripped her arm once more and pulled her into a small storage room. He pressed his back against the door. 

“Eris,” Y/N said. “I need to get back to work.”

“No you’re not, Y/N,” Eris said. “You are leaving.”

Y/N scoffed. “I am not leaving. If this is just for pulling you down to the floor and harming your ego—“

“It isn’t about that, Y/N!” Eris snapped. “But you are leaving and never coming back here again. If I ever see you in this house ever again, I will banish you from this court myself.”

Y/N’s heart dropped. “Eris…”

“Go, Y/N,” Eris said. “I don’t want to ever see you again.”

Eris opened the door and gestured for her to step out. Y/N followed, her gaze cast down to the floor. 

“I am sorry, Eris,” Y/N muttered. “But I need to keep this job. I cannot afford my house without it.”

“That is not my problem, Y/N,” Eris replied, straightening his jacket once more. 

“Please, Eris,” Y/N begged. “Out of everyone in this house, you are the one who knows of my situation.”

There seemed to be a flash of regret across Eris’s face but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a sneer. “Y/N, I do not care about your situation. If your father were any smarter then he wouldn’t have gotten himself in debt before he passed, leaving you to pay it all off.”

Y/N’s eyes glistened with tears. “I hate you, Eris Vanserra.”

“I hear that a lot,” Eris said, looking away from Y/N. “It doesn’t sound any different when you say it. Leave, Y/N, before I need to force you.”

Eris sauntered down the hall, leaving Y/N alone in the centre of the grand hall, tears falling down her cheeks. 

***

The following day, Y/N spent hours looking for jobs in the nearest village. Conveniently no one was hiring. The moment she was home, Y/N spilled out all of her savings onto her bed. Although she had already paid over half of her father’s debt, she still had a long way to go. Paying only half had taken her nearly a century with the wage she was on. 

Y/N sighed and slumped down into the small tattered armchair. She loved her father dearly, she always had and she grieved him more than she cared to admit. But she hated him sometimes. She hated him for leaving her with the burden of his debts. 

Before she and her father were cast out in the Autumn Court, her father was well respected amongst the nobles and often spent his time with Beron and his other advisors. He often brought Y/N along and it was there she first met Eris. The heir was an only child at the time so was often bored of playing on his own. It didn’t take them long to form a friendship. They were attached at the hip…until the long awaited consequences of her fathers debts caught up to him. 

Beron offered her father a job in the house to earn money to pay his debts, probably the only kindness Y/N saw the High Lord give at the time. Only it wasn’t a kindness at all, it was simply a death sentence. Beron was well aware of her fathers debts amongst the other nobles and allowed him to fight in his army, completely untrained and unarmed– leaving Y/N completely alone. 

At first she thought she could rely on Eris and she could, until his brother came alone when they were twenty. It was as if a switch flipped within Eris. He went from Y/N’s best friend to someone she hated and despised. He was cruel and cold, despite the fire coursing through his veins. Y/N hated that she still saw him occasionally around the Forest House…well, that wouldn’t be a problem now. 

Y/N tried not to cry as she looked at the money on the bed. She barely had enough to pay for her food for the week. There were times where Y/N debated running away, she debated leaving Prythian completely, somewhere where Autumn had no ties. She could start a new life– a happier one. 

But something always pulled her back. Y/N didn’t know what but she needed to find out. 

A loud thump echoed through her small house. Y/N stilled and didn’t move. What if it was someone trying to claim their money now that they knew she wasn’t protected by the walls of the Forest House? What if they weren’t there for money at all?

Another loud thump, this time more desperate. 

Y/N carefully slid her dagger out from its hiding place and slowly walked to her front door. 

Another thump more desperate than the last. 

“Y/N…” Eris’s voice weakly called out. “Please…let me in.”

Y/N walked faster over to her front door and opened it with a scowl. 

Her dagger clattered to the floor. 

She let out a gasp. 

Eris collapsed into her arms.

***

Y/N panicked as she rushed around Eris to clean up all of the blood covering his body. And from the scent of it, every single drop was his. The rise and fall of his chest was shallow as she cut away his white shirt. Well she assumed it was originally white. 

His pale torso was coated with a layer of blood, some had dried but most of it seemed fresh. The deeper wounds still bled freely. 

Y/N wasn’t sure what to do. She could only heal small wounds and gashes, that was only what her father had taught her. This was extreme but they were too far away from a proper healer. By the time they got there, Eris would be dead. 

“Come on, Y/N,” she muttered to herself. “You can do this.”

She worked on stopping the blood flow from the large open gash in his side. She wiped away all of the dried blood surrounding the area. The gash wasn’t as large as she originally thought but it was deep– too deep for her to deal with. 

Tears pricked Y/N’s eyes. Not only would she be an outcast from the village because of the debt she owed but now she would be an outcast because she let the heir to the court die. 

“Eris,” Y/N whispered. “Please stay with me. Don’t you dare die on me. Not today.”

***

Most of the larger wounds on Eris’s body were cleaned and were slowly beginning to heal. The smaller cuts and bruises were only faintly there now. Y/N’s hands were still stained red from Eris’s blood. She hadn’t moved from her position on her coffee table since she finished sewing up the gaping wound in his side. Y/N was sure she had never been so scared in her life. What would have happened if she wasn’t able to help Eris? There were instances where she was sure he was going to die right there on her couch. Y/N shook her head, banishing the thought from her mind. Eris was alive, the clear rise and fall of his chest gave that away, no matter how shallow it was. 

Despite her uncomfortable position atop the coffee table, Y/N didn’t move, didn’t blink as she watched Eris. His wounds had slowly begun to heal but she still did not trust her own healing abilities fully. If any of the wounds got infected whilst they healed, Y/N didn’t want to wake to Eris dead on her couch. 

Y/N let out a yawn but continued to keep her eyes open. 

***

When Eris finally awoke, it was to a shout of pain. He shot up from his position on the couch, ripping open the wound Y/N had so carefully stitched. His hand flung to his side, pressing down to slow the bleeding. 

Y/N ran into the room, panic flooding her eyes. Eris was confused. Why was Y/N here? His heart beat faster as he surveyed the room. It had been many, many years since he had last been inside this small cabin but he recognised it instantly. Eris only began to panic even more. 

“Of course you wake when I was getting a drink for myself,” Y/N said, sitting down on the table in front of him. “And you ripped your stitches open.”

“Y/N,” Eris gasped. “What am I doing here?”

Y/N wiped her hands down her face. As she shuffled closer, he could identify the dark circles under her eyes that he knew were not there the last time he had seen her. And as she shuffled closer he only now noticed his lack of shirt, bare skin exposed to the air. Shame instantly rose within Eris. 

“You turned up here yesterday evening,” Y/N said, a haunted look in her eyes as her gaze drifted to the side. “You were covered in blood– your blood.”

Eris gulped down air as he pressed on his wound harder, he could feel the blood begin to slither between his fingers as he tried his best to keep it within his body. 

“Here,” Y/N said, the softest Eris had heard her voice in years. “Let me help.”

“You’ve done enough,” Eris said, letting his facade and walls turn to steel. “I can deal with it from here.”

The moment Eris went to stand, he collapsed instantly. Y/N rushed to his side and helped him settle back on the couch. The bloodstained couch. It was a wonder how he was even alive.

“Let me help you, Eris,” Y/N said, more firmly this time. A tone he was far more used to.

“Why?” Eris scoffed. “Because you care about me?”

“No,” Y/N said. If she had any idea of the dagger that word sent to his heart. “I don’t need the heir of Autumn to die on my couch. I’m already an outcast in the village already.”

Eris's eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Y/N.“

“I’m glad I could help you Eris, but why are you here? You threatened me with banishment not even a day ago and now you show up here begging for help,” Y/N said. 

Eris sighed. “I don’t know why I ended up here, Y/N.” It was a lie but Y/N didn’t need to know the truth— at least not yet. 

“Then what happened? You nearly died on me multiple times,” Y/N said, her voice catching. Eris fought the urge to reach out. 

“I can’t say, Y/N,” Eris said, looking at his bloody hands. 

Y/N scoffed. “Eris, you show up on my doorstep close to death and you cannot tell me what happened?”

Eris squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t, Y/N.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” 

“Both,” Eris said, meeting her eyes again. 

Y/N sighed. “Let me see your wound back up.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I need to leave,” Eris said. 

He tried to stand but the moment he tried, he grunted in pain. His side felt as if it were on fire. 

“Eris, you need to have this stitched again,” Y/N said, shuffling closer. “It won’t heal properly otherwise.”

Eris held her gaze. He could see the gleam of the unshed tears lingering in her eyes. Eris knew they weren’t for him. They were because of him. If he had died within her house, he didn’t even want to imagine what the rest of the village would say about her. He didn’t want to imagine what his own father would do to her. Eris only knew it would be far worse than what was done to him. 

“Fine,” Eris said and allowed himself to pull his hand away from the wound. It was still bleeding but not as much as before. 

Silently, Y/N moved to his side, sitting down on the dried blood. Eris cringed. That was his blood covering the couch. It was his blood covering her dress. 

Eris could barely feel the needle stitching his skin back together. All he did was stare forwards at the small table in the centre of the room. It was the same table as the last time he was in this house, Eris noticed. 

***

511 Years Ago

Eris laughed as Y/N pulled him into her house. It was late at night and the house was empty, her father was working late and Y/N took it upon herself to drag Eris back here. 

“Y/N, why have you dragged me here?” A twenty year old Eris asked as a nineteen year old Y/N dragged him down to sit on the couch. 

“It was your birthday a few days ago,” Y/N said. “And I know that you didn’t do much for it because your mother and father have been fussing over your mothers pregnancy. So…”

Y/N reached into her small bag and pulled out a small box. She handed it to Eris. 

“You didn’t need to get me anything,” Eris said. 

“Well I did,” Y/N said, casually holding onto his arm. 

Eris slowly opened the box and was greeted by the sight of the most beautiful ring. 

“I had it engraved!” Y/N said excitedly. “I know how much you love to be around me…”

Eris rolled his eyes but didn’t object. 

“So,” Y/N continued. “You will always have a piece of me with you. I asked for the gem in my necklace to be split into two.”

Eris read the engraved text on the inner part of the ring. 

“For the days you feel alone…”

“I have a matching one,” Y/N said, taking her own ring out of her pocket. 

“All you need to do is touch the gem embedded in the metal and I will feel it,” Y/N said. “The same with me.”

Y/N slipped her own ring onto her finger. It was thinner than Eris’s ring yet just as beautiful. She lightly ran her finger over the gem and Eris felt his ring heat up the smallest amount. 

“Y/N…” Eris said, looking at the ring in his finger. “How much did you spend on this?”

Y/N shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

Eris looked at Y/N, many emotions overwhelmed him to the point where he couldn’t find the words to say. Despite having a good relationship with his mother, she had never gotten him a meaningful present before. His father never really cared about birthdays so Eris rarely even got a ‘Happy Birthday’ from his father. 

But this gift from Y/N trumped any other gift he had received before, or will ever receive. He felt a tug and his breath was gone for a brief moment. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” Eris said, his finger gliding over the small gem. 

Y/N smiled. “You’re welcome. Now you will always know I am beside you.”

Eris couldn’t think of anything to do but pull her into him, wrapping his arms around her body. Y/N’s arms snaked around his neck, embracing him tightly. 

The scent of her overwhelmed Eris. Her scent was once he could always pick out in a crowd of a thousand. It was comforting for him, it made him feel safe, loved. 

“Y/N…” Eris began, afraid for the words that were about to come out of his mouth. “I love you.”

Y/N’s body went rigid before she pulled away from Eris, an indescribable expression on her face. Eris’s heart sank. 

He quickly avoided her gaze and shuffled uncomfortably on the couch. “I’m sorry. Just forget I said anything.”

Just as he went to stand up, Y/N gently clasped his hand. “You love me?”

Eris met her gaze once more. “I do. I have for a while now, I just didn’t want to complicate things. I didn’t want to lose you as a friend.”

Y/N shook her head. “You haven’t lost me as a friend, and you never will.”

Eris offered a stiff smile. “Well I would prefer it if we just completely forget that this ever happened between us.”

“Why?”

Eris shuffled. “Because you don’t return my feelings.”

Y/N smiled, soft and gentle. “I never said that.”

Eris’s heart skipped a beat. 

Y/N laced her fingers with his. “I love you too, Eris. I never said anything because I thought you would never return my feelings.”

A sigh of relief slipped past Eris’s lips. “You love me back?”

“Of course I do,” Y/N said, positioning her body closer to Eris. “How could I not?”

Eris smiled. “I honestly don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” Y/N said and soon enough her lips were pressed firmly against Eris’s. 

***

“Eris,” Y/N said. “Eris!”

Eris snapped out of his thoughts and turned his attention away from the table in front of him. “Yes?”

“You’ve been staring blankly at the table ever since I began stitching up your wound,” Y/N said. 

Eris looked down and noticed she had already finished. He barely felt it at all. “Thank you.”

Y/N nodded before moving away from him. Despite the fire coursing through his veins, Eris suddenly felt cold. 

“Now are you going to tell me what happened?” Y/N asked as she wiped the blood from her hands. 

“No,” Eris replied, grunting in pain as she shifted positions. 

“Still so stubborn,” Y/N muttered.

“I need to leave,” Eris said. “I don’t want my mother wondering where I disappeared to. And I have other matters to finish.”

“You are not going anywhere,” Y/N said. “Not until you are fully healed anyway.”

“I am leaving, Y/N,” Eris said.

“You can barely stand without causing pain,” Y/N commented.

“I can,” Eris said. 

Y/N folded her arms across her chest. “Prove it.”

“Fine,” Eris said.

This time Eris did manage to get to his feet but the pain all over his body made him sway in place. He felt as if he were being beaten all over again. 

“See,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m fine.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Sit back down, Eris.”

“I’m not staying here, Y/N,” Eris said as she took an excruciating step towards the front door. “I can’t.”

“Why? Afraid being seen with a servant girl will ruin your image?” Y/N spat.”

“Don’t,” Eris hissed.

“Don’t what?” Y/N said, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Eris said. “You are so much more than that.”

“As if you believe that, Eris,” Y/N scoffed. “For years you have looked down upon me for being a worker in the Forest House. You have sneered at me in the halls. You have constantly belittled me whenever someone sees you talking to me. You act like I am the scum of the whole of Prythian. I can’t believe I loved you all those years ago.”

Loved. 

Past tense.

The one word cut Eris deeper than any other wound on his body. Of course he already knew that Y/N no longer loved him but it didn't hurt any less to hear it come from her mouth. 

“I have my reasons for everything, Y/N,” Eris said, closing his eyes, wishing he were anywhere else. 

“It would help a lot for you to justify them,” Y/N said, her voice cracking. “You were my first kiss, my first love, my first everything. I always imagined what our life would be like together. I pictured it every day. The day my fathers debts were made public, you comforted me, you stayed with me for those first few weeks when it was the hardest. It was in those moments when I realised how deep my love went for you. Everyone else abandoned me, but you stayed.”

“But the moment your brother Tycho was born, everything suddenly shifted. You became a completely different person. You became cruel, distant and cold, not just toward me but to everyone who was close to you,” Y/N said, her eyes brimming with tears. “You became a stranger to me. I thought it was just the stress and gave you the benefit of the doubt but the moment my father passed away and I heard you laugh with your father about it, I knew that beautiful heart inside your body had turned to stone.”

Eris squeezed his eyes shut. “I had my reasons.”

“As you’ve said, but I deserve to know the reason why the Eris standing before me right now, killed the male I was once in love with.” Y/N’s voice broke and Eris dreaded to find out what he would find if he opened his eyes. 

“I can’t–”

“That is bullshit, Eris,” Y/N exclaimed. “I deserve to know why the male bleeding in my living room replaced the one who I shared so much of myself with.”

Slowly, Eris opened his eyes. Tears were streaming down Y/N’s face. Eris’s heart clenched as he fought the instinctual urge to reach for her. 

“It was because of you,” Eris confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I did all of it to protect you from my father and my younger brothers, everything.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked. 

“I have already told you too much, Y/N,” Eris said. “I need to go before my father finds out where I am.”

As Eris turned, Y/N suddenly gasped. 

“Eris,” Y/N said. “Your back…”

He knew what she could see. The scars that littered his back were his own secret, one he preferred no one else knew about, not even his own mother. When Eris had received the beating from his father, he was shocked to discover that he wouldn’t be adding to the collection on his back, but on his torso and chest instead. 

“I told you I needed to protect you from my father,” Eris said before limping out of the small house. 

The moment the cold air hit his skin, Eris hissed in pain. He was more aware of every cut and wound on his body. 

“Eris, don’t walk away,” Y/N begged as she followed him.

“Y/N, go back inside,” Eris said. “And don’t ever talk to me again. I can’t let him anywhere near you.”

“At least stay until you are healed,” Y/N said. “Your power is drained. Are you really going to walk all the way to the Forest House from here? You could die in this cold.”

“Better out there than in your house,” Eris said, each step felt like a rain of daggers. 

“Eris, please just come back inside,” Y/N said. 

“Y/N, the longer I stay here, the more danger you are in,” Eris said. “My father has most likely already sent my brothers after me. I cannot be seen with you. It will only confirm his suspicions.”

“What suspicions?” Y/N asked.

The more Eris walked the more he could feel his energy drain. He dragged his feet along the path to the gate of Y/N’s garden. His legs began to get weaker and weaker and his head spun. He had lost too much blood to be up on his feet this fast. 

“Please, go back inside,” Eris muttered.

“No, what suspicions, Eris?” Y/N asked. 

“Please…” Eris said, feeling himself get weaker. 

He buckled under his own weight and fell onto the cobblestones below him. He could barely lift his arm up. The sound of Y/N’s quick footsteps echoed on the ground and she appeared in his vision. 

“Y/N,” Eris mumbled. “Please, just leave me here.”

“No,” Y/N said. “I told you to stay inside but you didn’t listen.”

“I can’t be seen with you,” Eris siad, his vision becoming blurred.

“I don’t care, I am not leaving you here to die. I won’t let you,” Y/N said.

“I can’t let you get close to me,” Eris whispered. “It was the only way to stop it.”

Eris couldn’t stop the words falling from his mouth. Everything he never wanted to say aloud was coming to light. 

“Stop what? You are not making any sense right now,” Y/N asked and Eris felt the warm caress of her hand on the side of his face. From what he could see, Y/N looked concerned, all the hatred for him had seemed to be wiped clean from her face. 

“Stop the bond snapping,” Eris mumbled, leaning into her touch. “You are my mate, Y/N.”

Eris’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt himself drift into unconsciousness. 

[fkinavocado]

Daddy issues- Masterlist, Author’s Note & Warnings

extra / alternatively, read on wattpad

*timeline: somewhere after the main story

Home (word count: 6.5k)

“Honey, I’m home!”

You heard Harry at the front door and greeted him back, waiting for him to come into the kitchen to see the surprise you had waiting for him.

Home.

After your trip to Italy you decided not to head back to the US. Harry suggested you’d try London on for a fit, and after renting out a place for quite a few months, you finally decided this would be your new home. Harry brought his business back home so to speak, and you began hunting for the perfect place. It hadn’t been easy, but you’d found it finally- a typical Londonese townhouse, full of charm and history. And the fact it had quite the back yard had been a major plus.

The price point had been an absolute shock. Harry assured you it was a good area and that’s why the price was so steep but you couldn’t hurt but argue that he could’ve bought a mansion back in the US for that kind of money. 

Because, of course, Harry wouldn’t even consider debating some sort of arrangement in which you could chip in. The property was in his name, and it’s not like you were married, so it made sense in a way, but you wanted to at least pay the bills if anything. Harry would shut down any such attempts of yours.

Even though you’d finally found the place to call your own, it was still a work in progress. But it was home. Harry had made sure of it. He’d never ceased looking for the place that would be the perfect home for the two of you, for a fresh start together. 

There wasn’t much you had to tackle on, with Harry being the talented interior designer that he was. Not that he didn’t consult with you on every small thing and worked hard to turn your vision into reality. But the garden he’d left to your tending alone. And, well, until you could find your footing again career-wise, you enjoyed playing the housewife quite a bit.

Harry was treating you as such, anyway. He knew better than to rush this kind of thing with you after what the two of you had been through, but you knew he was just aching to pop the question. 

And maybe you were beginning to entertain the idea, too. The mere notion of marriage used to scare you, what with the toxic family you’d grown up in, but Harry was your rock. He was your forever, you just knew it. And you knew it’d make him happy. So you were trying to give him subtle hints that maybe he could be less tentative in his approach.

You were never much of a cook, but you did try, for him, for the two of you. Besides, you were starting to get bored at home. Job hunting wasn’t exactly being very fruitful, especially since you weren’t quite sure what you wanted to do going further, and Harry encouraged you to take all the time you needed and even insisted you could even not go back to work at all. He very much enjoyed having you home all to himself.

Not to mention all his talk of breeding you during sex, a kink of his (and yours) that had revved up quite dramatically ever since you’d been to Italy. You didn’t really discuss it properly outside the bedroom, but you knew deep down this was something Harry was genuinely hoping for. He wanted kids with you, no doubt. And that was something you were still trying to figure out for yourself. 

“Something smells delicious in here.”

Slightly startled, lost in your train of thought, you turned to him. And what a glorious sight it was. Harry had just returned from a football match (the way he insisted soccer was actually called here) with some of his old and newer buddies, and he liked to go all in. He even wore a proper jersey, the whole she-bang, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was a proper football player with the way said jersey clung onto his sweaty body, knee high socks and his hair pinned up messily in a small claw clip atop his head. 

“Oh, it’s just a little something.”

“Love, it’s not just a little something. You barely made it all fit on the dinner table!”

“Well, I know you had a long week at work and you’d been looking forward to go kick that ball around with the boys and would get back home famished, so… hope you like it.”

“Damn, I’m a lucky son of a bitch aren’t I?” He grinned and you made your way to him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Sorry, darling, I should go wash up first. I’m a sweaty mess.”

“No, don’t, the food will get cold. It’s been set on the table for some 10 minutes, the game took longer than I expected. Sorry,” you worried your lower lip between your teeth and watched him look at you endearingly and then even more so taking in everything you’d set out on the table for dinner.

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. I’m sorry it took so long, had I known what was waiting for me back home I’d have rushed back. But I had to wait for David to drive me back, and that wanker was trying to get us all to go hit a pub. Luckily everyone was feeling beat and he dropped it.”

“David… Beckham?”

Harry laughed, “I’ll tell him you said that. He’ll get a kick out of it.”

“But wait, why did you need him to drive you home? Didn’t you drive there?”

“I did, but I have an ouchie.” He pouted, giving you his best puppy dog eyes and you giggled before it actually hit you.

“What? You’re injured?! Where?”

Harry chuckled. “Hardly an injury. But I did sprain my ankle I’m afraid. Certainly feels like it, I can’t lean on it. It’s my right so I can’t drive.”

You were just now noticing Harry was leaning against the open space arch of the kitchen, resting his whole weight on his good leg.

“What are you standing there for?! Sit down, for god’s sake. And you wanted to take a shower–” you scolded him, which for some reason made him smile all the more as he limped to his seat at the table. “I’ll run you a bath after you eat. Let me get you some hygienic wet wipes at least, those hands look like you’ve been out gardening, I swear to god…” you left for the wipes, mumbling to yourself and could hear Harry’s low chuckle. He found your worry endearing but you lowkey wanted to wring his neck for not being more careful.

After going through all the cabinets in which you could’ve swore you’d stashed some, you returned to the kitchen. “I can’t find them.”

“I’ll wash my hands in the sink–” he made to stand up but you pushed him back into his chair gently, mindful of his injury.

“For god’s sake, sit down you silly man.” You then scooted your own chair next to his and started plating for him. 

“Y/N, this looks amazing. Truly. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

He sounded genuinely impressed and that lifted your spirits somewhat. “Well, it’s the least I can do sitting at home all day doing nothing while you’re out there earning a living.”

Harry gave you a long look, and you felt it so intensely that you looked up at him after you set his place in between the two of you, “what?”

“You know that’s not how it works. You shouldn’t ever feel the need to compensate in any way, my love. You know that. Have I not told you this enough times that it gets through in that pretty head of yours? This is not a barter. I’m not expecting anything of you. Not a single thing. I just want you to be happy doing whatever it is that you want to do.”

“I know?...” you cleared your throat, repeating to sound more convincing. “I know. I happened to like doing this for you. For us. Gives me a sense of accomplishment that I contribute to our home together. Is that so bad?”

Harry wanted to bring his hand to your cheek and then clumsily refrained, remembering he hadn’t had a chance to wash. “Of course not, sweetheart. But I’m just making sure you’re doing it because you genuinely felt like doing it. And just because you did this today, I’m not expecting it tomorrow, or the day after. You don’t need to cook. I enjoy cooking for us too, and we can always go out or order takeout, it’s nothing to stress over. Alright? Promise me?”

You smiled, taking in his genuine words. “I promise, baby. Now shush. It’s getting cold.”

He laughed and when he made to grab the fork you playfully slapped it away. “Nuh-huh. Dirty hands. I’ll feed you.”

Harry really laughed then, throwing his head back a bit. “Excuse you?”

“What? C’mon. Here comes the airplaaaane…”

Harry looked at you incredulously but eventually gave into your little game. He smilingly allowed you to hand feed him two forkfulls, then pushed his chair further away from the table, patting his left thigh. “Hop on.”

“But– your leg…”

“It’s the good one, c’mon. Do it proper if you’re gonna do it, hm?”

You gave him a pointed look and then plopped yourself in his lap, resuming forking food up to feed to him. 

“Baby, this is incredible. I can’t get over it.”

“Yeah? You truly like it?”

“I love it!” He widened his eyes for emphasis which made you giggle. After a few more forkfulls he insisted you ate some as well, and you didn’t bother switching silverware. You shared his plate and then you got up to get some more of your favorites, and Harry didn’t miss the opportunity to swat your bum teasingly. 

“Apron and all. Hmm. You know, this is starting to make sense now that I’m nourished and can properly take this all in: you were trying to seduce me. You little minx…”

“Is that right?” You plopped yourself back into his lap, scooting in closer to him this time around. 

Harry groaned, squeezing your lovehandle with his arm around your waist. “Alright then. I’ll play your little game. See if it works, hm?”

“We shall see.” you shrugged and he couldn’t resist pulling you in for a kiss before you resumed feeding the both of you.

Harry really did gobble down most of what you’d cooked. You enjoyed it as well, to your surprise. Sure, there was definitely room for improvement but all in all you could consider it a success. One of many, if you felt so inclined, as per Harry’s reiteration at the end of the meal.

You did keep your promise and went to run him a bath. He checked some work on his laptop that you’d retrieved for him while he waited, and then you helped him walk to the master bathroom and get into the tub. You realized it was worse than he was letting on, though, with the way he rested so much of his weight on your shoulders and kept wincing all the way. Harry was definitely not the kind to ever complain about any kind of pain unless it was serious, and while he wasn’t complaining he certainly wasn’t trying to hide the fact that he was in pain either. You loved that about him, the fact that he allowed himself to be vulnerable like that in front of you and not let his masculine ego get in the way.

“Shouldn’t you get it x-rayed?” You sat at the edge of the tub as he soaked blissfully, closing his eyes and getting comfy against the headrest. 

“Don’t be silly, darling. It’s just a sprain. I’ve had plenty. Will keep it elevated for a day or two and I’ll be good as new.”

“I’m not so sure, Harry. I’ve had my ankle sprained plenty of times too but you really look like you’re in pain. And I got a good look at it too and it looks really swollen.”

“Hey, I’m a shower not a grower. You know that.”

You splashed some water at him making him laugh, wiping the suds from his face.

"You're a brave little thing when you know I can't make any sudden movements. But just you wait, hm?"

But you were right. As the evening progressed it got worse, the pain was throbbing and although you helped him to bed and elevated his foot on some throw pillows, his grunts were intensifying.

“You’re so damn stubborn. What’s wrong with going to the ER?”

“I’ll see how I feel in the morning. I just need to sleep it off. Could you remove the pillows though? I feel it’s making it worse somehow.”

“Alright… but I’m getting you some painkillers. Be right back.”

You removed the throw pillows as he requested and went searching for something to help with the pain and swelling. Drugs had different names here, and you had to google some of them from the limited kit you’d gathered since you’d moved. Finally you found something that looked promising and decided to give him a double dosage, lord knows he needed it.

After you brought it to Harry and had him gulp them down with a full glass of water, you cuddled to his side and got comfy before you both resumed your reading. Harry had this habit of reading before bedtime and it grew on you too, and now you enjoyed reading before bed snuggled up together.

You were so engrossed in your book that you didn’t notice Harry dozing off. It was only when you heard his faint little snores that you peeked up at him from under his arm that he kept wrapped around your front as you laid into his side, playing with his fingers you hadn’t noticed going limp either. He looked adorable with his reading glasses that had slid down his nose somewhat, mouth parted slightly and book resting on his chest, moving with his deep breaths. 

You had the sudden urge to kiss him all over, but you knew he needed rest. The fact that he had managed to fall asleep meant the painkillers had kicked in, the last thing you wanted was to wake him up. He needed a good night’s rest to recover.

You carefully slid out of his hold, put your book away and turned your lamp off, then fished his book out of his other hand and placed it on his night stand, reaching over him carefully to turn off his lamp.

Just before you could reach for it, you felt his warm embrace engulf you, his hot, pouty lips sponging a wet kiss to your neck. “Leave it on, want to look at you,” he murmured against your skin.

You chuckled quietly, keeping your voice low, “oh no, big boy. We’re calling it a night. You need your rest, go back to sleep.”

“But you seduced me!” He whined and the pitch of his voice almost made you laugh with how genuine it sounded. You then pulled back a bit to look him in the eye when he kept his arms tight around you, refraining you from turning off the lamp, and took in his appearance. His pupils were dilated to the point where the green in his eyes was barely visible anymore, his cheeks flushed, his lips shiny and pouty, you couldn’t help but give in and kiss him. One kiss, is what you told yourself, one good night kiss and then you’d coax him into going back to sleep but as soon as your lips touched he thrust his tongue inside of your mouth without preamble, the kiss turning heated instantly.

His hands slid down your sides until they reached your ass, squeezing it firmly and then spanking you swiftly. “Little minx. Did you think you could seduce daddy and leave him hanging?”

You could physically feel your panties dampen at that. It didn’t take much for him to work you up, his words as effective as they’d always been. 

“We can’t… your ankle–”

“Plenty of things I can do without having to move much, sweetheart. Hm? How about you put in all the work for once. Take the day off from being such a pillow princess.”

You gasped at that and he bit his lower lip in amusement, his eyes sparkling with mischief at the way his words had gotten just the reaction he’d wanted out of you.

“I beg your finest–”

He spanked you again, hard,  effectively silencing you. “Sure, you can beg. Beg, crawl, cry your little eyes out for daddy to fuck you silly. Let’s start with that, why don’t we?”

You gulped, panting heavily just from the dirty talk and the way he was looking at you. “Please, daddy… I don’t want to hurt you.”

You saw endearment flash over his face before he smirked, erasing any trace of it. “That’s cute, darling. You’re only hurting daddy’s feelings by not trusting me. Do you not trust me, Y/N?”

You nodded dumbly, “of course I do, daddy…”

“Then slide out of those flimsy panties of yours that you call pyjamas and crawl up here.”

You furrowed your brows while you did as instructed, but before you could ask him to clarify, he grabbed at you as he scooted lower on the bed, without so much as wincing so you trusted he was being careful with his movements, manhandling you right where he wanted you: hovering over his face.

“Would you look at that, darling. Made a mess of yourself already.” He blew against your wetness, making you shiver. He ran his hands up and down your ass and back of your thighs, and then spanked you once more. It stung particularly hard now that you were half naked. “Tsk. What am I going to do with you, hm? Kiss you once and you get all wet like a filthy slut. Thought you were being the good little housewife, Y/N. What happened to her, hm? Cooked me a nice meal, ran me a bath, tended to me, sat in bed reading with me. What happened that made her turn into such a filthy little slut for me all of a sudden?”

You whined at his degrading words and how he kept you hovering over his mouth, his nose nudging against your clit as he spoke, barely grazing it but making you squirm every time. 

He spanked you again, making you moan. “Asked you a question Y/N, answer me!”

“I was… you said it yourself, I was… seducing you.”

“You were, weren’t you?” He chuckled lowly. “Could see right through your little act. Doting on your daddy when all you want, really, is for me to fuck you silly in return. Didn’t know I was injured at first, of course… bet you were disappointed, going through all that trouble, not getting anything in return for it, hm?”

“No!” You whined, even though you knew he was just teasing to get a reaction out of you. You enjoyed a bit of degradation in the bedroom and Harry knew just how far to push it without hurting your feelings in earnest. “I did it because I love you, daddy… never want anything in return…”

“Oh yeah? So you’d be okay if I just plopped you back onto bed and kissed your forehead goodnight?’

You wiggled on top of him but he wouldn’t allow you to lower yourself, desperate for his mouth. He chuckled, “thought so. Like I said.. Just a desperate little slut for her daddy…”

“Yes… I am! So what?! Been good… I deserve it! Please, daddy, I’m dripping…”

“Not quite, I’d feel it if you did,” he teased, making you whine pitifully. “Maybe you don’t want it bad enough?”

“I do, I do… please, daddy. Please, please? Just one lick, I’ll prove it. I’ll be so good for you, ride your face just like you like. Let you bury your tongue inside me, get you all messy. Please let me.”

Harry groaned, throwing his head further into his pillow, narrowing his eyes at you. His resolve was crumbling and you knew it. Still, you gave him your best dowe eyes, biting your lower lip and bringing a hand to your tit, squeezing it through the thin crop top you were wearing. 

“Okay.” He tried to keep his voice level but you could hear the slight tremble in it. “Just one lick, better make it good, Y/N.”

You nodded your head enthusiastically, and when he finally allowed you to lower yourself a bit more so he could reach you comfortably, and his tongue swiped between your folds you moaned loudly and sank down all the way against his face, still careful to keep much of your weight on your knees but making sure you were flush against him.

His own moan vibrated against you before spanking you once, twice, three times in the exact same spot, making sure he left a visible handprint for you both to admire for the next few days. 

“Lucky you’ve got such a sweet cunt, sweetheart, otherwise I’d punish you on the spot for that little stunt.” He was panting heavily, barely getting the words out before latching his lips to your clit and sucking intently, alternating between long drags and short little pulsating sucks, and you mewled wantonly above him, desperate for more already.

Harry grabbed your asscheeks and guided you against his mouth, making an absolute mess of himself in the process, your fingers digging into his curls for leverage, the slight pull making him groan in pleasure. You glided against his mouth blissfully, all your inhibitions thrown to the wind; he always knew how to get you there, make you lose yourself in the feel of him to the point where you surrendered to your instincts completely. 

When he finally stuck his tongue inside of you, you threw your head back, and he brought his one hand off your ass to deliver a swift slap against your clit, making it throb deliciously. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Watch while your man devours your pretty pussy.”

You nodded your head, biting hard on your lower lip. “Just like that, daddy. Lap me up, it’s just for you.”

Harry loved it when you got vocal too. It wasn’t very often, a rare treat, and definitely only had its time and place when Harry wasn’t feeling too dominating. You could tell he loved it with the way he rolled his eyes to the back of his head and ate at you like a man starved. Harry ate pussy much like he kissed, he put his all into it. Wet, sloppy, passionate, intense, you wouldn’t have it any other way. He genuinely loved and craved it and it was driving you absolutely feral.

He grabbed at your hips, detaching you off of his face and spitting right against you before delivering another swift slap. “Turn around. Suck me, show me what a good slut you are for daddy.”

You clumsily did as he ordered and scurried down his body as he manoeuvred you right back over his face, wasting no time before he latched his mouth back onto you. You could barely think while he was doing it, let alone coordinate your movements, but you reached for him blindly and pulled his throbbing cock out of his sweats. He’d forgone underwear, as usual. You loved this angle while giving him head, you could slide him down your throat much easier this way. Which is exactly what you did, as soon as you licked all over his length ensuring proper lubrication, making him thrust up in surprise and gagging you.

“Fuck!” He added two fingers into the mix, either to apologise or reward you, you couldn’t tell, curling them right against your g-spot, to which he also had easy access from that angle. You slowed your movements, breathing in deeply through your nose and moaning around him, making him grunt and speed up his fingers, replacing them with his tongue, fucking you with it for a bit as he rubbed at your clit with the same fingers coated in your juices, then pushing them right back inside. He kept alternating between his tongue and his fingers and you were right on the verge of a delicious orgasm, but you tried to stave it off, wanted to get him there too before you gave into the pleasure and you knew you wouldn’t be able to work him as effectively.

You toyed with his balls and you sucked him just the way he liked, and you did notice he was trying his best not to thrust up again, but you weren’t sure if he was doing it to refrain from straining his leg or just for your sake. He loved it when you chocked on him, which is why you did it again, holding him in the back of your throat for longer this time and swallowing around him.

“Fuck, just like that, baby. Take it. Take it all.”

He added a third finger and you knew you couldn’t hold off much longer. Harry could tell too, knowing your telltale signs by heart by now. “Don’t bother coming if you’re not going to drench me, Y/N. I mean it,” he warned. “Either you squirt all over my face or hold it until you do. Gonna be a good girl for daddy and give me what I want?”

He could feel your head bobbing as you tried your best to nod while he stuffed your mouth, and with one final push to the back of your throat you felt him shaking beneath you, his whole body tensing before he shot his cum right down your throat. You pull off a bit and sucked just the tip, his warm release flooding your mouth and making you spill some too as he came violently. 

“Good girl…. Good fucking girl, Y/N…” he regained his composure slowly, resuming his vigorous pumps. “Sucked me dry, now let me have it. Fucking come for me, do it, right into my mouth, right now!”

The dam broke and you swore you were happier not to have disappointed him than to actually finally reach your peak. He groaned and moaned all throughout, sticking his tongue inside you again and licking you up and all around until you collapsed entirely on top of him and he knew you were spent and done for.

He helped you off of him, gentle at first but then he grabbed at you and made you hover over him for a heated kiss before you could plop to his side and fall right asleep like you usually did after he’d make you squirt like this.

“Did so good for me, darling, the best slutty housewife, aren’t you? Complete package, making me so happy. Daddy loves you so much, sweetheart.”

You mumbled something unintelligible against his mouth, as he kept peppering your face with kisses, praising you and caressing you tenderly. 

“Wanted you to ride me, but we’ll save that for another day. Have a feeling I should be resting tomorrow as well, make a full recovery.”

You groaned in protest and he laughed at your cute reaction, knowing full well how much you actually enjoyed riding him. You weren’t a pillow princess at all, and you both knew it. Harry just enjoyed dominating you too much for it to happen that often. 

But little did he know, that’s exactly how you were planning to wake him up in the morning. You were determined to take full advantage of this opportunity to dote on him in every way. He was sure to sleep in after all the physical activity and his body really did need rest. You made sure to bring a damp towel and clean up the both of you before you went to sleep, checked to see if the swelling on his ankle had gone down (it hadn’t), and then cuddled into his side making sure he’d sleep face up and not move around in his sleep much.

You woke up smilingly, realizing it was still early enough and Harry would sleep unperturbed for another hour naturally.

You slid out of bed carefully, tiptoed around the room to gather your phone and then quietly made your way to the kitchen where you googled the recipe for crêpes suzette. You grimaced as you took in how difficult they were to make. They were a favourite of Harry’s, so you willed yourself not to be discouraged. 

You kept glancing at the kitchen clock, time went on and it was taking forever, you hoped Harry would not wake up to the smell of it (it did smell quite amazing to be honest), or to the accidental loud noises you made whenever you dropped an utensil clumsily.

You were no housewife, that was for sure, even after all that experience waitressing, but cooking was Harry’s expertise. You’d made him proud the night before though, waiting for him with homemade dinner, prompting you further to do your best and spoil him a bit, especially now that he was prone to be a bit grouchy. Harry hated feeling incapacitated in any way, he rarely fell ill but when he did he tried to hide it until it was inevitable, never wanting to appear weak in front of you. He allowed himself to be vulnerable and pour his heart out to you entirely, but when it came to his physical capabilities, the man had one big ego.

You smirked to yourself in anticipation of his reaction later on. With still some time to spare, you showered in the guest bathroom, smiling when you returned into the kitchen with Harry nowhere in sight and the fragrant smell of oranges all around. You took his favourite bourbon vanilla icecream out of the freezer, scooping some out and plating it on top of the crêpes. 

You quietly made your way back into the master bedroom, Harry sleeping soundly still. Part of you felt like maybe you should let him sleep in some more, but then your plan would go to waste and sure, he’d still appreciate the crêpes, but your surprise wouldn’t be complete if you did.

You carefully placed the plate on his nightstand and then eyed the way he was tenting the duvet. Harry usually slept in the nude, not all of the time, but certainly always after sex. Removing the duvet as slowly as possible as to not wake him up, you felt your mouth water at the sight of his delicious length just waiting there, ready to fill you up and stretch you just right, in one way or another. You took off your robe you’d worn out of the shower, letting it pool to your feet and leaving you stark naked. You’d made sure to use his favourite body wash, even complete with the body oil from the same set he’d gifted you a while back. Your skin was glowy in the soft morning light, the sun barely peeking through the windows.

Carefully, you straddled him. What you really wanted was to slide right onto him. And you could’ve, you’d both woken the other up like this plenty of times. It was something you both enjoyed, especially in the middle of the night.

But for what you had in mind, you avoided his length that kept twitching tantalisingly in his sleep, and instead straddled his navel right below his butterfly tattoo.

You bent down to kiss him gently, your hands caressing his face and his body softly as you did so. Harry moaned awake, not in the least surprised to feel you on top of him for a split second, almost as though he’d been dreaming of this very scenario.

When he came to his senses fully his eyes widened, and his kiss deepened, his arms coming around you and his cock pushing into your backside.

“Morning, baby.”

Harry beamed at you, placing a strand of your hair behind your ear delicately. “Morning, my little love.” He kissed you again, humming against your lips. He made to flip you over but, flexing his leg muscles he was quickly reminded of his injury and he groaned in pain, tightening his hold on you.

“Fuck! I’d forgotten all about that for a moment there…”

You winced at his pained reaction, wishing you would’ve reminded him about it before he could try and move. “Is it as bad?”

Harry puffed his cheeks, exhaling loudly. “It’s… bad.”

“Oh my baby… I’m so sorry. Here, I have something for you to make it all better, hm?”

Harry relaxed his features at that and pulled back a bit to take you all in. “I’d say… fuck, you gorgeous woman. Want me to have a heart attack to make me forget all about my sprained ankle, huh? Interesting approach.”

You chuckled, biting on your lower lip at the compliment shily. “Even better.” You reached over and grabbed the plate, presenting it to him proudly.

Harry sat up a bit, leaning on his elbows. “Have I actually died and gone to heaven, then? Skipped right through that heart attack.”

You giggled, using your spare hand to prop some pillows behind him so he could sit comfortably back against them. 

“Do you know what it is?”

“My favourites. Crêpes suzette. Bloody hell, did you actually make these yourself?”

You beamed at him, all proud and happy with his genuinely surprised reaction. “Yes I did. Just for you. Know you like them, wanted to pamper you a bit.”

“Smells incredible.” He let his hands roam your body freely, stopping at your breasts and kneading them with just the right amount of pleasure. “You’re incredible. Kiss me.”

You leaned over, the plate to the side and out of the way. “I love you.”

He smiled against your lips and his hands moved down your spine to your waist, deepening the kiss, but you pulled back, straightening.

“Fill me up, daddy.”

Harry groaned, not wasting any time in aiding you sink down his cock. You clenched around him, trying to adjust and Harry squeezed your hips until it hurt a bit with how much he was refraining from thrusting into you until you relaxed around him.

You shifted forward a bit, making him moan and brought the plate back between the two of you, slicing up a bite and bringing the fork to his lips. 

Harry watched between heavy lids as you licked your lips in anticipation as if you were the one about to have a bite. Just as you fed it to him, you grinded against him, making him squeeze your hips even harder as his eyes widened in ecstasy. You did it again, only moving as you fed him a bit more of the crêpes. Harry was losing it. “I’m gonna come so hard. You’re blowing my mind. My senses are in overdrive.”

You hummed proudly. “Good.” You finally had a bite yourself and moaned around the fork. You couldn’t believe how good it turned out and that you’d actually made this from scratch. Well, aside from the ice cream. Speaking of which, Harry scooped some using his finger and painted it all over your tit, then sat up straighter to lick it all up and then suck it into his mouth greedily.

Between the two of you, you managed to finish the crêpes in record timing, orange syrup dripping between the two of you, Harry lapping it all off of you as he worked you over his body. He couldn’t use his legs for this so it was really up to you to pick up the pace, and you didn’t disappoint. You knew your thighs would burn for days afterwards but you rode him like you stole him. Thankfully, you’d both gotten quite worked up and reached your peeks in record timing. Harry didn’t even get to use his dirty mouth all that much, that’s how fast you got there.

“That was… a whole other level of pleasure.” He pulled you flush against him, both of you panting heavily.

“That worked out better than even I imagined,” you giggled.

“You’re full of surprises these days, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He caressed up and down your spine with featherlight touches. “I’m so lucky. Don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“I’m the lucky one.”

Harry tightened his hold around you. “Sometimes it feels like my heart is gonna burst, that’s how happy you make me, you know that? Just another way to get me to that heart attack, I’m onto you, you know.”

You laughed lightly against his chest. “Oh no, you caught me.” You wanted to make another joke about your age gap but refrained, knowing his ego was already bruised more than his ankle was.

Harry swatted your bum playfully, almost as if reading your mind, the both of you laughing at how his fingers stuck to your skin in doing so. “How about you go run us another bath, love? I can feel us glueing together with that orange syrup.”

You reached to kiss him once more before pulling away. Didn’t bother covering up as you went and ran the bath, then took a good look at yourself in the mirror. You looked thoroughly fucked and radiant. You knew just what Harry was referring to when he said his heart felt like it was going to burst with happiness because you felt the exact same way.

By the time you made your way back into the bedroom, Harry was fast asleep again. You took in the sight of him, deciding to give him an extra hour before you woke him up again for your bath, just another way of pampering him. 

Slipping the bathrobe back on, you made your way back into the kitchen after turning off the tap in the bathroom to make some coffee, already thinking of convincing him to at least let you cockwarm him in the tub later.

Not even the harsh reality of all the dishes you had to clean wasn’t enough to swipe off that smile off your face. You’d never been happier. 

You were home.

Daddy issues- Masterlist

A/N: sooooo. i fully set out to write a subby DI harry based on this request. but in the end, daddy dom harry won. sorry not sorry lol. he won't be tamed😩

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[morganitering]

Because I'm the Weakest

Pairing: yandere!Satosugu x fem!reader

Warnings: Rape/non-con, Dead dove, darkfic, dissociation, trauma, rape fantasy, rape aftermath, vomiting (not during sex), unhealthy relationships, non-consensual drug usage, drugged sex, canon typical violence, sexism, implied/referenced alcohol usage/abuse

Contains: F/M/M, spitroasting, oral sex, penis in vagina sex, blow jobs, face-sitting, come play, overstimulation, voyeurism, slight size kink, humiliation/degradation, vaginal fingering, mentioned Nanami.

Word count: ~6,5k

Summary: Growing up as a female sorcerer has not been easy, especially when you are overshadowed by two prodigies. You used to form a tight-knit friend group, but now in adulthood everyone battled their own demons whether it be a god complex or feelings of inferiority. Gojo Satoru revives a group chat that was almost long forgotten, inviting you and his boyfriend for a long weekend, just like the old days. Before the regrettable night, you wouldn't have ever thought that you'd need to raise a fist against a friend.

A/N: Hey everyone, another fic but this time featuring our two favorite dudes with insanity turned to the max. This fic is once again full of warnings and proceed with caution and read the tags! Remember to take care of yourself. Otherwise enjoy and feel free to like and comment <3

read on ao3 PART II

“Booring,” Satoru complained audibly as he looked through the streaming services’ different movies and series. The little icons changed from bombshell babes to twisted faces with titles written in blood. He was sprawled over the corner of a ridiculously huge couch and he was wiggling his foot as a nervous tick of his. He wasn’t wearing his usual garb, instead he had opted for something more relaxed and comfortable.

“If you’re so bored you should help us out in the kitchen,” Suguru sighed, his black hair draping over his shoulders, still slightly wet from the shower he had taken earlier. When you had pointed out that he was leaving droplets of water everywhere where he went, Suguru had just smiled at you and told you that it’s better for hair to air dry.

He held a knife in his right hand and the other one held onto a cucumber to keep it in place. His fingers were slender but by no means unmanly. Suguru wasn’t too fixated on the vegetable in front of him, chopping away with confidence only experience would provide.

“And where would the fun be in that since I got you two as my private chefs?” Satoru pouted as he shoveled candy in his face.

“You’re going to lose your appetite, if you eat candy now,” you chimed in, poking the halloumi that kept on sizzling on the pan. The water evaporated in a mist that warmed your cheeks in the cool apartment. It wasn’t actually cold in the open plan kitchen, but you had spent long enough in front of the appliances to break a sweat.

“I’d eat it anyway,” the white haired man whined as he got up from the couch finally settling on a tv series that started playing mindlessly in the background. “So, what am I supposed to do?” He asked after grabbing a piece of pomegranate from a small see through bowl. He walked behind you both like a shark, eyeing the ingredients and you, uncomfortably close.

“Set the table and learn to bitch less,” you joked.

“You wound me,” Satoru said, feigning sadness, but did as he was told.

The three of you were residing in an apartment that Satoru had bought himself from one of the skyscrapers surrounding Tokyo. After Jujutsu High it had gotten increasingly hard for the three of you to meet as adult responsibilities weighed heavily on both of their shoulders, – especially Satoru’s, but you saw the similar pain carried in Suguru just as well.

You were not weak, but you could not compare to the two prodigies. On the days when you felt down, the pain of third wheeling constantly ate you up, sometimes so much so that you rather left the two men talking together in the group chat. It furthered the wedge between you and them, until the messages became sparse and you almost could pretend not to know them.

It had been six months since the last time you met, but one day Satoru broke the silence and a notification popped up from your shared chat. It had taken you by a surprise, you were vaguely aware that even him and Suguru had issues with fitting each other in their lives, due to individual missions and what not. So the fact that Satoru decided to deliberately send a message to you as well, got you anxiously excited. He reached out to you. You. A high school friend that barely kept in touch with him.

“Guys! I refuse to work this weekend so come to my place. Let’s have a get together like the good old times ❤️ ❤️?? A little sleepover if you will!”

“Lol what about the higher ups?” Suguru had asked, typing back way too fast.

“Actually never mind I don’t want to be made into an accomplice in your crimes,” Suguru had continued.

“Am I invited too?” You had asked, hands shaking slightly as you stared at the bright screen, already tucked into bed. It was late, but Satoru was a known night owl.

“Damn, what have I done to earn this type of reputation 😭” Satoru complained, reacting to both your and Suguru’s message. You could hear his voice as if he was there in the same room as you.

“Of course you are invited, silly. I wouldn’t send this here if you weren’t.”

So now you were there, living an almost ridiculously domestic life with the couple that you had been hanging out with ever since you were sixteen. They had not changed too much. They were still both tall and slender but years had rid them of the rest of the baby fat as they started to resemble more men than boys, vigorous fighting showing in their bodies in an ever gained muscle mass. You supposed you were the same too. Battle hardened. That’s the word you were looking for.

You were just about to sit down but you saw long limbs reaching out to the white chair pulling it backwards. You looked at Satoru with a raised eyebrow. He was acting weird.

“What? I’m a host. I’m being hospitable,” he said, voice melodic as he pressed his hand on your shoulder to pet your arm reassuringly a few times. Suguru laughed quietly as he sat down next to Satoru.

You ate and drank, buzzing with energy. It was like no time had passed and you wondered why did you ever stop talking to these two. After a drink or two you were brave enough to ask for some hot gossip. Like every high school friend, you went through old drama, like how ugly Nanami’s haircut used to be.

“Has Nanami found love yet?” You had asked. He seemed like the type to find a decent relationship first out of all of you, but to everyone’s surprise it was these two men.

“Do you still have a crush on him? I heard that he’s quite a looker nowadays” Suguru bounced a question back at you with a smile tugging on his lips. It was that one expression that looked a tad too kind.

“No, I don’t. I was just curious,” you tried to move on from the subject. You did not really discuss your relationship history with these two, at least not anymore.

“Why?” Suguru asked, leaning on the hand he had placed on the table. The atmosphere felt off, it was as if he was challenging you. You looked at Satoru who seemed to be equally as interested in your answer.

You scratched your neck awkwardly.

“I- I think he’s too soft,” you said blushing at the implication of your words. You had turned your gaze to your almost empty bowl, your mind going to improper places. As you were buried in your embarrassment, Satoru and Suguru shared a silent look with each other.

At some point during the evening you had moved to the white haired man’s bedroom. He wanted to show you the view from the window since he lived on the 30th floor. It was magnificent. The busy streets were bustling even during the night and you stared at the small lights that blinked in different colors. Your eyes followed the cars that swerved left and right as some people were gathered up in front of bars for a smoke break. You barely could make them out from the height you were in.

Satoru’s bedroom was basically the size of someone’s apartment. The bed was huge and sleek, unlike the common area. This room was a lot moodier and darker and it actually showed that he lived here, small bits and bobs decorating shelves and few paintings were hung up on the wall that you reckoned were Suguru’s taste.

Your drinks had changed from light cocktails to expensive red wine that you were almost scared to consume, but when Satoru saw hesitation in you he made a point to assure you that it’s all on him and after that almost instantaneously Suguru asked you something, leaving you no room to overthink.

The uneasiness still followed you. It was a gut feeling that you were really bad at listening to. You did not believe you were in danger – at least you’d like to think that as a jujutsu sorcerer you’d be trained to recognize threats by now. Luckily the red wine relaxed you, lulling you to the feeling of safety.

The volume of music was loud as the three of you listened to some throwback songs that still made you shamelessly want to dance. You were celebrating embarrassingly in Satoru’s room laughing, swaying your bodies along with the beat. It was as if you were in a club, except this was way more intimate. The world spinned around you, the warm lights mixed with the glimpses of the night sky and the longer outlines of your friends. You felt light, time slowing down and going overspeed at the same time as if you were alone on the highway. Your friends’ smiles stretched on their faces, eyes twinkling manically as both of the men appeared to you in double. Eventually when you tired each other out the whole group collapsed on the bed still humming happily. Satoru’s bed was plush and big enough to have room for the three of you.

You noted the way the silk felt like a warm hug underneath you, the ceiling moving like a slithering snake’s skin on savannah.

Satoru was lying on his back on the left side of you, his white hair now more tousled than before whereas Suguru was on the right leaving you in the middle of the two men.

“I think we should play a question game,” Satoru’s voice was bordering on a whisper. The music had stopped.

You stayed silent. “Satoru, I’m not feeling too good,” you managed to say. The bed was a ship and you were a passenger of the sea.

“I didn’t know you’re that lightweight,” Satoru’s hand reached out to your head to pet you, the gesture meant to lower your guards, but in your ever increasing discomfort, his touch only managed to make your skin tingle with aversion.

“Just humor us for a bit, it could be like the good old days, right?” Suguru argued, flashing a dead smile at you.

“Okay, whatever. Ask me something,” you rolled your eyes, too tired to fight them in your weird mental and physical stage.

“Hmm,” Satoru turned to his side to face you, his blue gaze piercing yours as you were still laying on your back. You had no idea when he had removed his sunglasses. You heard Suguru moving next to you as well. “What do you mean by Nanami being too soft?” The way Satoru laid down the question was impish.

The tone of the conversation had taken a full one-eighty and you opened your mouth to answer with only lies on the tip of your tongue, but then you decided against that. Those two had a very good bullshit radar.

“Do you want to hear what I think?” Satoru grinned playfully as he licked his plump lips once.

“I think Nanami would bore you out of your mind, missionary on Mondays without the lights on? Ugh, I wouldn’t want that for my worst enemy,” he said, laughter hollow full of malice. You couldn’t believe your own ears.

“I think you want it rough and behind that tough girl act, there’s an insatiable woman with some wild fantasies,” he blabbered his obscene thoughts. “Tell me, have you ever had sex with two men?” Gojo’s voice was loud and it was as if he was talking to you from a speaker that had been locked in another room. He was too close, too far away and simultaneously too here.

“What the-” you got cut off.

“Don’t curse. It’s unseemly from a woman,” Geto said calmly.

“Answer me,” Gojo demanded. During high school you would have described Gojo’s eyes as a beautiful spring day. You would have said that he reminded you of blue skies with perfectly white fluffy clouds, but now his eyes had turned to something much paler and darker. They reminded you of deep untouched snow drifts turned to blue in the moonlight as they sparkled ominously, waiting for the first little animal that dared to break the pristine condition.

“What did you do to me?” Your voice was not your own, it was weak, the accusation of your words turning dull as the red wine you had drank earlier sanded the edges away.

“Nothing permanent,” Geto said.

His admittance striked terror in you. Realization hit you, you were not safe here and you felt the familiar warmth flowing in you like a second nature. You manipulated the cursed energy, channeled it and let it flow steadily in your body guiding the power to your hands, but something in it felt unstable, it felt like a chord that was almost broken just barely connecting.

“Did you know that some drugs really affect the ability to use cursed energy? Not that it would matter in your case,” Geto explained, his voice overflowing around you, sticking to your skin like honey.

“Fuck you!” You yelled letting out a gust of wind to both sides, throwing the two men away from you. They landed nimbly to the floor, like cats, as you yourself hopped up from the bed, your vision blurred, walls moving back and forth, small figurines on the shelves changing color others dancing in front of your eye lids. Your head ached, pain banging against your skull, gnawing at the nerve endings that sent panic infused messages across your body, screaming: Stop moving!

“Oh so you want to spar? Go on then, show me what you have,” Geto purred.

It was a pathetic attempt in your current state. Your feet took you towards the door that Geto had come to protect. Hands and feet clashed together in close combat as you drew your cursed energy that was flickering unevenly in your body. Every time you got too close to escaping either Geto or Gojo kicked you further away.

The white haired bastard wasn’t even using his infinity which only added salt to your wounds. He deliberately chose to prance around you, letting you at times touch him a wild smile on his face. There was no cursed energy, no flashy techniques, just you and two overpowered men.

“Do you remember what they said in school when facing someone stronger than you?” Gojo asked, dodging your fist.

“Don’t be a hero,” Geto grabbed your arm and twisted it painfully behind you. “Contact someone better equipped to handle it,” he said and shoved you forwards with a force so great that you staggered towards Gojo’s table with the MacBook wobbling with force earning a “Hey, that’s my computer!” protest from the man himself.

The lights went out with a sound of shattering glass, leaving the three of you enveloped in the darkness, only city lights illuminating the room. Disorientated by the sudden change in environment you froze, breathing heavily as the two men practically surrounded you. Gojo appeared in front of you not a hair out of place.

“And with that, you’re dead. You really should not get distracted during training,” the white haired man shared his advice talking to you with the same tone he used on his pupils. “Truce?” He offered his hand.

You looked up. There was something sinister about the way they hovered over you. Geto’s beautiful prince-like features had turned harsh and angular, the shadows sharpening his face even more. You swallowed a bunch of bile, the effects of forcing yourself to move taking place.

“The power disparity is too big,” Geto said. He almost pitied you. You were a smart girl, you’d figure the best move soon.

You grabbed the hand bitterly. Gojo helped you up and Geto wrapped his arm around your waist when you were about to fall again.

“Careful,” he mumbled, his hand trailing underneath your shirt. His touch felt cold against your burning skin that was damp from sweat. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” he taunted.

“Take her shirt off. I’ve waited long enough,” Gojo said impatiently, tapping his foot on the floor.

“Always so demanding,” Geto chuckled as he worked your shirt up, unclasping your bra unceremoniously, your breasts now free for the two men to ogle.

“Perfect tits,” Gojo said as he pawed at you and played with your nipples. You were completely overwhelmed and out of energy. Luckily, you did not have to stand on your own as Geto helped you to stay up his hands unzipping your jeans.

“Why me?” You squeaked your head drooping in defeat as you looked at Geto’s hand that vanished underneath your panties, your trousers still on you. Your question went unanswered.

“Satoru I think you might have been right about your theory,” You felt Geto’s smile on your neck as he referenced the earlier conversation regarding Nanami.

“Really? Is she wet?” Gojo asked curiously.

“Soaking,” Geto said as he explored your soft folds with ease. “Did fighting us make you feel better about what’s going to happen? At least you can tell your friends that you did not break easy,” Geto mumbled onto your skin pressing kisses to your neck, his hand still working on you going up and down tantalizing on your slit.

Gojo dropped to his knees pulling down the rest of your clothes. A whimper left your mouth as you shook your head powerlessly.

“Lift her leg up,” Gojo instructed. Geto slid his hand behind your right knee, lifting it up till you were wobbling on one foot as you leaned on him for support. The white haired man had his lips slightly apart as he looked in awe at the sight unfolding in front of him. His mouth was watering as Geto maneuvered his hand back to your folds, spreading them in front of Gojo’s face so that his boyfriend could take a long hard look at everything you were offering.

You saw the gears turning in Gojo’s head as his expression turned to a mischievous one. “I want her to sit on my face,” he licked his lips and made his way to the bed, throwing the shirt on the floor.

“Can you move?” Geto asked as he let go of your leg, holding onto your trembling body. He tipped your head towards him, his face looking almost worried. It reminded you of the old times, but this was not the old Suguru. This was someone new. Twisted.

He helped you to the bed, where Gojo had been waiting, completely naked, his chest heaving in anticipation. Your eyes scanned him from head to toe, stopping at his cock that had already started to curve upwards. It already looked big, bigger than anything you had ever taken.

“Like what you see baby? Cause me too,” Gojo said jokingly. “Well, come here then or do you want to fuck us dry? Because I’m fine with that,” he hurried you, the threat looming over you.

You climbed on top of him, saddling his face. Gojo’s hands immediately grabbed at your ass, pulling you towards his mouth. You could imagine the pink tip of his tongue trying out where you were the most sensitive. He was too impatient to tease you, quickly finding the bundle of nerves that was begging for his attention. He lapped at it as obscenely wet noises filled the room. Gojo sucked on your clit and you moaned loudly, throwing your head back, a sheen layer of sweat on you.

You felt him hum into your cunt as you felt the weight shift behind you on the mattress, Geto’s hand moving on Satoru’s length, pumping it roughly.

“You see, Satoru here is a bit of a munch. He is loud during the day, but put a cock in his mouth and it works wonders at silencing him. Apparently he likes the taste of pussy too,” Geto said with a devious smile on his lips. Gojo groaned animalistically into your wet heat as the black haired man felt his own hardness straining against his boxers. It took everything in his power to not to take off his clothes and fuck you till you were cock drunk and babbling incoherently, but he had too much fun playing with you.

“How does it feel like having the strongest sorcerer lapping you up like a regular man?” Geto’s voice was just a hush in your ear. “Men and women around the globe are going to be jealous when they hear that Gojo Satoru wanted to stick his dick in you,” Geto taunted you both as his hand focused on rotating around Satoru’s tip, spreading out the drops of precome around his cock. Satoru bucked his hips up involuntarily.

You came. Hard. You thrashed around Gojo’s head as the man between your legs held onto you stubbornly, licking and sucking through your orgasm. You felt something warm trickling straight to his face as the pressure in the lower half of your body exploded. Your voice was high pitched and desperate as you rode his face till you were sore, your already weak legs giving out.

Gojo pushed you off of him, gasping for air, pupils blown out in arousal. His face glistened in your juices and his saliva.

“You know what, for a man who’s shaming me for being talkative, you sure speak a lot yourself Suguru,” he pointed out. Suguru laughed, honest to god laughed, his eyes squinting contently as Satoru pulled him into a kiss.

There was something incredibly erotic watching the two men, knowing that Geto would taste the remnants of you as their lips smacked together messily. Their bodies tangled together, black hair flowing around white as Gojo buried his hand in Geto’s luscious strands. Gojo pulled his boyfriend’s face up gently exposing the bobbing Adam's apple that he kissed reverently. It was now Geto’s turn to saddle Gojo.

“I think you need to take your clothes off. Give her a little show,” Satoru said, biting into the skin on Suguru’s clavicle as his hands fumbled with the black haired man’s belt that opened with a clink.

Geto pulled his black t-shirt over his head, his taut muscles flexing. It felt like forever when Gojo caressed the man on top of him, his face in a constant grin. He took down the boxers inch by inch until Geto’s cock sprang out after being suppressed inside his clothes for too long.

“Get on fours,” Gojo ordered as you clumsily did what he told you to. He moved behind you whereas Geto took place in front of you.

“Arch your back.”

You stretched yourself, lowering your torso and propping your butt up almost as if you were offering yourself on a silver platter. Gojo’s hand came down to your ass with force making your body jerk when he dug his nails on the soft skin.

“Wow, you must fuck a lot of dudes judging by how low you can go. If I knew you were a whore, I would have bent you over earlier,” he laughed, his finger prodding on your entrance.

Geto pulled you from your hair. It wasn’t the nice kind of pain that came when one would grab them near the scalp; instead it stung like hell, when Geto yanked your head up, putting you on the perfect level of his cock.

Gojo inserted one finger simultaneously inside you and almost immediately added another. You whined as his fingers scissored you open, your lips almost touching the head of Geto.

“You know, I get to lie with this amazing man every day. Show him the same respect as I do,” Gojo said. Had you not been caught up in their fucked up power play, their love for each other would have truly warmed your heart.

Geto’s thumb stroked your cheek as if to apologize for what was about to happen. He let his hand trail down to your bottom lip, swiping across it gently.

“Open.”

Satoru pushed his hand almost knuckles deep into you, a guttural moan making its escape from your lips as he used his hand to finger fuck you. Geto used your opening mouth to his advantage to stuff his cock in you. He was huge, your jaw already hurting. His tangy taste spreaded in your mouth as he softly rocked back and forth, not wanting to choke you just yet.

You hollowed out your cheeks and focused on the tip of his cock as you used one of your hands to touch what you could not fit. Geto’s eyes were half lidded as he guided your head to a rhythm that he liked as you squirmed underneath Gojo’s touch.

Gojo removed his hand from you leaving you empty, you almost missed the sensation of him, but soon felt the man behind you poking your folds with something much bigger than his fingers. You mewled in panic when he entered you, your eyes widening in shock. God he was huge.

“Focus. Eyes up here,” Geto said, patting your cheek with an open palm. The way you looked up at him made Suguru feel close to high, your pupils widened to the size of a plate, eyes glistening in tears that you held back, still holding onto a sliver of pride. Brave girl, he thought to himself.

Gojo fucked you sloppily, squelching, slapping and your gurgling filling the room as both the men used your body to chase their own highs. You felt like you were drowning and when one withdrew the other one rammed into you without a second thought. It was hard to keep your attention on Geto when his boyfriend did everything in his power to make your task at hand challenging, when his long cock grazed upon that one spot inside you from time to time.

“I’m going to finish in your mouth,” Geto was out of breath, his grip tightened around your skull. Gojo groaned behind you with his fingers digging into your hips. You were sure that you’d have handprints tattooed on your skin by the end of this night.

Geto’s movement got erratic, his cock hitting the back of your throat making you gag around him painfully. The black haired man relished in the wet warmth your mouth provided him. He was panting as pleasure coursed through him, your despaired moans only driving him further. Hot stripes of his come coated your mouth. You wanted to spit it out, or swallow it, anything to get rid of it as your face soured in disgust.

“Keep it in your mouth,” he advised as he pulled out of you. You almost wanted to spit it on his face as an act of defiance. Geto smiled at the confrontational look on your face as if he knew what you were thinking. “Good girl,” he purred when you had decided not to go against him.

Gojo flipped you quickly around to lie on your back, your legs floating in the air awkwardly as he entered back into you swiftly. He pulled you in a feverish kiss, his soft lips slightly swollen. His tongue prodded inside your mouth, Suguru’s come spreading into his mouth as you explored each other. It felt disgusting, playing with someone’s fluids like this, but somehow it made your cunt clench around your white haired high school friend.

There was something deeply primal in the way Gojo drove into you, his head almost resting on yours as he fucked you deep and hard. You were vaguely aware of Geto’s eyes following the act in front of him, admiring the way Satoru’s muscles moved with every move, drinking up the disheveled look on you.

Satoru’s hips came to halt as he plastered his seed on your walls, making sure that he wasn’t too deep, keeping his thrusts shallow enough so he could see him leaking out of your used cunt.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, spent, the after glow warming him. “You didn’t come right?” He asked you, feeling slightly tired.

“No, but it doesn’t matter,” you rasped out your throat feeling hoarse after the abuse it had taken. Frankly you wanted to sleep as well.

“Suguru, can you help her out? I want to watch,” Gojo said as he fluffed the pillow underneath him to get into a comfortable position as if he was about to open the television and watch his favorite show.

“If you hold onto her other leg,” he said as he propped your left leg around his waist and Gojo took hold of your right one. You were helpless and unable to protect yourself when you tried to squirm away from the two devious men.

Geto’s nimble fingers gathered up Satoru’s come that was trickling down between your cheeks. He pushed it back inside you, moving his fingers slowly without a hurry in the world. It reminded you of the calm before a storm.

“You’re going to give us one more right?” Geto’s voice was reassured when he added another finger into you, thumb trailing to your sensitive clit. He knew just what to do, to get you fast back to the edge that you were teetering on earlier, already feeling overstimulated from the rough treatment you had gotten. His fingers made a come-hither movement hitting precisely your g-spot.

Gojo held onto you whispering sweet nothings to your ear, his thumb caressing your thigh. He was gentle, his touch light, eyes half lidded as he enjoyed the small whimpers coming from your mouth. He spoke to you, told you how much he had wanted you from the beginning. He spoke of how he saw that you wanted him – them. Gojo let you know how well you were doing, taking what they dished out to you, how you were brave and oh so good. He attempted to bury you in his twisted love, six feet underground, anxiety and arousal covering Geto’s fingers.

It was too overwhelming. Gojo next to you, Geto between your legs, your world still spinning around you, overstimulating touch and a coil about to snap. You wailed hollowly as you came apart on Suguru’s fingers one last time.

***

It was deep in the night, around two AM to be precise. You had shot your eyes open as the wave of nausea hit you. The two men had fallen asleep cuddling each other, limbs tangled on each other. You got up as quickly as you could, your head ache punishing you from your choices, stomach churning dangerously.

With a pitter patter from your naked feet, you carried yourself to the extravagant bathroom, barely having time to put the lights on as your nausea took over.

You doubled over the toilet seat, emptying your stomach of your earlier dinner and whatever else your friends had slipped in your drink. You held onto your hair desperately trying not to make a mess. A warm hand landed on your fist bunching up the rest of your hair gently.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” Suguru said affectionately, stroking your head. “Let it all out. You’re going to feel better soon.”

The acidic taste filled your mouth once again as if it was reacting to Suguru’s company. Your body forced you to throw up stomach fluids after having nothing else in it.

The way he took care of you brought up memories of the times you had taken one too many drinks, after your partner of that time had broken up with you. You remembered the way he had held you crying, snot and tears covering his shirt as you broke down.

The sound of water pouring into a glass echoed on the walls and you heard the rattle of an ice drawer disturbing the silence.

“You should drink this,” Satoru showed up leaning on the door frame, offering the glass to you. You hesitated.

“It’s just water.” He said and took a sip as if it would prove you anything. “See?”

You grabbed it from his hand, when you decided that you didn’t care anymore, downing the entire glass in almost one swing. The cold scraped your tender throat punishingly. You should have drank more slowly.

Waking up after the night had turned to day, the windows no longer covered by the blinds. You did not remember a lot of the act, except vomiting, but that came afterwards. The city was already moving fast, a new day offering new opportunities and new exciting journeys.

You felt physically a lot better, still weird, but you no longer felt like collapsing to the ground nor did you see things twice. It was almost like you had a hangover. You looked around Gojo’s room rolling on the bed that was empty feeling relieved of having space.

There were still signs of yesterday's fighting, but random shards had been taken care of and the lightbulb changed into a working one. You had your own pajamas on you, not having the slightest idea when and how you got into your clothes. Feeling nervous you got out of the bedroom walking to the toilet to empty your bladder. As you wiped, you felt around your crotch, searching for the remainder of different body fluids. You had cleaned yourself up. Or someone had.

You washed your hands, scrubbing them together with fervor, pumping out a heap of soap on your palm.

You repeated it once.

Twice.

Until your skin was scrubbed dry.

You looked at yourself in the mirror just to see familiar features, but not anyone you could recognize. You opened the overnight bag that you had left on the side of the sink to brush your teeth and spit out the foaming toothpaste. A smell of dough frying on the pan wafted to your nose as you heard commotion from the kitchen.

You took steps to the living room to find Suguru in front of the stove flipping pancakes as Satoru was hunched over a pile of strawberries nibbling on them happily. Upbeat rock played in the background as the two men joked around and chatted. You stared at them, something seething in you.

“Good morning! We’re making brunch,” Suguru exclaimed as he flipped a pancake over “Do you want coffee or tea?”

Nails bit into your skin as you clenched your fists together hard, your knuckles turning to white as anger turned on like a switch. You wanted to rage, go absolutely berserker, throw things at them, scream how dare you over and over. Some part of you also wanted to forget the night, pretend that it’s a nightmare, sit down with them to eat some fucking brunch.

“What if I tell someone,” it wasn’t really a question that you wanted them to answer.

“And what would you achieve with that?” Gojo retorted, popping a ridiculously big strawberry in his mouth, leaving the green stem outside as he bit down, the trash floating to the table.

Suguru placed the now ready pancake onto the white plate. He grabbed the black ladle to pour more mixture on the warm pan, before he started speaking calm but collected. It was this matter of fact tone that he used as if he was disappointed in your stupidity since he was always speaking the truth. The audacity of men or something like that.

“You know first hand how some clans look down on women, not believing that women should be sorcerers in the first place. So how do you think these powerful people are going to react to you saying that two of the strongest sorcerers assaulted you?” He mused, the conversation reminding you of ethics class where people discussed your human rights as a starter dish, completely disregarding that they were talking about real lives.

You knew how those types of people would react. They would see it only as normal, a woman’s place as a breeding machine, your sorcerer blood and womb more precious than your soul. They would argue that you were lucky or maybe that you had asked for it. Besides, it wasn’t exactly atypical of people in your line of work going insane, the trail of dead comrades keeping one up for countless nights. And who better to take anger out on than the people who are perceived as less.

“Even if they did believe you, it wouldn’t change our life at all. They need our skills and well, his money,” Suguru continued as Satoru grabbed three coffee cups and placed them on the kitchen island. As if, you were staying. “It would change yours though.”

That’s when realization hit you. They were the type of evil that were completely aware of their sins. They knew exactly what was right and wrong, but they simply did not care, the world as their oyster.

“You’re insane,” a tear rolled down your eye, your body trembling like a leaf.

“Not denying that one,” Satoru quipped, not taking anything serious like usual.

“If you want to, you can leave. You are free to run your mouth however you want, block our numbers, whatever makes you sleep better. Or you can eat some pancakes as friends and have powerful allies for the rest of your life,” Geto said. “I’ll ask again, coffee or tea?”

You bit your lip as the conflicted emotions flashed through your face. You despised that you viewed them still as your friends as much as your enemies. It was weird to love someone who had hurt you in one of the most violating ways possible.

“Coffee,” you mumbled as you sat down on the bar stool hanging your hands on your sides as Suguru poured the dark liquid on the blue cup.

“We got you Plan B too,” Satoru said, throwing the cardboard box into your hands. “You should take it. I’m not ready to be a father,” he added.

You fumbled the package open, popping out the small pill on your hand. You didn’t know how they knew that you weren’t on birth control nor did you really care. You placed the tablet on your tongue taking generous gulps of water as the couple continued on cooking.

Music played as the sun shone brighter, lighting up the whole kitchen, furniture basking up in the natural glow. You ate in peace, mainly Satoru and Suguru talking together but every once in a while you added something in the conversation. You fell quickly back to the old habits, maybe at times chuckling at their stupid jokes.

You pushed away the night. You tucked it in a corner of your mind that you did not dare to look at for many weeks to come. You were just three old high school buddies catching up, nothing more. The flashbacks you saw were not yours and the long weekend continued on as a happy sleep over.

[witchywithwhiskey]

andy barber + "you don't need anything, you want it"

optional scenario: assassin/mercenary

undone by a pretty spring sundress

pairing: dilf!andy barber x babysitter!female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, unspecified age gap (but reader is def out of college), thigh riding, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light bdsm, pet names (sweetheart, angel), some bratting, referenced spanking, fluffy ending

word count: 2,100ish

a/n: instead of assassin/mercenary Andy Barber, may i offer you dilf Andy Barber? 🫣 lol let's be honest, Andy is always a dilf 🤭 but i've already done ex's dad Andy and dbf August so i wanted to do a different trope and i've never done a babysitter fic so i gave it a shot!! hope you enjoy, Aspen!!

The sounds of shrieking laughter and childish games filtered into Andy Barber’s kitchen while you stood at the counter, putting together a bouquet of spring flowers that would sit nicely on his dining room table. You’d retreated into the house because you’d needed a break from the party Andy was hosting—the one he’d hired you for the afternoon to help him host.

It was a little outside your normal duties, since you typically worked as Andy’s babysitter, watching his young son on nights the single father had to work late at his law practice. You knew some of the parents in the neighborhood thought you were a little old to be babysitting, given you were old enough to be married and have a family of your own. 

But you ignored them because you enjoyed babysitting for Andy. It helped supplement the meager pay you received from your day job, and you liked spending time with Andy’s son Jacob, who was a sweet kid. More than that, though, you found yourself really enjoying spending time with Andy.

And if you weren’t mistaken, Andy liked having you around as well. 

In the months that you’d worked for Andy, you’d grown increasingly aware of the way he stared at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. 

His crystal blue eyes would drift down to your tits when you were looking something up on your phone. And more than once, you could’ve sworn you felt his gaze on your ass when you’d bent over to pick up some toys on the floor. But each time, when you turned to the older man, he was innocently looking elsewhere.

Altogether, you’d gotten the impression that Andy might want you to be more than his babysitter, but he hadn’t yet acted on the heated looks he gave you. So you may have taken matters into your own hands and worn a skimpy little sundress to the party he was hosting for the neighbors and all their kids. And you were delighted when it had the intended effect.

You hadn’t been in the kitchen for more than a few minutes when Andy cornered you, using the moment when everyone else was distracted by watching the children play a game they’d made up to approach you. His body crowded you into the counter, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him brushing against the swaths of bare skin not covered by your sundress.

“I need to speak to you upstairs,” Andy murmured in your ear. His warm breath ghosted over your cheek and bare shoulder, causing goosebumps to raise all along your arms.

But you stifled the shiver racing down your spine and continued fluffing the flowers in the vase in front of you, pretending you didn’t notice the demanding edge of Andy’s voice or the way he crowded into you. After all, he’d waited months to approach you, and you decided you wanted to have a little fun with him before you gave in to the tension crackling between the two of you.

“You don’t need anything, you want it,” you responded cheekily, your tone light and playful. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling Jacob, Mr. Barber?” You tossed your head to the side and gave the older man a sly smile over your shoulder.

Andy’s expression darkened, his soft mouth pulling down in a frown that was framed perfectly by his neatly trimmed beard. He looked particularly delicious in a simple blue t-shirt and jeans—though you also appreciated all the suits he wore for his job as a lawyer. You’d spent many a night imagining Andy undressing you entirely while he stayed all buttoned up in one of his suits, making you hump the bulge in his slacks…

Andy’s big hand wrapping around your upper arm brought you back from your distracted thoughts.

“I assure you, sweetheart, what I’m feeling is a need—not a want,” Andy growled, dragging you away from the counter and forcing you to abandon your bouquet. You didn’t protest, though, as he led you toward the stairs and up to the second floor of his suburban Massachusetts home. 

Andy had only just pulled you into his bedroom and closed the door when he spun you around and crowded into you until your back hit the door. Then, with a muttered curse, Andy ducked down and captured your lips with his own, kissing you so passionately, your head spun. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him back just as fervently, your mouth parting and allowing his tongue to twine with yours. He groaned into your lips as he tasted you, the deep sound of his pleasure making you hot all over, wetness gathering between your thighs while your mouths slid together. You squirmed against Andy’s hard body, pressing your softness against him as your body yearned for friction.

Andy shoved one of his legs between yours, his big hands gripping your hips tightly and shifting you so that your pussy rubbed against his thigh. You wrenched your mouth from his with a sharp gasp, your body rocking against his as pleasure shot through you from the tips of your fingers to the ends of your toes. Andy watched you with hooded eyes as you humped against him, hands sliding down your sides.

“Wish I could watch you ride my thigh all afternoon, angel, but I need to be inside you,” Andy groaned, reaching beneath your dress and hooking his fingers in your panties, moving you back to pull them down your trembling legs. You let out a little whine at the loss of friction against your pussy, but Andy only hushed you. “Shh, I know sweetheart, you’re needy too, aren’t ya? Need daddy to fuck you, huh?”

Your head fell back against the door with a thunk and you let out a breathy, surprised, “Daddy,” tasting the way the word sounded on your tongue and enjoying it far too much. 

“That’s it, angel, call me daddy,” Andy murmured fervently before capturing your lips in another kiss. You could feel his hands working his jeans open and pulling out his cock, but you couldn’t move your arms from around his shoulders; you were pretty sure if you did, you’d collapse to his feet. “Christ, I knew ya would be perfect—been wanting this for so long, but that pretty spring sundress of yours was my undoing.”

A pleased smirk curled the edges of your mouth at Andy’s confession, and you decided you’d tell him later that had been your intention with wearing it. For the moment, though, you simply leaned up to whisper some teasing words in Andy’s ear. “If you need me so bad, then take me, daddy.”

Andy hooked an arm around your waist and spun you again, walking you back to his bed and easing you down onto the plush softness of his blankets while his hips settled between your thighs. His cock rested against your bare pussy, making you moan with desire.

“Gonna have to make this quick, sweetheart,” Andy murmured as he brushed kisses to your jaw and cheeks, his hips grinding his length against your soaked folds, getting himself drenched in your arousal. “But next time I’ll fuck you soft and slow like you deserve, alright?”

“OK, daddy,” you said on a moan, tilting your hips to grind your bare pussy against his cock. Andy buried a grunt in your neck and reached between your bodies, adjusting his cock until the tip pressed against your entrance. 

Then, all at at once, Andy pushed inside you, both of you moaning at the feel of his thick, hard cock stretching out your tight, warm pussy. It was better than you ever imagined, having him inside you, your body taking his entire length and joining you to him in the most intimate way.

“Feel so good, daddy,” you murmured breathily, your mind spinning with pleasure. You cupped Andy’s face in your hands, your nails raking through his beard gently, as you stared up at him. You hoped every bit of the pleasure you felt was clear on your face, so he could see how good he made you feel.

Andy seemed to, his smile filled with affection and arousal of his own. He leaned down and brushed a kiss to your lips, teasing you with the flick of his tongue before pulling away and catching your eye. 

“Ready, angel?” 

“Yes, daddy,” you answered sweetly, more ready for him than he could even know.

Then Andy took what he needed, and gave you what you needed, too. He fucked you hard and fast, pumping his thick cock into your tight channel with a ruthlessness you’d only ever glimpsed when he’d take work calls at home. He was brutal, and you wanted to scream your pleasure, but Andy’s hand covered your mouth, keeping you from being overheard by all the neighbors crowded in the backyard.

When he seemed to be getting close, Andy reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight little circles until you shattered apart around him. You came so hard, you bit down on the flesh of his palm to keep yourself quiet.

Andy didn’t seem to mind, grunting through the sting of your teeth and the delicious clench of your pussy, fucking you harder until he pressed deep and came inside you. You shivered when you felt his load leak out around his cock, in awe when you realized just how much come he must’ve pumped you full of that it was overflowing. 

As you caught your breath, Andy peppered your face with light kisses, praising you. “Such a good girl, sweetheart, so fucking good for daddy.” He kissed the apple of your cheek, his beard tickling you and making you giggle softly. “Now, I need you to keep my come safe inside you for the rest of the afternoon, can you do that, angel?” Andy asked, catching your eye and giving you a serious look. His hand pressed against your lower belly, making your pussy flutter while butterflies took flight in your chest. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to simply say yes, but a delightful thought took hold of your mind and you found your lips forming the same words they had earlier in Andy’s kitchen. “You don’t need anything, daddy, you want it,” you said, giggling when Andy’s face turned stormy.

“You’re lucky we have to get back to our guests, angel,” Andy growled pressing his forehead to yours while he glared at you, though there wasn’t much anger to his gaze—only desperate arousal. “Otherwise I’d put you over my knee and show you what I do when you’re a bratty bad girl.”

You were helpless to your body’s reaction to his words, your cunt clenching hard around Andy’s cock and making him chuckle. “I need it, daddy,” you cried, hands fisting in his t-shirt and trying to hold him close.

But Andy was already moving away, pulling out and stuffing his cock back in his pants. You watched him with a pout while he grinned down at you. When his appearance was presentable enough, Andy hauled you up from the bed and smoothed your dress down over your curves, fixing it for you. 

“Be a good girl and help me get through the rest of this party and we can have some fun later,” Andy promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then, like he couldn’t help himself, he caught your mouth in one last deliciously sinful kiss. 

You returned to the party with Andy, finishing your bouquet of spring flowers and putting it out on the table. Then, you helped him wrangle the kids and their parents for dessert, everyone enjoying the beautiful spring evening. 

If anyone from the neighborhood noticed that, after you returned, Andy treated you more like his partner than his babysitter, they didn’t say anything. (In fact, in the weeks and months that followed, when it became clear the two of you were together, each of your neighbors would try to take credit for setting the two of you up.) When everyone left, they thanked you just as much as Andy for hosting the wonderful party.

Once everyone was gone and you’d helped Andy put Jacob to bed, he delivered on his promise of rewarding you for your good behavior. Later that night when you told him you’d worn your skimpy little outfit just to see if he’d finally make a move on you, Andy chuckled and murmured that he’d forgive your naughty trick just that once. Then, he made sure to show you just how undone he was by your pretty spring sundress.

[madschiavelique]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛 — 𝟏

⟢﹒ pairing : matt murdock x vigilante!reader x frank castle

⟢﹒ summary : you’d met them, became their teammate, and the one night you got severely wounded, they took you to their place to patch you up.

⟢﹒ content warnings : i am not a doctor nor do i have any knowledge on how to take care of wounds like that properly so very inaccurate patching up session, mentions of blood, wounds, mentions of needle (to saw reader’s wound), afab!reader, stubborn reader, but stubborn frank, no use of y/n, not proofread

⟢﹒ word count : 7,2k

⟢﹒ note : this is the first part of a 2shot where the second part will be a smut with hunter/prey dynamic ! have a good read <;33

⟢ next part : here

The clouds were brown tonight, covering the inky blackness of the sky like a mass of cotton gathering up the streetlights of Hell's Kitchen. Everything seemed to be reflecting off a lake, the puddles of rain from earlier in the day having settled on every rooftop in the city in a myriad of mirrors.

It was quiet, abnormally quiet even. Hell's Kitchen wasn't exactly your typical idyllic holiday destination; on the contrary, it was the place to flee if you had the chance. Crime had its patch on every street corner, and not a single day or night went by without something happening.

But now, nothing. No problems. No calls for help. Just the calm of an evening. 

Sitting on the edge of a roof, your legs dangling boredly in the air, you listened to your little radio set beside your thigh, hoping that one of the police stations would report a problem. But everything was peaceful.

It had already been a few months since you had taken on the attire of the night, taken on the role of vigilante in Hell's Kitchen, and every evening you found yourself chasing crime out of town like a broom sweeping dust out of the way.

It wasn't necessarily an easy rhythm. After an already long day at work, you usually tried to get some sleep before starting your patrol. You'd realised that although there was no particular time for crime, most of them started after midnight.

But it was already one o'clock in the morning and there was nothing to report. You wondered whether perhaps you were doing your job as a vigilante too well. If you did, this kind of evening was set to happen, because if you did eradicate every crime all at once, there wouldn't be any left for later. The bitter reassurance that, unfortunately, crime, born since the dawn of time, would only die with men, gripped your heart.

The pace of it all was sometimes exhausting, but the advantage of all this was that you weren't really working alone any more. At first, the idea of joining forces with anyone to bring justice to the world of night seemed complicated, for several reasons. 

Firstly, coordination: having team-mates implied having a certain connection so that even without words being spoken, everything ran smoothly. 

And secondly, attachment. An environment like this where every night can be your last if you don't keep a minimum of vigilance can prove destructive. It would be too painful to lose an ally, and even more so if it was your turn to leave and they found themselves grieving.

But colleagues - no, partners? Friends? Whatever, the allies you found on certain nights were probably the most resilient human beings you'd ever met, to the point where the very thought of them dying was impossible. After all, when you're working with two people who have both withstood a bullet to the head and who are sure of themselves, you can't help but feel safe - or very small and miserable in their presence.

You had met them on patrol when the sounds of banging and groans of pain could be heard in an alleyway. Immediately, you had split the sphere of your personally modified Bolas and had helped in the fight after observing the side you had to take. Recognising criminals had become like a sixth sense, but above all you had recognised Daredevil's outfit in the semi-darkness and the silhouette that appeared to be that of Frank Castle.

You were familiar with the work of both of them, had seen enough of their appearances in the newspapers and heard their actions on the radio enough to know that the two men fighting the dozen or so others below were none other than these two.

You had helped them, immobilising a man here, strangling a man of the thread of your bolas there, while the two acolytes were both taking part in the fight. It was only at the end of the latter that the barrage of questions began.

"Who are you?" was of course the first question Matt asked.

"Who do you work for?" was the first question Frank raised, naturally.

It didn't take too long for you to explain that crime was swarming around the city like cockroaches in a dirty carpet and that you wanted to clean up just like them.

Frank was suspicious, Matt was calm, and you were sweating buckets, dreading their every reaction. They weren't exactly idols to you, but you had great respect for them.

It was when Matt agreed that you were sincere and that there was nothing to fear about you that Frank relaxed a bit, without letting go of his grouchy and suspicious attitude. You'd assumed at first that Frank wouldn't appreciate such a radical change of routine that included bringing a new member into the evening vigilante group, but Matt had assured him that having one more person would allow them to be more effective.

And soon, you'd be meeting up from time to time in the evening if you were lucky enough to bump into each other. 

First, you didn't reveal your identity immediately. There was a kind of silent agreement between the three of you on the subject. Of course, Frank's identity was no longer a mystery, but Matt's remained particularly anonymous for a long time.

Once enough trust had been established for Frank not to grumble at you at every given occasion, you were officially introduced.

You learned that Matthew Murdock was a blind lawyer with very heightened senses, and that Frank Castle lived with him, taking on a series of remote jobs under a different identity since his name was not really known in a very positive way. 

You didn't see each other outside of work, often too busy with your own lives to find time to see each other, even if you didn't discuss your free time... at first anyway.

You had exchanged phone numbers, in case an emergency arose and you suddenly needed help. Your exchanges were very cordial, sending addresses or locations when help was needed or to investigate something suspicious.

The first much less professional encounter was on a more turbulent night than the others, when you were cut badly on the leg, flank and arm, with an additional cut to your lip from a punch. 

According to Matt, your costume was similar to the one he wore when he first started as Daredevil. Dark clothes, something to hide your face and combat boots, needless to say that with just these to cover you up, you were extremely vulnerable.

When the fighting stopped, you didn't even have time to wince in pain that Matt was already beside you with a glove off and removing his helmet as Frank observed the situation.

"How bad is it?" Frank had asked, tilting his head to the side as the fabric covering your body darkened with blood.

"As bad as it looks to you and feels to me," Matt sighed as his fingertips brushed the skin of your side.

"It's all right," you assured them, moving slightly away from Matt and his touch, "really, it's fine."

"Are you sure? You look like you can barely walk properly." Matt had asked, obviously knowing that no, everything wasn't all right.

Probably because he'd used that speech over and over again himself, that and the simple fact that your body looked like a cute little pinocchio with a nose extended to its ears.

"Yeah yeah, no big deal - argh!" you started before Frank put his hand on the gaping wound in your arm. “Hey!”

"No big deal, eh? If it was no big deal ya wouldn't be reacting like this."

"It's nothing, really." 

You had no idea if you sounded convincing… well, from the look on both their faces, you weren’t. Frank crossed his arms over his chest, looking you up and down as he bit the inside of his cheek.

You felt tiny under his gaze like that, barely lifting your eyes to look into his. There was a dark insistence in his stare, and you could tell he was frustrated, only whether it was about you or the situation in itself you weren't sure.

"What d’you say Red ?" he said after seconds that felt like minutes.

You turned to Matt, his gaze fixed as usual on a point in the void. But that didn't stop his eyes from being expressive, and the rest of his face reinforced them. You watched in the half-light the way his jaw muscles twitched in the lamplight and your heart fell in your stomach.

"Our flat is closer to here than hers," was what he ended up saying.

Your heart went right back up your chest as you blinked fast, frowning at the sentence he had so casually said.

"I'm sorry, what?" you asked, "how do you know I'm-" but you didn't finish your own sentence before starting the next, "you followed me all the way to my place?"

Matt put both hands on his hips with a sigh, biting his lower lip before finally answering.

"We had a bit of a scare the other night when you were cut on the shoulder. We just wanted to make sure... that you got home okay."

Your lips parted in surprise, shifting then from Matt to Frank, who was looking at his feet as if the ground was far more interesting than anything he had to say at the moment. You weren't sure how to feel about that.

In a way, you found it strange that they'd followed you home without telling you anything about it, but Matt with his keen senses would probably have known where you were sooner or later. Besides, it was well-intentioned, and the sudden thought that they cared about you - no, about your state - was surprisingly heart-warming.

"In any case," Matt continued, clearing his throat, "ours is a lot closer than yours, and in your current state, you could do with some treatment when you get there."

"I'm not planning to stay the night, am I?" you laughed nervously.

"Why not?" said Frank, raising his eyebrows and his shoulders in one gesture.

From now on, victory would go to the one with the most convincing argument.

"Well, I've got work tomorrow," you began, already thinking about the pain you'd have to endure in the morning when you woke up. 

You could still feel your warm blood clinging to your clothes, and the sensation was becoming increasingly unpleasant.

"Say you're unwell, isn't far off the mark," Frank replied, pointing with a lazy wave of his hand at your body.

"But I don't have any clothes to spend the night in." You retorted, although the argument was easily contradicted by Matt's remark.

"We'll lend you some, it's no big deal," he assured you.

"I don't have a toothbrush," you retorted, as if that couldn't possibly be of any importance in this setting.

"We're not Cro-Magnons, we have backup ones," Matt laughed softly.

It was becoming a little more complicated to come up with relevant arguments. The blood loss was making you dizzy, weak, and preventing you from standing properly without grimacing every second while focusing all your attention on each cut and the intense burning sensation it gave you.

It wasn't so much that you didn't want to go, because on the contrary you found yourself enjoying their company more and more. It was simply the fact that...

"I'm afraid of imposing myself on you and bothering you." You said, looking away.

You were colleagues up to now, people who shared a common interest in justice, and you didn't mind their company. Only, you'd added to the mix completely unexpectedly. They'd already been working together before, even living together. You didn't know a great deal about their private lives and here you were, the millstone, getting hurt in the middle of a patrol and not being able to make a move without everything hurting.

You turned towards them again. The look on Frank's face was like the typical reaction of a human being who has just witnessed the greatest absurdity of all, while Matt's mouth was half-open in surprise. It almost seemed to you that saying that simple sentence had been a mistake.

"That's it, you're coming with us," Matt confirmed.

"Definitely," Frank affirmed as he approached you and placed one of his hands behind your back.

"Hey wait-" you had no say in the matter, though, as Frank's second hand came up behind your knees and lifted you off the ground.

Your hands barely grasped the back of his neck, wincing as you writhed in pain. You wouldn't have minded being carried. The fatigue of the evening weighed on each of your limbs as if they were full of lead. 

You knew how to walk, one step in front of the other like most, and the suddenness of being lifted so easily into the air felt funny. You couldn't help fidgeting, caressing the hope of finding a position more comfortable than one that made you feel every inch of your skin open to the night air.

"Stop movin’ like a chicken ‘bouta have its throat cut," Frank grumbled as the two of them started walking.

"Put it on the ground and the chicken will calm down," you breathed through clenched teeth of discomfort.

"It's not a very long walk, I promise." Matt reassured you.

You huffed, clutching the collar of Frank's jacket to prevent yourself from squeezing the back of his neck too hard and getting another remark. You were torn between the uneasiness of the stir he made with every step, which you felt in every wound, and the new comfort you found in the embrace of his arms.

You felt so... safe that way. And not just with Frank, because you felt the same sense of tranquillity with Matt. They were both involved in your life in such an unusual way and they still managed to make you feel comfortable.

You'd never been so close to him, snuggled up against him and held in his strong arms. As close as you were to his body, you could smell him. A mix of cool and warm. 

He carried the smoky but crisp scent of the night, the fresh but dark air, like the smell of a just-cut apple leaving its cool scent on the blade of the knife that has just sliced it. And all of this was strangely relieving. 

Your eyes drifted to his neck, which was inevitable considering how close you were to it. Your gaze focused on his Adam's apple, ready to be covered by his perpetual stubble, letting your eyes slide up to his marked, strong jawline. You weren't in the habit of observing someone so closely, especially when that someone was handsome. 

The journey across his face continued, passing from his full lips, to his nose bumped by the many blows he must have received in the face, to conclude this pleasant silent voyage with his eyes. Beneath a pair of stern eyebrows were two onyxes, shyly illuminated by the few street lamps on the deserted streets you were travelling through. You had seen them turn black like those of a shark that had smelled blood. 

If you didn't know that look would never be meant for you, you'd be afraid of them.

You'd spent enough time with them in combat situations to know that their rage alone could bring a man down with a look. You hoped you'd never have to pay the price of it.

But this close, you didn't feel in danger, although the very idea that such dark eyes of vengeance and bitterness and death might pass over yours made you shudder.

“You’re staring, little one,” Frank remarked, his gaze never wavering from the path in front of him.

Too embarrassed by your own behaviour, you nestled your head on his shoulder, resting your forehead on it as your neck and cheeks heated up. You felt a little foolish as you felt your heart beating frantically between your ribs, and the very idea that Matt could undoubtedly hear it made you want to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground and disappear.

When were you going to get to that bloody flat where you would - hopefully - never again have to be so close to one of them without your thoughts getting carried away ?

Your wishes were granted, as you soon found yourselves standing in front of a door that Matt habitually opened, letting Frank go first as he pressed you closer to him to get through the doorway. With a single breath, his scent invaded you more and more until, for a few moments, your thoughts were focused on nothing but him.

The sudden closeness of him made you feel your cheek brush against the nape of his neck, cool in the night air, but enough for your own skin to heat up slightly.

Internally, you were slapping yourself in the face. Now was not the time to let yourself be bewitched by your colleagues, although the fact that you would be spending the night with them would intensify those thoughts.

Your reflections kept you prisoner enough that you didn't realise until you'd climbed the stairs that you were about to enter Matt's flat. No... their flat.

This reality dropped into your stomach like a heavy stone. They're together, so don't try or think anything that might disappoint you. Tonight... It's just business. It's just help they're giving you, that's all it is.

Perhaps it was a cruel lack of affection that made you repeat all this to yourself, but whatever the case, your inner monologue gradually died down as your attention was drawn to the inside of the place.

It was big, really big for a flat, and for a moment the idea of Matt and Frank being rich occurred to you. It wasn't until Frank moved further into the living room that your eyes fell almost painfully on the neon lighting that illuminated the whole room.

And the more you looked, the more the charm of the place intensified. Of course, the neon had to be a problem. And yes, the walls had faded wallpaper and cracked paint. And maybe the windows could have done with a bit of a wipe down.

But the cosy atmosphere the flat had was delightful. The warmth that greeted you as you entered was gentle and reassuring. You noticed that there was little smell in the flat, nothing too strong at least so far. 

"On the sofa, she's already lost enough blood for the evening," Matt pointed out as he left for his kitchen.

Ah, right, Matt's senses, you almost forgot. The reason for the absence of perfume or overpowering scents in their flat was surely that it could prove abrasive on his olfactory sensitivity and generally on his senses.

Frank didn't hesitate for a moment, gently lowering you onto the leather sofa, which you felt sink under your back. The sudden change of position made you wince and whimper, the pain of your wounds hitherto camouflaged by your comfort in Frank's arms resurfacing to inflame your skin.

Frank watched you for a moment, frowning as he observed with serious eyes the dark stains that soaked through the various fabrics of your outfit. Without a word, he walked away, and a few seconds later Matt appeared in your field of vision, a bottle of amber liquid in his hand.

"We're going to need you to take off your top and trousers, do you think you can do that?"

The heat rose to your cheek, making you realise that with those wounds on your body, it was inevitable that you would end up naked if they wanted to do anything to help fix you.

You pressed your teeth into your lower lip, keeping it prisoner for a moment and grunting as the gesture made you reopen your little wound. 

"I'll try," you croaked, trying to unclench the hand that had been glued to your side until now. 

The bleeding seemed to have eased, the blood slightly caking to your hand as you pulled it free with an exhaled whimper. The sudden contact of air on your skin felt like an icy slap, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to calm yourself.

Your head tumbling back on the comfortable leather, you tried to get your hands to the sides of your T-shirt, pulling at the fabric. The material rubbed against your gaping wound, and you gritted your teeth as you breathed heavily.

Matt swallowed, clenching his jaw before kneeling in front of you.

"I can help you, if you don't mind," he offered, his hands coming to rest on your ankles as he began to remove your shoes.

Your reflex would usually have been to say no, your determination to achieve everything on your own without help from others blocking such opportunities. But the more you thought about it, the more the taste of resignation grew in your mouth.

At the rate you were going, getting undressed would take a considerable amount of time, time that Matt and Frank could probably have spent doing something more interesting than helping someone like you. So you gave in.

The blood from your split lip spilled back into your mouth, your tongue running over the cut and burning you. Wrinkling your nose in pain and breathing through your teeth, you nodded vigorously as you readjusted yourself on the sofa.

Matt sat up straight on his knees and faced you, his hands first feeling the leather of the sofa to find your thigh. He gently skimmed along the fabric, his hand brushing the wound on your thigh and making you grunt slightly.

"Sorry," he murmured softly. "The bleeding seems to have stopped," his confirmation letting his hand travel up to your waist. 

His second joined in, avoiding the path of his twin again, and finding the sides of your top.

"Can you put your arms up for me?" he asked softly.

You swallowed, chewing the inside of your cheek as you took a deep breath. Then you did the seemingly impossible by lifting your arms. Your shoulders felt like they were made of lead, and your whole body seemed to be made of nothing but aches and pains.

When the fabric and movement rubbed against the wound on your arm, which you had barely raised, your hand instinctively came to press against it, letting a small, contorted whimper escape from your lips.

Matt let out a sigh, but he didn't seem exasperated or annoyed, more concerned or sharing your pain. Just then Frank came back into the living room, a first aid kit in hand as he came up beside you.

"We're going to have to cut your shirt off," Matt warned.

You sighed, feeling deeply incapable. When did taking off a shirt become so complicated? Every cut on your body was starting to burn severely, and you felt like throwing yourself into a lake of ice water to soothe the pain.

Frank pulled the scissors out of the kit, sitting down next to you and letting the sofa sink beneath him.

"We'll get you a new one," he promised as the cold kiss of the scissor blades touched your skin for a moment near the wound on your arm, bringing a short-lived respite.

Frank tugged at the fabric to pull it away from your skin, then after a few scissor strokes tore the material of your t-shirt as if it were paper with a sharp tear.

The cold skin of his fingers, still covered in the cool of the outside air, came to rest on your skin, and it was as if night met day, as the moon touched the sun with its fingertips, illuminating each of its craters and cuts.

Meanwhile, Matt unbuckled your belt gently, unbuttoning your trouser button at the same time and pulling on the fly until his fingers brushed the birth of...

"Sorry about the whisky but we didn't have anything else," he said apologetically as he took hold of the edges of your trousers.

"Aren't you guys sponsored by first aid kits at this point?" you asked through clenched teeth.

Waiting for Frank to move the scissors away from your skin, you raised your pelvis so that Matt could slide your trousers down more easily. 

"There hasn't been any disinfectant in any of them since last night," he explained with a small smile.

The scene was strangely intimate, Frank's hot breath spreading across the back of your neck as he cut off your shirt, and Matt's hands sliding your trousers down your thighs.

You couldn't help but let out a grunt as the fabric of your pant leg brushed against the wound on your thigh, though Matt was doing his best not to cause you any discomfort, whispering small apologies as he did so.

You then realised the context of all this, and the heat rose to your cheeks when Frank threw the last shred of your old T-shirt somewhere in the background: you were in your underwear in front of them.

For a moment, their fingers on your body felt much less professional. The passage of their digits over your skin left behind a trail of sparkling powder underneath.

Placing a towel under your thigh, Matt indicated to Frank the bottle of alcohol which he uncorked.

"This might sting a bit," Matt advised just before Frank started pouring the cool liquid over the wound on your arm.

You stifled a muffled gasp, your thighs trembling slightly from the heat of your wounds. Matt's face scrunched up, his hands resting on your thighs in the hope of easing your pain or distracting you from the excruciating sensation you were going through. As for Frank, he didn't seem to give a damn, his face filled with his constant annoyed neutrality.

You had wondered several times whether Frank hated you, or whether it was difficult for him to stand you. Whatever the case, he didn't seem to have you in his heart. Maybe it was mistrust, but whatever the reason, he seemed irascible towards you.

He continued to pour the contents of the bottle quite generously onto your side, your eyelids closing so tightly that you felt you were seeing stars. You gritted your teeth so hard that for a moment they cut off your hearing, then released the tension.

"It's almost done," Matt murmured in the hope of encouraging you.

Frank ended up cleaning your trembling thigh. You brought your hand, closed into a fist, up to your mouth, biting the skin of one of your fingers to channel the pain.

Your head jerked back, breathing heavily as tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. The worst had undoubtedly just passed.

You heard them rummaging around in the kit, and as you straightened your head, you saw them pulling out needle and thread.

"No pain killers," you managed to say as your mouth felt almost pasty.

Frank chuckled, preparing the needle properly.

"Gotta get this done first, no painkillers for your princess ass now."

You let out a half-sigh, half-laugh.

"Silly me to assume you'd care." you mumbled, already feeling the discomfort from the alcohol on your gaping skin soften.

"It' all be over soon," Matt asserted, his thumb running over the skin of your thigh.

"And I who was looking forward to living in agony for the rest of my life,' you breathed.

Frank brought one of the armchairs closer to the sofa, needle in hand.

"Gon try and be gentle, softy." he added, the little nickname making you scoff.

"No, Frank, being gentle isn't your area of excellence. You shine mainly in murder and mutilation."

He raised his eyes to yours, still red and wet from your previous pain and reflecting the famous 'gentleness' he had shown in his actions. He frowned, but this gesture was unexpectedly accompanied by a smile mixing surprise and amusement, stretching his face in a way you'd never seen from him before.

He brought the needle up to your thigh, grasping the skin with his large hand as firmly as gently. He pierced it, making you wince at the sensation. 

"Just gonna pretend I didn't hear that," he finally said, his concentration seemingly unwavering.

But the simple idea of saying this when this same man was stitching you up at the moment only enchanted you for a short moment. He had a needle in his hand that he could very well stick anywhere but in the wound that needed to be closed. And although it was an immensely small needle, you were well aware that anything can become a deadly weapon if you have the will to use it. 

So you said nothing, letting that little irritation fade away as you let yourself be stitched up. The pain was bearable in the end, nothing too horrible. It was better than going home and cauterising the whole thing with your straightening iron.

Now that the pain was more bearable, your attention eventually drifted to something other than that feeling, and more to the rest. The feel of their fingers on your body brought a whole new sensory experience, causing a warm cloud to settle in your belly.

Matt straightened up, your thigh already missing the presence of his hand on it. He sat down beside you, his fingers brushing your arm without injury.

"Your lip's cut," he remarked.

"It's not the worst thing on the menu," you laughed nervously, immediately regretting your gesture as your smile stretched your lip and reopened it again.

He fumbled for the kit, taking a cotton ball and grabbing the bottle to soak it in.

"Here," he said, his hand coming to take your chin tenderly and turning it towards him.

He pressed the wet cotton to your wound, and you hissed as your nose wrinkled in pain.

"It might sting a bit when you drink," he murmured.

The proximity gripped your heart, Matt's face close enough to yours that you felt his breath hit your skin gently and evenly. You tried to calm your racing heart in your chest, swallowing as you let him finish disinfecting your lip.

You took the opportunity to watch him more closely, to see the way his stubble ran gracefully across his jaw, the way his brown eyes watching the empty space were full of softness, the way his lips, which you were used to seeing outside the mask, were full and pink.

He seemed incredibly gentle, and if you didn't spend some nights a week in his company fighting crime, you'd never have bet he was fighting like the devil himself: unleashed, full of rage, the taste of revenge and the desire for a better balance blinding him beyond measure.

"You'll take our bed," Matt said, Frank just finishing stitching up your thigh.

You immediately frowned, your lips parting.

"Since I'm on the couch I might just stay on it," you laughed nervously as Frank moved to the wound on your waist.

His hand grabbed your hip and pulled you to the edge of the sofa, looking up at you: 

"Sit straight and still," he says in a tone calm but firm enough to convince you that he wouldn't repeat that command twice.

You straighten up slightly, letting him come and stitch up the wound in your side.

"Of the three of us, you're clearly the one who needs comfort and rest the most, not us," Matt continued, placing the now useless cotton wool on the table.

"I can assure you that I've rarely been on a sofa as comfortable as this one," you added.

You'd invite yourself into their home unannounced, they'd take care of you, and on top of that they'd make you sleep in their bed while they slept elsewhere?

"Do we really have to drag you there?" asked Frank, tugging at the thread.

"And let me squirm and ruin all your previous efforts on my wounds?" you huffed as you looked into his eyes, a muscle near your eye twitching as Frank continued his work. "I'd ruin your sheets, that's really not necessary."

"Listen-" Matt started, but you stopped him.

"No," you assured him, turning to him, "and anyway I can already feel sleep stalking me."

Frank breathed in as he opened his lips to speak and contradict you again, but you stopped him.

"Really," you assured him, "I'll take the sofa."

Frank bit his cheek in irritation, obviously not so happy to know that someone in this town shared being so stubborn. He turned to Matt, who also didn't seem to be enjoying the situation any more than that.

"Alright, but there's no way I'm going to hear you complain as soon as you wake up, is that clear?" finished Frank as he tied the thread over the cut in your abdomen.

"Scout's honour," you sighed.

As Frank started your last cut, Matt got up and went to the kitchen to get a glass. He filled it with water, while you and Frank seemed to be engaged in a stare-down between two obstinate, stubborn people.

"Thanks Matty," you thanked sincerely, taking the two delicious items in your hand.

He seemed surprised by the nickname, a nervous chuckle forming a smile on his lips.

"I'll grab you some clothes," he replied as he left for their shared room and began the process of changing his costume.

You placed the tablet on your tongue, then brought the glass to your lips. As promised, it stung. A cloud of red diluted on the contact with your lips, and as you observed it you wondered how you would justify it to your boss.

You sighed, reminding yourself that you should email them first thing in the morning to let them know you were absent. All you had to do the next day was explain that you'd been attacked in the street for stealing your bag, but you'd managed to get away, and that in a state of shock you didn't feel like coming to work the next day. This would probably do.

Frank finished stitching you up fairly quickly, and when he cut the last thread he still looked at you with that annoyed look he never seemed to shake off.

"Thank you, Frankie" you thanked, using the nickname in a more playful tone than you had with Matt.

He let out a single sharp breath from his lungs before getting up and leaving in his turn for the bedroom, from which Matt emerged in much more... normal clothes.

It was the first time you'd seen him in civilian attire, in a simple hoodie and jogging bottoms. Your eyes went wide, your mouth half-open for a moment, and you had to blink several times to pull yourself together.

"Here," he said, placing the pile of clothes next to you on the sofa. "Do you think you can stand this time?" 

Now that the adrenaline had worn off, and everything else didn't burn as much as if hell itself had invited itself under your skin, you tried to stand up. You wanted to avoid any sudden movements, but eventually, with a bit of effort, you managed to straighten up and start pushing on your legs to get up.

Your knees trembled slightly from the stress and everything else that had gone with it during the night, and just as you thought you'd be sprawled out on the floor in the next few seconds, tasting the parquet floor, Matt grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him.

"Hey, take it easy little fawn, we don't need you damaging your nose on top of everything else," he laughed as he steadied you, letting your legs wobble a little more before you felt comfortable enough to stand.

Your whole body hurt like hell. And no wonder: in addition to your various cuts from the evening, your body was dotted with clouds of bruises that would make all the blueberries jealous of their colour.

"Let me help you," he finally smiled gently as he picked up the T-shirt from the pile.

He helped you into the top, taking care not to let the fabric come into contact with your freshly stitched skin.

"I'll need to borrow one of your shirts tomorrow when I leave," you said with a small smile, "mine's had a bit of a problem."

Matt laughed softly as he poked his head into your top. " May it rest in pieces."

You laughed softly at his little joke, slipping the rest on and feeling his hands roam over your covered skin, the size of the t-shirt far too big for you and reaching the top of your thighs.

Matt lowered himself to his knees in front of you, and you looked down at him as he rolled up the sweatpants so he could slip them around your ankle, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you could find some support.

The vision was heady, taking hold of your heart like an intoxicating scent you want to chase down so you can bury your whole face in it and never leave. You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, to let them get lost in its meanders, to let your nails graze his skull before tugging lightly on it... 

But you pulled yourself together, the thought once again creating a warm cloud in your lower belly as he straightened up and pulled the fabric up your legs, his fingers brushing your skin as if you were a statue forbidden to be touched.

"You're gonna have to see that with Frank though," he said as he tied the two laces around your waist, "it's his shirt."

That's how the same smell you'd first smelled when you were in his arms came back to mind, but you remained stoic, preventing yourself from grabbing the collar of the shirt and bringing it up to your nose.

"Challenge of the year," you sighed, smiling though, "thank you. For all of this."

"That's normal, it would be a shame if our partner found herself unable to exercise," he reassured you.

The word sent a shiver up your spine and into your cheeks.

"Red?" called Frank from the bedroom.

"Coming," he answered over his shoulder before turning away from you.

You sat back down on the sofa, tiredness beginning to weigh heavily on your eyelids. You lay down, the multiple events of the evening knocking you out more easily than any sleeping pill. 

You had no trouble falling asleep, even with the neon lights on, even without a blanket, and even when the two of them came back into the room.

When you woke up, your back felt like it was sinking into a cloud. The surface you were lying on was soft, and when you turned on your side, your hand came to rest on a material that was not at all like the leather of the sofa: silk.

You propped yourself up gently on one elbow, observing the place you were in, and that's when you realised: they'd moved you into their bed while you were asleep.

"Bastards," you muttered, and bit your cheek to stop the little smile forming on your lips from breaking out.

A funny feeling sprang up in your heart, making it light and rosy. But that feeling quickly faded as you sat up straighter and your whole body ached. You felt like you'd just come out of a washing machine, all tossed and turned.

You stood up, trying to stretch but stopping immediately when the pain from your stitched-up cuts threatened to reopen. You didn't want to mess up their clothes, you'd probably never forgive yourself if that happened.

You came out of the bedroom and found Frank and Matt talking in the kitchen. Matt turned to you, sending you a smile.

"Good morning," he offered.

You were limping lightly, and bent slightly, walking slowly towards them through fatigue and pain.

"At last the groundhog graces us with her presence," Frank grumbled, turning to you.

"Am I rather not a sleeping beauty ?" you returned with a smile, "I wonder if sleeping beaty had a breakfast date when she woke up. I mean, look at me this is such a tempting offer," you said as your posture could easily have been a cross between an old lady and a pregnant woman, leaning on your hip, alternating between the curve of your back and the arch of it, making your whole body crack into a grimace of relief.

But surprisingly, they both smiled at your joke, and the awkward silence you might have expected or the abrupt change of subject to move on never came. But that didn't stop you from apologising on the spot.

"I'm sorry, I don't want my words to sound inappropriate, but I know that you two... well, you're..." together was the word you were looking for, but your fingers pinched the bridge of your nose. 

Try again, you thought. You'll end up rowing champion if you keep paddling like that. But Matt immediately reassured you.

"There's nothing to worry about, and besides, on my side you have to be forgiving when you don't have the 'pause' button."

Right, you thought, even though the heat was rising to your cheeks and neck enough for your cool hand to come and rest on it, massaging it nervously.

"I find you singularly witty, Red," Frank said, arms folded across his chest.

Of course, there was nothing new under the sun about Frank. His sharp tone brought you back to solid ground in no time.

"How are the wounds?" he asked as he turned to you, his eyes lingering for a moment on the fact that you were wearing his shirt.

"Very well," you assured him as you lifted the sides of your shirt to show the one on your side and the one on your arm, turning back to him, "I think the blue really brings out my eyes, don't you?"

He smirked, and you couldn't quite work out whether it was genuine annoyance or amusement. It all seemed a bit too perfect, and that's when it hit you.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed, looking for where they'd put your trousers where your phone was.

"What is it?" asked Matt.

"My boss," you said, searching the hallway and finding your trousers there, "I didn't tell him-"

"We called him this morning," pointed out Frank.

You stopped in your tracks, turning back to them.

"You what ?" you questioned.

"We called him," Matt informed, "we told him that we were close to you and that after you were mugged last night in the street you decided to stay home for the day out of shock."

"You-"

"It's all sorted, you don't need to worry," Frank grunted, taking his drink in hand, surely in search for you to shut up and let him enjoy his morning cup of coffee.

You stood there like a houseplant in the middle of the living room, and Matt invited you to take a seat for breakfast. Bemused, you took a seat and the three of you ate and chatted for a while.

Matt mentioned taking you to see a guy he knew so that he could cover you up with something other than such a simplistic and obviously flimsy outfit that could put you in danger again.

And after breakfast, you left at the same time as Matt, who was leaving for work. You said your final goodbyes and went your separate ways.

Little did you know the proximity of last night would change many things.

⟢ next part : here

[blueparadis]

╰┈➤ ULTRAVIOLENCE ✦ SUGURU GETO.

⟣ ──┈ · · · + synopsis ➢ On Christmas evening of 2009 Geto Suguru receives an unexpected gift, a cure to his loneliness, and a curse to his mission of creating his "new world".

⟣ ──┈ · · · + cw ➣ fem!reader, cult leader!geto suguru, canon divergent, profanity, prostitution, yandere!getou suguru, possessive behavior,smut, f1ngering, hand job, mutual masturbation, nipple stimulation, mutual pining, heavy angst, angst and tragedy, canon-typical violence; 4,7k word count + this this for @nagumoan's collab: 'dance with the dead'

| blog navigation + koct’23 masterlist. + cross-posted to ao3.|

30th of September, 2007.

The warmth and the humidity in the air have been settling on Geto’s skin for a while. The shrill cry of cicadas has been ringing in his ears. Even now, he can hear it amidst the sound of running water, washing dishes, and the table fan. 

“Otou-san will be home soon, Sugu. You don’t have to wait for him to come back. Nowadays, he works till late at night.” The elderly woman puts the poached egg in the ramen bowl and places it in front of her son. Suguru stares at the food with plain slate eyes. “Your father thinks he can help you with your higher studies.” —his mother wipes her frail, slightly wrinkled hands in her apron before dragging the chair and sitting in front of her son, face to face— “But actually, he just misses having you around the house since you moved in the dorms last month. Is the food there okay? Are you eating well?”

Suguru does not speak. He gulps remembering the taste of curses. He has been doing his job like a robot all this summer— exorcise, absorb, digest. exorcise, absorb, digest, exorcise, absorb, digest, absorb, digest— “How is Satoru?” his mother asks pulling him back into reality. Her smile was so soft smile that Suguru thought it could make lilies bloom. He just listens to his mother like he usually does whenever he visits her. His eyes fall onto the ramen bowl again, there are hot fumes emerging from it. They must smell delicious like he remembers. But unfortunately, it failed to thrum the strings of Geto Suguru’s heart. 

“Okaa-san, it’s okay. I’m not that hungry. I can wait for Otou-san to come home.” he remarks, smiling at his mother letting the food get cold. He has done this so many times, engaging his mother in talk so that she does not notice how hard it is for him to chew, swallow & eat without experiencing the taste and smell of it. All he can feel on his tongue is the rotten taste of curses, the aroma of dying corpses of his fellow jujutsu sorcerers. Maybe this is why he is losing weight so fast, not because of the heat. The more he tried to cling onto the mundanity of humans the farther it slipped away from him; like sand spilling through the gaps of his fingers.

“But why aren’t you in your school dress, my dear?” His mother asks, noticing him in normal black trousers and shirt.

“Oh! It got too much dirt.” He responds, looking at the clock in the kitchen. 

This time will be the last time he sees his mother’s smile, hears her voice, sees her cook food for him, and the last time he welcomes his father to home.

3rd of February, 2008

“Oka-san. Otou-san. I’m turning 18 today.”  Suguru jocked down to sit in front of his parents' graveyard. He places a few incense sticks with the fragrance of chrysanthemum, two bowls full of ramen, and some sake in front of the graveyard. He looks at the poached eggs, and the lump in his throat bobs once. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come on your funeral day.”

“Neeh—Oka-san, are you listening?” His eyes perk up. “Is it bad that I don’t regret any of this?” There is a pause before he stands up again. He finishes his last bit of cigarette and burns the butt with his cursed energy. “But you know what? I’m now less angry and more guilty. Guilty of so many things—”

“Geto-sama, we don’t have much time. They will tail us soon if we are here any longer than this.” Manami speaks with worry carefully buried under her commanding tone. His phone vibrates. He checks the caller ID. Shui Kong it read. A salacious curve appears at one corner of his lip. Disbanding the star religious group was a piece of cake for him. And, now with the help of Shui Kong, he will get an endless influx of money and curses in no time yet it would not be enough to defeat ‘the strongest’; he thinks. nope, that’s wrong, deep down, he knows that.

“Yeah, you are right. Nanako and Mimiko will get scared if they wake up and find none of us.” Geto smiles before turning on his feet to walk. As he starts to walk Manami waits till he goes ahead of her, at least eight feet from her and then she follows Geto Suguru. Geto's shadow does not even touch Manami’s, never does, she makes sure of that. She does not belong to his shadow, nor as his comrade but perhaps a part of the ‘family’ that Geto-sama keeps talking about. 

“I won’t be here next year,” Suguru murmurs to himself before stepping out of the graveyard. He never looked back that day not while walking, not while getting in the car, and not even through the mirror. He did not feel the need to look back.

24th of December 2009

Geto Suguru skims through the thick crowd in the front lounge of one of the most expensive brothels in the city like the bow of a ship through the waves. There are men on couches, beautiful women over them, and the blended aroma of strong cologne and burning tobacco fills the air. Not only that, the tingling music mixed with waves of laughter of women and men makes Geto slaver at the thought of killing them all. He could do it now. He has both, power and confidence. But he is not here to create a massacre.

“Getou-sama,” a familiar low hum reaches his ears making him turn his head. At first, he thought he was just imagining it then he felt a tug in his baggy pants. He lowers his eyes to the ground.

“Ahhhhh! Nanako—Suguru takes her in his arms and clears his throat before speaking making it tart at every stretch of his words— “Didn’t I tell you to wait for me at the car? It's not safe for you here.” Not only it is unsafe but also inappropriate. A girl of her age should not witness the path that could also been her if he had not saved Nanako and her twin sister two years ago. Geto strolls back towards his car. “Negi, make sure she does not follow me. ” He instructs this young lad who drove Geto today keeping a sleeping Nanako inside the car. 

“Well, she wouldn't have been here if she didn't fight with her sister,” Negi responds before bowing down. Geto watches the car go inside the parking area and then he vanishes into the thick crowd like a pebble in the wind of lust, power, money, and scandal. He earns a few curious stares and with such enormously handsome features and elegantly electrifying personality who would miss? It dawns on his mind that he killed the Yakuza who owned this brothel a week ago. The crowd is bearable, well, penetrable at least. Walking amongst non-sorcerers makes him nauseous at times but now he has reached the point where a part of him is willing to abolish this useless crowd in a snap. But he does not need to, not now. Now is not the time, nor the place. 

Geto Suguru should have been at his new home with his new family spending this fine Christmas evening drinking. In all honesty, he did not even have to cut through this lustrous mob if Shui Kong kept his word, that is, delivering the money in the proper place and time. The only reason why he came in person to collect the money was because Shui Kong was the one who helped him to get a grasp on the star religious group. Not only that, he kept giving Geto information about such groups, and with his cursed manipulation technique he gobbled them up in no time. It was a walk in the park for him.

There was a steady flow of curses and money. Even certain small yakuza gangs, the smart ones but with lower manpower, started to send favors to appease him. He is like a god of the underworld now. But some dumb power-hungry yakuza men refused to retort to such steps and hence, they fell prey to his curses. He is going to eventually kill all these foxes but not now. He needs them now, he needs them to dilute his presence and make himself untraceable in the hands of jujutsu sorcerers. Killing the lions has already been a huge loss. 

“There you are, Mr.Kong.” Geto remarked walking into the room. He does not take a sit rather stands against the door almost covering the entrance. 

“Forgive me—” Shui starts with a brilliant smile that has cracked more deals than existed. He is not a pawn but a rook. “I would have gone to your place but I am needed to resolve an issue here.”

Geto chuckles. “Maybe it's your need that brought you here.” He quipped as Shui kept two briefcases on the bed. 

Shui Kong gives him an assertive look before smiling. He lights up a cigarette and says, “ Would have been a happier man if that were the case but— ” There is a ridge between Geto’s eyebrows as he refuses to finish his thoughts. Blowing a puff into the air he turns his head to the other side of the room, towards another door, and yells from the bottom of his lungs. “Princess, I don't have all day.” Geto’s eyebrows do not let go of the tension. His arms are now crossed tightly across his chest, lower lip gleaming since he swiped his tongue across it. He just needs to see this princess, just for once. 

“You see, someone asked for her, a fox from a rival gang.” Kong starts to explain. The cigarette in between his index and middle finger keeps sizzling in scarlet red. “he is saying he is gonna pay full for her— you know — but she was attacked while working —”

Geto’s dark eyes are now stuck on the doorknob. It starts to rotate. He registers Shui’s words who is scrolling through his phone to call them. The click of the doorknob makes Geto release the breath he was holding back, slowly. Before the slightest part between the door and the frame, Geto’s lips part exclaiming, “Shhhhhhh!” with a hiss at the end. 

You unlock the door and wait for an opening to interrupt their conversation.

Shui Kong looks at Geto and then he follows those dark drunk eyes of Geto Suguru that took him to the other side of the room. There you stood, in a translucent white dress covering you from head to toe. There is a rose around your neck and rose leaves on the hem of your full-sleeved dress but beneath the dress, anyone could easily see the bandages around certain parts of your body — scattered and ripped. Your nipples are visible too. They are perked. Geto maintains his stance, hands inside his pocket and standing by supporting his shoulder against the door frame. Only his lips move, growling and raging underneath. “So, there are still those who don't obey me,” His eyes drink in your appearance so shamelessly; utterly shamelessly. 

You rake away your eyes from this man of Six feet and some inches, clamping your palms around your upper arms. Geto walks inside the room. “There will be no exchange of anything from here, Shui Kong-san.” He does not take any of the suitcases just your cell phone from the dressing table.

“Passcode?”

You exchange glances with Shui Kong before opening your mouth. He nods. You answer him, “4444.” Geto's eyes flash onto you checking if you are mocking him or not. You are not. He unlocks your phone checks the search history. 

“There’s a lot of porn here.” 

You rub your upper arms slowly and say, “It’s not like my clients are interested in my pleasure— or my well-being.” 

“You need to check her phone to tell? Can't you tell just by looking at her?” That earns Shui Kong a momentary glare. 

“Yet you are willing to sell her,” Geto prompts sarcastically with a smile plastered on his face. There is an edge in his voice. Shui does not protest. He knows what he is doing. “You can stay with me,” He offers, without thinking about the consequences of it. “Of course, you’ll keep working, then.” It takes you a moment to decipher his words but it is not something unexpected. 

“Oh, I don’t mind, whatever you want.” You say quickly. “I can follow orders.” Embarrassment seeps into your skin as you realize how rushed those words were that came out of your mouth. Scanning him through the corner of your eye, you find him smirking still checking your phone.

“Get her things in the car. She will be staying with me from now on.” Geto remarks slipping the phone in his pocket before leaving.

Shui Kong sits on the bed, soft and pink with a thud. “Do you realize what you are doing, Y/N?” 

“You heard him.” You say getting out of those high heels and changing into flats. Even though you are bruised you managed to get your trolley. It is a good thing that you wore a long coat to cover yourself up. People are already staring, what would they have done if you turned up in such scantily dressed attire? Your Madame has already been summoned. Getting out of the building you look around and find Geto Suguru talking to your Madame. Shui Kong is also there. The moment you open the door of the car you spot a kid sleeping on the back seat. This must be Nanako. You adjust the kid's head on your lap. She's gonna get her neck sprained if she sleeps like that. Through the window, you see Geto still talking to your Madame, as he keeps jerking his leg impatiently and occasionally scratching his forehead with his thumb.

“We can't afford to do that — her regulars — they will complain. ” she tartly remarks. 

“Well, give them a discount. You know how the system works, so figure something out with Shui Kong-san.” 

“Have it your way then. She was a jinx anyways ” She remarks letting all the disappointment out. It piques Geto’s interest because when he saw you, you were not looking at him, you were looking behind him. A feeble curse not visible to normal people but visible to people with enough cursed energy to become a sorcerer or an exorcist. He specifically customized this curse after digesting it to pick up ‘talents’ like you who are considered as ‘freaks’ by those idiots. Just like Nanako and Mimiko.

“What do you mean?” He tries to sound curious hiding his disgust underneath the question because he has seen all the gore behind the glory of it all. 

“People say that she is a witch. She kills men and takes their money. She’s got a black cat, a big one. Can talk to birds. I’ve seen her—” Suddenly the street lights, the honking of the cars, and the sound of footsteps of passersby became loud. Geto could not hear her properly anymore. Damn filthy monkeys.

“Excuse me, I’ve got to make a call.” One more minute of her blabbering nonsense he would have killed her. Geto calls Manami stepping aside in the dark shade of the alley. He talks for about five minutes before looking your way. You do not look away, rather give him a warm smile and bow your head to appreciate his kind gesture. He immediately turns around. You think he did not see you or maybe looking at someone else or somewhere else but all he could do is stumble on his words while talking to Manami. It’s distracting. You’re distracting. 

Geto Suguru walks towards the car and you fold Nanako’s legs a little to make space for him but he disappoints you thoroughly. He sits beside the driver, the barrier is up so you can not see his face. Disappointment and hurt sedimenting at the bottom of your heart you arch your head and close your eyes. It feels like, after a long time, you have closed your eyes and not for the pretense of pleasure.

January, 2010.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Geto drawls lazily as he sits on the sofa, still in his kasaya freshly finishing after seeing his visitors. He was out of town for almost a week and hence today's session was longer than usual. He needs a bath, a nice warm bath, not some scum to show up at his doorstep begging for you.

There are a bunch of men standing behind the older man, who seems to be the leader of the group; all armed, and Geto sits alone at the opposite. At times like these, he feels a little closer to the god. A middle-aged man, speaks keeping his gun on the center table, perhaps to assert dominance Geto thinks too but it makes him nothing but widen his smile. “You have something that belongs to me. And I have something that would interest you more so why don't we—”

Splotches of blood fall on his gun, warmth settling on his cheeks too like drops of oil. He turns his head to find that one of his men is sliced into two. Geto clears his throat gaining his attention again. “What a mess you have made, Toshiro-san. ” He gets up from his seat and before leaving he remarks huskily, “Please clean this up before you leave, Toshiro-san” The man, dumbfounded by what just happened, nods in agreement watching the man disappear into the inner quarters.

The dawn dies, painting the blue sky with its blood-red, agony welcoming the full moon and her bevy of stars. At night, Geto Suguru is not a monk anymore. He is much more than that — a father figure to two homeless orphans, an idol to a few who believe in his dream of creating a ‘new world’ and a savior to you.

It has been almost a month since Geto Suguru brought you to his home. At the dawn of the 25th of December 2009, when you woke up, Manami was there to help you with the chores and show you around. You have spotted Negi a few times while roaming and exploring the house, but there was no sign of that man, your so-called ‘savior’. When you asked Manami, she was rather cold while answering, “Geto-sama will be home around New Year's.”

It was not hard to pinpoint her jealousy for you. “Whore”, “Slut”, “Homebreaker”, “Witch” — the list continues. Her jealousy is just the tip of ice-berg. Maybe she had to sacrifice something greater when Geto took her in, something more important than freedom. Apart from her cold demeanor, everything was just fine; it was more than you could ask for. The wounds and bruises have started to fade. They are barely pinnable now. Nanako has a twin sister, Mimiko. They have warmed up to you more quickly than you imagined and a part of you was grateful to them since Manami became humbler in her gestures.

This fine morning, you noticed a new pair of shoes near the doormat. You knew it had to be his, Geto Suguru. He is home. Today might be the first time you get to talk to him, pay off his debts, or maybe keep working while staying here just like he said or whatever he decides to do with you. It was odd that he did not suspect you at all, or maybe he told someone to do a background check. He seems like the kind of person who would hold such powers. You have heard about him even if they reached out to you in the form of rustling rumors.

“Are you comfortable here?” 

Losing your balance you topple on your feet and eventually fall on the ground. Nanako and Mimiko peeks by his legs. They are not even at his knee length, so small, so fragile and so full of life. They laugh and so do you. Geto Suguru is unimpressed. He crouches down pulling the girls in front of him. “Go and play in my room but don’t fight, alright?” The shift in his demeanor amazes you. He has changed. He is nothing like you have been warned about. 

As soon as the twins leave, giggles and voices filling the corridor Geto’s eyes shift on you. You are still on the ground, legs half-folded. He extends his hand towards you to help you get up but you flinch away, sliding against the wall. In the middle of this long corridor, Geto Suguru is on his knees before you watching as if something fell from the sky, a boon, an angel. 

His lips extended from ear to ear, flashing his teeth. “What's up with this coy act of yours?” He wets his bottom lip.“Too timid for a whore. I know you can see things.” Your eyebrows grew closer as you got up and formed a response in your head.

“It's hard to break years of habit,” you speak, “Sir.” you quip, seeing him still on his knees. Why isn’t he standing up? Does he need a hand?

“Not gonna complain that I called you a ‘whore’ ?” He taunts, standing up and facing you.

“Too timid for that sir,” you say keeping up the eye contact. But that does not last long. Geto’s dark globules follow your behind. You notice too that there is a shadow on the wall of the corridor of a lady. He sighs heavily exclaiming, “Manami. You can come out now,” 

Timidly she walks out of the room exclaiming in a firm tone after clearing her throat, “Getou-sama, your bath has been prepared.” 

“Have you prepared my clothes too?” He narrows the gulf in between the two of you and grabs a few strands of your hair smelling it, letting his lips graze over a little, and checking your reactions as Manami answers.

“No. Not yet. I’ll do it right—“Actually, prepare two sets of clothes.” Geto interrupts. The way your chest heaves, up and down, frantically tempts him to tease you more. “Hers too. She will be joining me.” 

Geto was kind not to ask you to strip in front of him. It was not like you would not be used to that; you had practiced enough still you thought his eyes would alone eat you away if you were to undress in front of him. Curling up your braided hair in a bun and securing it with a clip you enter the bathroom. He is already in the bathtub, head arched, eyes closed, chest heaving up and down. You walk slowly trying not to make any sound. “You know, of all the curses I’ve swallowed—” you gasp loudly palming your face. 

“Can you not do that, please? Every time i feel like my heart is gonna jump out of my chest.” So many words in one sentence; a question; a request; a demand; a plea. Suguru blinks: once, twice, and thrice. “Yours have a very distinct sweet smell.” His words slurred, inaudible at the end. This is the first time he has seen you speak so much and that too, only to him but that is not what warms his heart. ‘Sir.’ you did not add sir. He hated the honorifics with you. “And . . . I’m not a curse.” You mutter before dipping yourself in the bathtub sitting against the wall of the bathtub facing him.

You notice the huge X-shaped scar over his chest. “How did you get that?” you ask playing with the water not meeting his eye. His toes touch the side of your hips, hands resting on the white of the bathtub but when he does not answer you look up to him and see his hands near your ankles. There is a brief eye contact of realization about what’s he up to and in the next blink you are close to him.

“Do you wanna feel it?” He asks touching his forehead against yours.

“The pain?” You say, running his hands over his chest careful enough not to touch his nipple. “Or just the scar.” 

“How did you get this?” He rubs the mark of one of your wounds on your arm. “And this?” he asks, a little concerned by the number and place of the wounds you have all over the body. They have faded but not totally. The agony on his face is clear but you remind yourself it is not because of you. It must be because he is reminded of how he got his scar. 

“Mostly clients.” You answer noticing his hands trailing up to your breasts. Your mouth parts, eager moan willing to escape. “But some men like them. Some men don’t. So, they pay to heal them in a way like they were never there,”

“What kind do you think I’m?” Suguru asks but you fail to answer since his hands have started to massage your breasts, nice and slow. Your moans have started to weigh more, the bottom and lower lip parting with each other more. Your vision turns black as his mouth latches on the column of your neck but that is not where it is needed now. Your taut nipples need desperate attention. Moving closer to him, your palm is over his cock. He is hard, leaking even. A gran escapes from his mouth, edgy and elongated. One of his fingers dips inside your vagina. Woah. You’re wet, so very wet. Even under the water, he can feel your arousal, even smell it. You buck your hips a bit giving him an invitation. The sloshing sound of water feels more embarrassing than your moans. He does not take it but when you start to pump his cock in long, deep, and fast strokes he leans towards you taking one of your nipples in his mouth. You should have known how strong he is when he dragged you closer to himself because the way he is sucking and biting you think you will cum soon. He starts to rub your clit in rough, rigorous movements as his mouth works on your nipples. For a moment your hands feel lithe; your hands pause working his cock.

“You smell so good,” He murmurs unlatching his mouth and licking up to your collarbone from the base of your cleavage. You twist and tilt your head as his lips explore your neck while pushing his fingers up and down inside your vagina, nudging your sweet spot. Your hands start to pump his cock again, harder and faster this time, reverting him the favor with the same intensity and emotion. You feel him smirk against your skin before he bites your earlobes making you jolt. Another arm that rested on the valley of your waist tugs you closer, again; you think he is going to pull you onto his lap, fuck you deep, nice, and full. “Fuck” he mutters feeling his cock tense up. The sloshing of water now gets mixed with your loud moans mixed with his low grunts. Geto looks at your face, your eyes meeting his and occasionally landing on his lips and one of your hands gripping too hard on the whites of the bathtub. Both of your hands pick up the pace, matching the intensity and the ragged breathing. Eyes rolling white, jaw clenching hard, head arching back as the wave of orgasm approaches both of you.

“You’re close,” you huff and pant in between feeling his warm ejaculated fluid onto your hand.

“So are you,” he murmurs cumming as you keep pumping his cock till it stops. Geto pulls his fingers out of your messy aching cunt and shamelessly puts them in his mouth, licking and sucking it to the base of his fingers. You watch him as if he is the man to take your first time. The loneliness, the affection, the desire— all hit Suguru in a flash like a downpour as he notices you looking. He gets out of the bathtub and steps into the shower zone. When you hear the water running, you step out of the bathtub too but do not join him in the shower instead grab your phone with a towel that was in the pocket of his previous attire. Typing a number, you hit the send button and immediately delete it from the history.

The message read: [“I’m in.”]

note: special thanks to my dearest fumi aka dom ( @akiniku ) for constantly listening to my ideas, talking me through them, and beta-reading this when I finished it. I finished writing this today and it was so rushed by Dom talked me through it and gave me the course I needed. hope you enjoyed reading it. thank you for making it this far. i do want to continue this but will see if i can manage time to write after october.

also tagging @orchid3a @semisgroupie

[literaila]

still here 

tasm!peter x reader 

summary: there’s an ache in me, put there by the ache in you

(for @elysian-chaos)

warnings: angst, fluff, feeling unworthy, feeling useless, you know, seperation 

a/n: ‘tis the damn season is the best song ever. dont argue 

*

there's this little thing called stress baking. 

typically, stress baking is referred to as coping by making something delicious to scavenge on, instead of dwelling on the feelings scavenging you. and typically, it's done with a certain type of elegance--one that is made up of chaos. completely insane, yet completely in control. it's a messy dance, but perfectly choreographed. 

stress baking is a very reviving task. filling up the house with muffins and pies is not only good for distracting yourself, but also for making friends when you run out of room. or smiling at the cashier every time you have to go to the store for ingredients. 

it's something you've practiced for years. something you've become somewhat addicted to. 

but then there's baking while stressed. which, you swear, hadn't been your intention. 

brownies from a box were supposed to be easy. they were notoriously easy. a couple of eggs, some oil, and some water. the hardest part of your job was mixing, but you'd done it so many times that you zoned out while doing all of it. 

box brownies were supposed to be non-stress and quick. but when you burn the brownies and batter rises over the top of your glass pan, and the oven is dirty, and the apartment smells like burnt batter and oven cleaner--well, you have to reread the directions. 

you're a good baker. you've been making cookies and cakes for parties for years. you pride yourself on not needing measuring cups because you can eye a recipe by the gram. 

not that these brownies would agree. 

and it's already five-forty-five. peter is going to be home in the next fifteen minutes and this was supposed to be a treat. something good. 

"surprise! i ruined our oven, and now we're going to have to spend the next few nights at your aunt's house in your twin-sized bed until the smell of death goes away!" doesn't typically bring out any smiles.

and peter's been stressed lately, and you've been stressed about him. 

and now you're making brownies from scratch without butter--because you used it all on the last batch, oops--and the number of candles you've lit is a sure fire hazard. 

but if peter would just smile at you, pull you in by your waist and laugh while he kissed you with a chocolate mouth, it would all be fine. 

if there wasn't so much riding on this one (two) pan(s) of brownies. like being able to sleep comfortably tonight. 

you turned the oven down, found a new pan--threw the other one out because it was nothing but a source of disappointment--and cleaned the oven just enough to not draw any suspicions. but you could still feel the failure lurking. 

peter was going to come home to a chaotic house, and it was your fault. 

so you scrubbed at the counters. fixed the stack of bills on the table so that you couldn't see any of the stamps, folded the blankets, and even swept the kitchen floor. 

still, you knew peter would know. because he always knows. and maybe that was why he was acting so weird lately--maybe that's why you were acting so weird. 

the door opened when the timer on the oven went off. 

you'd wanted to watch peter walk through the door--so you could gauge how tired he was, how miserable--but maybe it was better not to know. to let him put on a mask while your back was still turned. 

"hey, baby," he said, as you were pulling the brownies out of the oven, setting his house keys on the counter and sighing. "i'm home." 

you peeked over your shoulder, giving him a hint of a smile--the same type he was giving you. "hey, honey," you said back, "you're home." 

peter walked around the island to stand right behind you, kissing the back of your head and stealing a look over to the stovetop. he clears his throat. "brownies?" 

you shrug. "thought you might like something sweet when you got home." 

you take off the oven mitt, not really wanting to look at him--maybe because you're scared of what you'll see, or maybe just because you can already feel his eyes tearing down your skin. 

but you can feel his breath on your neck as he chuckles. his exhaustion as he leans into your back. 

"i've already got you, though," he whispers one peck at the edge of your jaw, another by your ear. 

you snort and pull away, turning so you can look at him. and then you pretend to throw up. 

he laughs and pokes your forehead.

you're not looking at him and he's not looking at you. 

you turn back to the brownies. 

"did you drop something in the oven?" peter asks, leaning his chin on your shoulder. 

"no," you answer, a bit too defensive. 

"sure?" 

"am i sure that i didn't burn something in the oven, peter? yes." 

there's a beat. "...cause it smells like it." 

you headbutt him. "you smell like it. go shower. you can't eat these yet." 

"yes, ma'am," peter takes a step back, and you look at him again.  you can see the question in his eyes, and see your own reflecting the same question. 

what are you hiding? 

"we have some ice cream, too." 

peter moans, his head back. you roll your eyes at him. 

and you start cutting the brownies, worries, and chocolate chips sticking to the knife, listening to peter's footsteps, feeling his presence sticking to you like sugar, sticky and rich, his eyes keeping you on edge. 

you know you shouldn't feel stupid--peter doesn't actually know what happened, or care--but you do. because he knows, and because even from the split second you looked at him, you could see the strain on his skin, the pressure weighing him down, dragging his feet across the floor. 

you feel stupid just because you don't know what to do. so before he can close the door, you turn around. choosing reaction instead of pretending. 

"peter?" 

he pauses, his head whipping towards you. his eyes are as soft and loving as they always are--his attention remains the same, even when his energy doesn't. like he's wasting himself away just to take care of you. 

he swallows. "yeah?" 

"are you--" you blink, look away, try not to taste burnt brownies. "are you okay? you seem tired. was work… alright? 

peter smiles, shaking his head. "just the usual, bub. work and... work. i think i'll go to bed early tonight?" 

you raise a brow. 

peter clears his throat. "i mean, i think i'll take a nap tonight before i go out." 

you nod. "okay." 

you both stare at each other for a moment. he's far enough away that it's easier. you don't have to feel his emotions as he processes them. don't have to see them from up close. 

you hate yourself for being afraid of him. for being afraid for him. 

“d’ya want to join me?” peter asks, whisper slipping from his mouth, smile taunting from his lips. “we can cuddle and eat brownies.” 

you lick your lips, shaky smile enough. “you sure? i’ve heard i can be a bit distracting…”

peter’s laugh makes his shoulders shake. “you heard correctly,” he says eyes crinkled, “but i don’t mind.” 

you nod. you’re grateful for his ease. the careful reveal of his true face, the peeling of a mask. the admittance that not everything is perfect, no matter how small. 

“go shower. i’ll get the sugar.” 

peter kisses you on the cheek before he goes.

and at least you got a couple of smiles out of him. at least you can feel his kiss lingering on your skin. 

* 

it's not that serious. honestly. 

you hardly even think about it. you're not thinking about it. 

you're not dwelling on the smell of soft skin and the feeling of calloused hands running up and down your back, the tickle of a breath against your neck. 

you're not thinking about it at all. 

and if it's been a week--or a week and a half, or two, or three--since you last spoke, or shared the same space with peter, then it's fine. 

this is something you've grown used to. something you're supposed to be used to. 

peter has obligations. 

he has things he needs to fulfill--not just for himself, but for others, for the guilt that you can see rocking his bones all of the time, the shame in his eyes when he comes home a bit too early. he has places that he needs to be, if only because he won't be able to live with himself if he's not there. 

but then again, you're not sure how to live when he's not here. especially when the sink breaks. 

still, as long as you can feel him pull you into his chest every night, imagine him kissing your forehead before falling asleep, then it's fine. 

you're not thinking about any of it because it's fine. 

but you miss him. if only momentarily. 

he'll come back--you repeat this like a promise, like it's his voice whispering it to you--because he always does. 

space is good for the heart, some part of you swears. though you don't think you could think of peter any fonder than you already do. 

he comes in too late at night and is already gone when you wake up. he texts you updates--because you've talked about communication before--and tells you that he loves you through sweet little notes he sends during the day. 

if the thing he wishes to share about his life is the worm he found in his apple, then you're perfectly happy to listen (read). 

it's normal to miss the person you love most in the world. 

and it's normal for your boyfriend to disappear for fourteen hours each day, just barely cuddling with you for three hours before he's gone again. 

it's normal for you, at least

he’ll come back. 

and so, instead of thinking about peter, and wondering when he might notice the frayed edges of your relationship, you make sure that he doesn't have to worry about anything. 

you clean up after the two of you, running the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom, and packing him lunch on days you know he'll be gone for the office. making sure there's always something he can eat in the fridge when he gets home late at night, and texting him to know what he wants from the store. 

you make the bed and wash his clothes and hope that maybe it'll keep him from burning out. 

you hope that maybe it will keep you distracted enough to not ask him for anything. like love or support or a five-minute conversation. 

if taking care of him is the only way to keep him going--the only way to keep yourself going--then you'll do it. peter takes care of you enough. 

but even if you're not thinking about it, it's there. 

because you've just fallen asleep--which is extremely rare recently, mostly because you like to wait until you hear the window and then slow your breathing until you feel peter crawl into bed with you--and just woke up. 

woke up with sweaty skin and a headache. it's night ten and you're getting nightmares again. 

it's ridiculous that you can't even last two weeks without peter there. without him kissing you to sleep. 

and when you burst out of bed, you almost fall into him--almost scream because you're sharing the bed with someone else. 

tears are running down your face. your heart feels split open--like your dreams have revealed something inside it. 

but you look over to peter and he's there; he's still here. 

so you take a deep breath--chest caving in, body following--and you rest your head in your hands. 

if there's anything you want right now, it's for peter to wake up. 

it's for him to know all of this. 

you want him to appear next to you, leaning over your back like he's going to shelter from the world if that's what you need. rubbing your back and whispering in your ear. you want him in your house and laughing when you break the shower rod again. 

you want him to cuddle with you before he leaves, and cross his heart when you scold him while he crawls out the window. 

you want him in more than just your memory. 

but peter is snoring next to you, and so you sit there in silence until the tears begin to ease.

*

peter's not supposed to be home. 

he works until five, and then takes the subway home--and you're not expecting to see him anyway. he's been shoving his suit into the bottom of his backpack right as you pull it out of the hamper.

so it's not that unusual for you to be laying in bed, shoes and socks kicked across the floor, hands gripping for some stability, and eyes puffy and red. 

and it's not that unusual for you to squeak when the window opens, and spider-man's head peeks into your room. 

you can feel peter's wide eyes behind the mask. 

you're quick to wipe your face, throw on a clumsy smile. "peter," you say, exhaling. "what're you doing here?"  

a body crawls into the window, dirt and grime on clothes finger-tips reaching out to you. "what's wrong?" he asks, voice only slightly muffled. 

but you take a step back, moving away from him when he lands on the floor, leaving spots for you to vacuum up later. 

"what're you doing here?" you repeat, voice a bit harsher, a bit faded. 

"i need--" he reaches his hand out toward you again, retreating when you do. "i needed some more web fluid. i don't--" he shakes his head. "what happened?" 

"i, um," you wipe traitorous tears away again. "i think there's some more in the closet. i keep moving it when i'm cleaning, sorry." 

"you're crying," peter scolds. like you're being ridiculous. like you're not trying to save him the effort it's going to take to fix this irrational piece of you, these lonely broken bits. 

you bite your lip and look away. 

because although you can't even see his eyes--they are still scolding. they are quick and cruel reminders that you haven't talked to peter in two weeks. 

you turn towards your bedside table, pretending to organize the contents on top. 

you can hear peter moving. 

"what's going on, bub?" he says, soft enough for the words to crawl under your skin. he's taken the mask off. his voice is clear. 

"oh, nothing, you know," you pause, shrugging. "just the usual sad movie type of cry..." peter's hand reaches your back and you flip around, almost knocking over your lamp. 

"c'mon," he whispers to you, far closer than you'd been expecting. 

you try and take a step back, only meeting a dead-end. he's cornered you. "you should go, peter. you were just--" 

"this is more important."

you laugh. "some silly tears are more important than a collapsing building?" 

"you're more important," peter swears, his eyes so focused on yours, "to me." 

you blink and shake your head. gesture back towards the window. "go and save some people. you don't have to help me too." 

peter swallows, brows furrowed. "will you tell me what's wrong?"

"i can take care of myself, peter. you don't need to worry about it." 

"well, i'm going to." 

you roll your eyes. and then you break free of his hold, moving away from the table, from the cage he's built around you. "move along, spider-man." 

peter doesn't move any closer, but his limbs are tense. his face is concerned and hurt--you try and shield that out.

"i'm not leaving you when you're crying."

"i'm not crying anymore." 

peter scowls. "stop deflecting." 

you take a deep breath, throat dry and aching. "i'm not--" you clear your throat, shaking your head and looking away from him. "i'm fine, peter. but some people actually need you. go and save the day," you tell him. "i'll still be here when you come back." 

*

and you are. 

you're sitting on the couch, staring at photos peter took on the wall, wondering how to explain any of it. 

how to explain yourself without digging the two of you any further in this hole. 

you've been trying to prove just how little you need peter--just how useful you could be--and by doing so, you've put yourself in this situation. 

because you do need him. you just hadn't wanted peter to know that. 

so you're sitting on the couch, trying not to flinch every time the air conditioning comes on, or there's a footstep from the apartment above you. you're waiting for peter to climb in through the window, waiting to see how exhausted he is before he has to deal with you. 

and you've bitten your lip raw. completely eliminated any evidence of fingernails you once had. 

your heart stutters with every minute that comes by. 

and when you finally hear peter hop in from the fire escape, your heart stops completely. 

you wonder if he's going to change before he comes and finds you. before the inevitable happens, and you give him another reason to work so late. 

your restlessness must be audible because it only takes peter forty seconds before walking into the living room. he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. 

he's wearing a frown like a well-tailored suit. known and made for him. 

you're trying not to frown back. 

"hey," you say, putting on a smile, voice flighty and an octave too high. "everything okay?" 

"no one got hurt," peter says, the antonym to your tone. 

"good." 

apparently, your tight-lipped smile isn't enough to ease the tension in the room. 

"are you ready to talk?" peter asks, slowly stepping toward you, just barely meeting your eyes. 

you'd scrubbed your face after he left. sobbed in the shower as you washed away any of the shame you hadn't meant for him to see. you'd made sure that your eyes weren't puffy, and your eyelashes were dry before he'd got home. 

so when peter scans your face--as he's doing now--he shouldn't notice anything unusual. 

besides the facade you're putting on. 

you clear your throat, eyebrows lifted like you're unconcerned. "there's not much to talk about." 

peter's sullen face doesn't move an inch. "why were you crying?" 

"i already told you. i watched a sad movie," you wave a hand, "you just came in at the wrong time." 

peter sighs. he sits down on the couch next to you, keeping his distance. "don't lie." 

you frown. "i'm not lying." 

"you've got some pretty obvious tells, you know," peter whispers, giving you a hint of a bittersweet smile. "you don't have to talk to me. but i'd like it if you did. i just want to make sure that you're... okay." 

"i'm fine, peter." 

he looks away. "and if you're not then we'll figure it out. i just want to know." 

"well, you do." 

peter opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. 

he's sitting three feet away from you, but his hands are clasped together, his legs are opposite of yours, and he can't even look at you. 

you can feel it, as you push him away. as you try so desperately to hold him close without touching him. 

"okay," peter says, eyes meeting yours again. "i don't want to push you." 

no, but he should pull you off of this ledge. should keep you from falling any further than you already have. 

you shake your head, laughing. it's not funny. 

"what?" 

you close your eyes. count to ten. forget how to breathe, or how to speak to the person you love most in this world. 

"what?" peter repeats, but softer. 

you open your eyes. 

and then it all crumbles. 

you scoff. "can you stop looking at me like that?" you plead, breaking away, physically distancing yourself from him. 

"like what?" 

it's his fault, really, for coming home so early in the day. 

"like you can't deal with this. like this is exhausting." 

the tears sneak up on you, knocking you out before you even notice that they're there. 

peter's eyes are wide as he stares at you. "you're not--" he swallows, frantically reaching towards you. "this isn't exhausting--i'm not--" a moment, tears beginning to fall. "what do you--" 

you sigh, shaking your head. "you're always gone, and you come home exhausted every night after you think i've fallen asleep, and you only talk to me through text, and even now you just--" you stop, voice breaking. "if you can't do this," you say, softly, "then you should just tell me." 

peter is closer than he was a moment ago. "what?" 

"i know this is a lot of work, okay? and i know that you're already pushing yourself, so it's fine if i'm too much. if--if loving me is too much." 

there's a moment of silence, and you're almost sure that peter has already left. 

but then there's a thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. you can't open your eyes, can't face the reality you've been desperately holding off. 

"you're not too much." 

peter moves closer to you, his leg touching yours, his hands moving so that he can hold you closer. 

you couldn't push him away if you tried. 

"you're not too much," he repeats, the words sinking into your skin, his breath meeting yours. "i can't believe you would think that." 

you half laugh, half sob. peter wipes away those tears too. 

"you're the only thing keeping me going," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "i'm sorry i haven't been there. i didn't realize..." he shakes his head. 

"you shouldn't have to take care of me as much as you do," you whisper. 

peter nudges his head against yours. "hey. you take care of me way more than i take care of you. you clean up after me and stay up with me when i can't sleep. you help fix my suits, and do all of the laundry. and you never complain. you're practically my guardian angel." 

"that's all easy." 

"not for me," peter says, voice lighter than before. 

you shrug. 

"but you do all of that cause you love me," he adds, kissing your forehead again. "or, i hope that's why." 

"it's the sex." 

peter laughs, nuzzling his head into you. "well, at least you're honest. but, it's the same reason that i take care of you. you shouldn't feel... guilty because of that. you're no burden on me." 

"no?" 

"absolutely not." 

you bite your lip. try and believe peter. but honestly, you're most lovesick from how close he's holding you. how you can feel his skin and listen to him speak somewhere that isn't your bed. you're not quite sure that this isn't a dream. 

"hey," peter moves his head so you're looking at him. "we suck." 

you laugh, leaning your forehead against his. 

"i'm sorry it's been so long since we've... anything. it's been a rough couple of weeks." 

"for me too. it's not your fault." 

"you have to tell me if it's not enough, okay? i don't want you to suffer through it by yourself. if you need to talk to me--even for ten minutes--then you have to let me know." 

"okay." 

"do you promise?" 

you nod against him, nose brushing his cheek. "i promise, peter." 

peter smiles, satisfied. he groans, pulling you even closer to him. "i love you, bug. so much." 

you can barely hear him because of how tight he's hugging you. it sort of hurts, but mostly heals. 

"i know," you say back. but peter probably can't hear you, because you say it right into his shirt. 

*

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Preoutbreak: Sarah is in college and brings home a friend Joel is secretly attracted to.]

Smut, big age gap

“Don’t you worry, baby girl, you keep those pretty eyes on me, no one’s gonna see us.”

A few months into your freshman year in college you became friends with a girl named Sarah. She was sweet, funny and you both had many things in common. It was finally your first break after months of exams and papers and so you two planned to have a fun night out. Sarah had planned for you to go over her house that evening for dinner just so her father could meet who she would be hanging out with. She warned you about how her father would be asking many questions as any typical father would.

That night Sarah first introduced you to her uncle Tommy, he was friendly just as she had described him to be. Her father, Joel soon came out of his room meeting you all in the kitchen.

“There he is” Sarah spoke playfully greeting her father before turning to you.

“This is who I’ve been telling you about, please don’t scare her off” she whispered to him not noticing the way his eyes lightened up the second they landed on you.

“Nice to meet you, Mr.Miller” you smiled politely.

“Please hun, you can call me Joel” he stretched his hand out to you. Your eyes equally lighting up at the sight of him, you didn’t expect to be so attracted to him.

“You two studying the same thing?”

“Yes” Sarah quickly interjected.

“Just call me when the pizzas here” she quickly pulled you into her room as Joel and Tommy both watched you until you she closed the door.

“She’s cute” Tommy shrugged making Joel look back at him.

“College girls now huh?” Joel responded sarcastically before taking a sip of his beer and walking away. The only thing was, Joel thought you were cute too, hell he thought you were beautiful but he wouldn’t admit it.

“Pizzas here!” Joel called out to the room as you both came out laughing together.

“I want in on the joke” Joel said as he opened up the box of pizza.

“Sorry, dad you wouldn’t get it you’re the past the fourty mark” Sarah teased.

“Hahaha” Joel tone was playful before taking a bite of his pizza.

You sat across from Joel as you ate, you could see his eyes on you.

“So, what’s this party you lady’s are going to?” You looked at Sarah waiting for her to answer.

“It’s a club-“

“A club” Joel raised his brows.

Joel wasn’t used to his daughter partying much, in his eyes she was still his little girl.

“Yes dad a club, you know where women my age like to go and have some fun” Joel cleared his throat a little uncomfortable with the thought just because he knew what was out there. His eyes landed on you making your heart begin to race.

“Do you drink, hun?”

“Dad we’re twenty not fifteen!” Sarah interjected making Tommy chuckle.

“Sorry about that, my brother can be a little-“

“Overprotective” Sarah continued.

“It’s ok, my parents would be the same if they were still alive” your comment catching both men off guard.

“Oh it’s fine, it was when I was a baby. I don’t remember” a slight awkward chuckle escaped your lips followed by silence.

“I’m sorry, darlin’” Joel eventually spoke with sincerity.

You smiled at him and sighed.

“Well this pizza is delicious” you changed the topic quickly as they all agreed.

The next day you and Sarah planned to meet at her job and leave from there until she learned her shift was changed last minute. Sarah would be leaving work later than you and realized she forgot a pair of heels to change into. Last minute she asked if you could pass by her job to pick up her house keys in order to get her shoes for her. It was already eight o’ clock and you were dressed ready to go thinking she would be out earlier.

“Don’t worry, no one’s home you can just walk in and grab my black heels in the closet then we’ll go once I’m off the clock.” She explained over the phone as you pulled up in front of her house.

Once you hung up you entered her house and quietly walked towards her bedroom when you suddenly heard the bathroom door open before you could reach her door. You gasped to see Joel walk out of a steamed room with only a towel around his waste.

“Mr.Miller-oh my gosh-“ you froze unable to move as your eyes wandered down his wet chest before you caught yourself.

“I’m so sorry, I thought no one was here” you quickly looked away as he stood caught off guard himself. In a panic not knowing what to do with yourself, you didn’t notice the way he was looking at you. A black mini dress that flattered your curves, a touch of cleavage giving a peak at your plump breasts, Joel cleared his throat quickly looking away.

“Is there something you need?” He asked covering up his reaction with an irritated tone.

“I’m sorry, Sarah asked me to come by and pick up her black heels for her because she’s coming out of work later, I-“

“Well go on,” he cut you off just trying to get you away from his view before you could notice how hard he was about to be. Quickly running to her bedroom your heart raced as you checked her closet and didn’t find no damn shoes.

“Dammit, Sarah!” You whispered just hoping to finally leave from there. On your knees you checked under her bed not knowing Joel stood at the door way with the very heels you were looking for.

“Come on” you whispered reaching farther into her bed giving Joel the perfect view of your ass cheeks slightly peeking through beneath your dress. Joel stood still silently taking the sight before him, if you were someone else he would’ve taken you in the hall in that very moment….but you were his daughters friend…hell you were only twenty years old.

“Shit” you whispered as you stood up when the sudden sound of Joel’s voice made you jump.

“Looking for these?” You turned to him to still find him with his wet hair slick back, your lips parting but you couldn’t find the words to say.

“Sweetheart” he tilted his head dangling the shoes off his fingers.

“Oh-um yes” you walked towards him silently taking the shoes off his hand as he took a quick glimpse at your cleavage before you could notice. His damp skin glistening from the light in the hall, the two of you trying your hardest to keep your eyes off each other…to keep your hands off each other.

“I better go” you smiled nervously as he nodded still at the doorway. Slowly you slid by him, your breast accidentally brushing up past his arm as you practically ran to the door. Joel stood in silent watching as you walked out and closed the door shut.

“Oh my god” you whispered as you rushed starting your car and driving off as fast as you could.

“You ok?” Sarah asked as she sat in the passenger seat rushing to put on her heels.

“Yeah why?”

“I don’t know..you look weird” she looked at you with a raised brow.

“No I’m fine, let’s just get going”

“Ok, you’re sleeping over my place tonight right?” She asked as she put on her seatbelt.

“What?” You almost jumped at the question.

“Remember? You said you’d sleep at my place after? Girl what’s wrong with you? You definitely need a drink.” She chuckled before you pulled off into the road.

The whole night out dancing you enjoyed yourself yet you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel. You were anxious to see him that night, a part of you wanting to while the other half of you wanted to hide away from embarrassment. Sarah ended up drinking a little more than you did to a point where she began to stumble.

“My fathers….gonna kill me” she slurred.

“Don’t worry, lets eat something and get you home.” By the end of the night you had drank so little that you sobered up in time. Sarah was mumbling away things that you couldn’t understand as she walked beside you before getting into the car.

“Are you feeling a little better?” You asked Sarah twenty minutes into the drive.

“Yes, I just want to shower and get into bed” she sighed. Once arriving Sarah seemed to be a little more steady on her feet thankfully, quietly walking beside you she looked through her window to see Joel on the couch.

“Great, he was probably waiting up for me. He’s on the couch watching a movie” your heart sunk not expecting to see him the moment you walked through the door.

Joel looked over hearing the door unlock and watched as you both quietly walked in.

“Wasn’t expecting you two back for another hour” he leaned forward as he noticed you struggled to look him in the eye.

“Hi Mr.Miller” you whispered before finally looking up at him, the two of you locking eyes for just a moment.

“Hey dad, we’re just exhausted. Gonna head to my room, we’ll talk in the morning.” Sarah spoke with a groggy voice as Joel stood up and watched you both walk past him. His eyes couldn’t help but look at your back side when you suddenly looked back at him and caught him checking you out. He quickly looked up yet didn’t say a word, what could he say? Looking away you walked into Sarah’s room and closed the door.

“My uncles probably knocked out already, I’m sure my dads gonna sleep now that I’m home. If you don’t mind I’m gonna shower I reek of tequila.” You laughed and began to take off your make up. You could hear Joel saying goodnight to Sarah as she walked to the bathroom, the sound of Joel’s bedroom door closing before she started her shower.

With a sigh you changed into your oversized shirt still thinking about how Joel looked at you today. Maybe it was all in your imagination, why would your friends father look at you this way?

Sarah warned you she would take a while in the shower and you could feel your stomach rumbling for something small having barely eaten that day. Hesitantly you opened the door to a dark living room and no one around. Tip towing into the kitchen you turned on a small lamp searching for something to eat when you found some chocolate chip cookies.

“Yes” you whispered taking a bite into one with a satisfied sigh. Joel silently made his way out of his room and found you in the kitchen with your back to him. Once again he found himself with the beautiful view of your legs, Joel couldn’t understand this attraction he couldn’t ignore. He knew it was wrong to look at you this way but he found it harder and harder to stop himself.

“Enjoying that cookie huh?” Joels voice made you jump as you turned to find him leaning on the door way with his arms crossed. He wore a navy blue shirt with grey sweat pants that you of course noticed traced the print of his manhood perfectly.

“I didn’t hear you come out, I thought everyone was asleep”

“I’m sorry, darlin’ did I scare you?” He stood up straight and began to walk towards you.

“No, not at all. I just-“ you became distracted with the way he was looking at you listening carefully to what you had to say.

“Look about today, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were home and-“

“Mhm” he nodded as he continued walking towards you to a point that you began to back up.

“If I would’ve known that you were going to walk out like that-“ you noticed Joel cornered you back against the kitchen counter, his body close enough to where you had no where to go.

“Mr.Miller…” you whispered noticing his eyes wandered to your lips.

“Mhm” he looked back up with eyes that you found to be so dreamy you could melt. It was as if he didn’t notice how close he was to you or maybe he did and he didn’t care.

“I um…” you found yourself at a loss for words when he slowly and unexpectedly placed his index finger under your chin angling your face towards him leaning in and kissing you. In that moment you felt something explode within you, your body feeling as if it was lifted up off the ground before you slowly pulled back.

“Mr.Miller..Sarah-“

“I know” he interrupted in a husky voice.

“This isn’t right” you whispered.

“I know” before you could say another word he leaned in again kissing you passionately..this time you didn’t stop him. His hands held your waist and he kissed you more eagerly, a trail of kisses leading to your neck, he felt your body sink against his.

“What are we doing?” You whispered but he didn’t say a word, his lips covering yours when you felt his erection poking against your pelvis. Joel couldn’t control himself any longer, he pushed his pants far enough where his cock was exposed and lifted up one of your legs. The head of his cock brushing against your soaked underwear, he could feel the heat from your pussy calling for him. Joel looked down at you as he pulled your underwear to the side, allowing him to enter. You held your breath at the first feel of his cock beginning to enter you, grabbing onto his shirt tightly. With a crease between his brow Joel kept his eyes on you feeling how aroused you were as he fully entered with a quick thrust.

“Mr-Mr.Miller..” you gasped feeling how big he was inside you. He didn’t say a word, slowly thrusting into a rythm that made you drip down his cock. His eyes never left yours as he fucked you, he knew he shouldn’t have been doing this but it felt so fucking good. You could hear Sarah still in the shower, you couldn’t believe what you were doing. How the hell did you end up having sex standing up with your friends father in the kitchen.

Joel held your leg up leaning his face now against your neck as his breathing grew heavier. Your eyes rolling back with your fingers through his curls, you moaned with him beginning to thrust harder.

“Fuck” he lifted his head as sweat built up making his curls stick to his forehead.

“That feels so good” you whispered breathlessly looking up at him as if you were begging for more.

“It do, don’t it?” He grunted before leaning in to kiss you again. He moved faster as your nails dug into his shoulder blades with each deep stroke.

He caught you looking over his shoulder afraid Tommy would come out at any point.

“Don’t you worry, baby girl, you keep those pretty eyes on me, no one’s gonna see us” he panted.

You nodded trusting his word.

Joel continued to push harder almost making you lose your balance on one foot. You gasped but he held you in place not letting you move.

“I got you, darlin’ you’re not going anywhere” he assured you. You moaned feeling his balls slap against you when an unexpected squeal left your lips as he abruptly pulled out and came hard.

“Fuck” his cum dripping down his hand onto the floor. You gasped leaning back onto the counter as you watched him finish off when the sound of the water being shut off distracted you.

“Shit, she’s coming out-“

“Fuck” Joel still out of breath rushed cleaning up as you ran to the room with your heart racing. Minutes later Sarah entered to find you pretending to be half asleep in bed.

“Sorry I took long” she sighed.

“It’s ok” you sat up wanting to rush to the bathroom.

“Just gonna wash up quick and get back to bed” she nodded and lay back in her bed ready to fall asleep.

That night you and Joel couldn’t sleep, awake in your own beds thinking about what you had just done. Joel had never done anything like this before, not with a friend of his daughters.

What the hell would Sarah think?

Then Joel thought about what must’ve been going through your head. Here you were cornered by a man twice your age and seduced, the last thing he wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable in any way.

The next morning you and Sarah came out to find Tommy had made eveyone a big breakfast. Joel sat at the table as you sat next to Sarah.

You couldn’t look up, your face down staring into your plate the whole time while Joel couldn’t help but glance at you any chance he could get.

“So how was your night ladies?” Tommy asked making you look up.

Oh your night was just great, an unexpected quickie with your friends father but that’s all. You couldn’t help but think sarcastically to yourself.

“It was fun just never drinking tequila again” Sarah chuckled.

“How about you” Tommy asked you but you weren’t paying attention.

“Hey” Sarah nudged you catching your attention.

“What was it, sorry” You smiled awkwardly at Tommy.

“I asked how was your night, how’d you like tequila?”

“Oh no, I barely drank” Joel looked at you as he ate his eggs.

“Oh so she’s a good girl, maybe you can learn a thing or two from her, Sarah” Tommy teased.

“Uncle Tommy, you shouldn’t talk” she teased back.

“Alright alright, got me there” Joel noticed your mind wander off again as Sarah and Tommy laughed together.

“Hey, you’re off today right?” Sarah looked at you.

“If you want we can do our nails, I got some new colors in my room and-“

“I um-sorry, I can’t. I have to go, I have um-I have somewhere to be” Sarah noticed how strangely you sounded but didn’t question anything in that moment.

“Ok another time is fine” she shrugged.

Joel felt guilty noticing how you were acting and was trying to find a way to speak to you without anyone knowing. As Tommy stayed busy on the phone in his room and Sarah watched a movie in hers, Joel caught you on your way out.

“Hey” he walked towards you by the door before you could open it.

“You alright?” He looked down at you in concern as you looked down at the floor.

“I’m fine”

“Listen, hun I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have-“

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I wanted it as much as you did, Mr.Miller” you looked up at him, your words surprising him.

“That’s why I need to leave…I can’t do this. You’re my friends father and-it felt so good but-“

“But what-“

“I have to go” you quickly walked out not being able to say much more. Joel watched you get in your car wondering if he would see you around again…hoping he would…

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook: Clingy 🔞 [Part 1]

In which Jungkook is a professional hybrid heat-partner who just wants to do his job.

Tags/Warnings: Hybrid AU, Wolf hybrid!Jungkook, Otter hybrid!Reader, Angst, strangers to ???

Additional Chapter Warnings: mentions of sex work, we're starting with slight Angst, conflicting feelings already oof

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook is someone who's learned to read a person's character simply by looking at the way their apartment looks like.

You're a little chaotic, but it seems that you do have a certain way of organizing most of your things. Despite the small size of your living space, it feels spacious enough and very much like a home, much different to his own home, he feels like. It smells nice, too - faint traces of a past dinner and clean laundry, mixed with fresh air you're letting in currently through an opened window near your small open kitchen. "I'm sorry it's so messy I- uh, didn't.. I don't know. I couldn't really clean up well-"

"It's completely fine, don't worry. It's normal in your state." He reassures calmly, letting you know that he's pretty knowledgeable in terms of hybrid heats - male as well as female, that is. It's his job, after all - and he's one of the best in his company. You've only gotten the chance to book him because there's been a small flue wave going around in the company, rendering most lower rated and 'cheaper' partners unavailable. He's basically not supposed to be here, but considering you've booked weeks ago, the company had no choice but to give you an alternative.

So instead of a fellow otter hybrid, you're going to spend it with this.. very tall and clearly-out-of-your-league-attractive wolf hybrid. Not what your personal choice would've been, but right now, the only other option would've been to cancel entirely, which would've ended in you probably being sent to hospital instead.

And no one likes to spend their heats there.

"..uuurgh still, I don't like this." You fuss around, clinging onto a round pillow as you walk around and adjust more blankets on the pull-out sofa. It's clear to him that if the circumstances hadn't changed like this, you would've never met him in the first place. He's not one to judge by monetary wealth, but its very obvious that you're not the kind of clientele he usually deals with.

First of all, you're his age, just a little younger. He typically deals with women well into their thirties at least- something that never bothered him, but also something he's never quite realized until now. He's not only a heat partner, after all- he also provides company for dinners and other activities of non-sexual nature. 'Arm-candy' like most women would call him.

Secondly, you're clearly not used to having visitors. Much less heat-partners; he's read from your paperwork given by the company to him, that you've never booked with his agency prior to a few weeks ago, and that you've put a cross into the 'Inexperienced' line of the questionnaire. It tells him two things; you're not a Virgin, which takes a little pressure off of him, but you're also not very experienced when it comes to physical intimacy.

You've answered the papers online in a way that gives him a few rough clues as to what you'll need from him. Considering you're typically using suppressants, he knows you might not respond well to an overbearing partner. At the same time, most answers lead him to the conclusion that you will, however, enjoy someone who can take control over the situation and lead you with calm and soft dominance.

Looking at you, nervously nesting on all fours with your arm still clutching the small pillow, he is almost sure that he will enjoy it this time as well.

You're cute - there's no other more fitting word to describe you with for him. Fluffy socks, hybrid tail wagging every now and then, and tiny bear-like ears between your hair moving around with no pause, making him watch you with amusement. He's done a little research on otter hybrids to prepare himself, and to say that he's gotten curious to meet you would be an understatement.

Your kind is rare in the first place - only a few hundred remaining around the world, and most of them are male, not female. Female otter hybrids prefer a mate of the same species, but male otter hybrids aren't very social and, most of the time, aggressive when it comes to physical intimacy. They don't stay with one partner, are prone to infidelity, and do not do well with kids. So most end up with a partner of a different species - and otter genes aren't very dominant, so the resulting child most likely won't gain the mother's hybrid-side.

It made him pity you a bit- the fact that you'll most likely never have a child that looks like you, or that you were willing to spend your heat with someone of the same species for comfort even though you know of the dangers and downsides of it. Maybe that's why he's made sure the company didn't change him for someone else as the alternative. Something about you got stuck in his head - an odd need to at least have someone take care of you properly once in your life because everyone deserves that.

"Its small, isn't it?" You wonder, sitting in the middle of your 'nest', eyes glimmering as you watch him walk closer, putting his bag down close to the bed. "This must be so awkward for you." You chuckle dryly, emotions all over the place due to your pre-heat.

"Absolutely not. Your home is very welcoming and inviting." He reassures, eyes careful to take note of any change in body language so as not to make you nervous. It's a habit, trained into him by now, to make sure customers will be happy with his services at the end of the day. But maybe this time, it's not just that. Something about you, your scent, your behavior.. makes him feel oddly protective, almost.

He blames his alpha-genes.

"You have to say that." You mumble more or less to yourself.

"Hm, maybe, but I mean it too." He shrugs, taking off his jacket before he puts it over his bag. His scent hits you like a wave, making you visibly shudder - something he seems to notice with a small smirk of his, amused, yet you yourself hide more or less in embarrassment. "You're very cute." He comments, and you growl, nose crinkling and tiny canines showing for a second-

Something that makes him laugh, for the first time in a while actually makes him laugh out loud, because that's the least threatening and simultaneously most adorable attempt at intimidation he's ever seen in his life. His tail wags behind him, smacking against the covers, but it makes you smile most of all, something he decides you should do all the time.

You're such a fresh change of the overpriced dinners and millionaire mansions he's been experiencing up until now.

"Okay so, I uh, don't like that position where I'm facing down, but also please don't stare because that'll make me nervous, and I have to hold something all the time because if I don't I get anxious and-" you ramble, and he puts a reassuring hand on your bare thigh, something that sends an odd feeling into his own core, your skin so fucking soft and warm underneath his fingers that he cannot help but let them move around a little bit, thumb running circles.

"I've read your questionnaire and everything. Don't worry about a thing, okay?" He tells you, and you stare for a moment, before asking.

"Are those real?" You wonder, reaching out to tap the silver balls from his piercing on his eyebrow, making him chuckle again. Your mind is clearly all over the place at this point, but he doesn't mind one bit.

Because you're honest. You don't try to impress him, or instantly use him with no hesitation nor thoughts for him.

"They're real. This one too." He explains, pulling on his lip ring for a second. Your eyes widen a bit, thoughts of what it might feel like if you'd kiss him filling your head- but that's a rule you'll have to keep in mind. That's what's been written in his limits.

His description had intimidated you quite a bit at first. Marked down as someone with 'hard dom and sadism experience' made you worry at first, especially after reading about all of his kinks, likes, and preferences. Edging, shibari, orgasm control, size kink, or other intimidating words like manhandling or primal play. Googling these terms made you delete your browsing history immediately after; pictures and videos still in the back of your head. That, combined with the fact that he's tall and athletic and so much more experienced, just filled you with nervousness, to say the least.

But his limits were something that confused you.

Kissing had been at the top of the list, right above things such as praise and pegging - the last being another thing you had needed to search up on the internet.

"Have you eaten yet?" He breaks you out of your thoughts, cheeks reddening as you realize you must've stared at him for a full on minute at least by now, but he doesn't seem to care much about it. "We might want to do that before your first wave hits." He reminds you, and you nod.

"Yeah.. I mean, No- I mean no, I've not eaten, and yes, we should do that." You stutter out, and he nods with a gentle smile. You wonder if he has a girlfriend. The description said no, but he might just not want to declare that publicly. You can't imagine someone like him being single, if you really thought about it. But then again, he could also be a total asshole if he wasn't working, which this is to him.

Work. It's his job. Get yourself together.

"I can just.. have some snack or something. No need to cook." You tell him when he walks towards your kitchen area.

"You need something proper, though. You mentioned that your longest heat was almost two weeks." He gently scolds, looking back at where you're sitting in your nest. "Nutrition is important. You'll need all the energy you can get."

It all reminds you that in maybe just a few hours, your first wave will hit. You'll be completely under his mercy, body aching to be ruined by him, and it all kind of hits you at once. He's here to have sex with you, and he's done it to many before you. His actions aren't one of kindness- they're simply customer service so to speak, no actual emotions behind them. This man is simply good at his job, good at acting the part of a good companion- but down the line, as soon as your heat ends, he will not care.

Just like everyone else.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should've taken your suppressors. You don't even know why you took Seokjin's advice to stop using them. "Hey." He coos suddenly, sitting next to you on the nest where he looks at you with mild worry. "Can I touch you?" He wonders, and you shrug before nodding. It's not like that'll help you in any way - and neither will he hurt you. His rating would be badly affected by that. He brushes away your hair before seemingly measuring your temperature simply by feel, clicking his tongue quietly. "Already slipping, hm?" He softly states, and again, you only shrug.

Depressive thoughts and feelings can happen to females who suddenly stop the use of suppressants. Messing with hormones is never a good idea, and these medications do exactly just that - creating an imbalance if taken too often, which seems to have been the case with you. Jungkook makes a mental note to be extra careful with you in that case so as not to send you into an episode. Having you drop would be more than stressful for the both of you, and he intends to make this a good experience for you.

Not just for his ratings, but for you.

But he can also only do so much. He can't get too close, can't give you the impression that this is anything but business to him, because that would just be cruel to you. He won't present himself as anything more than what he is; someone you paid for, someone who will ease your pain during your most vulnerable time, someone who's job it is to make you feel good during all of this.

He's not someone to fall in love with. He himself knows he's tainted, dirty. His body is stained with the past touch of all of these people he's entertained, and while he doesn't see anything wrong with his work, he also knows how it's viewed by the general public. He's chosen this himself, and he's fine with it all - but someone like you who seems so kind and friendly should not think of him as a potential lover.

His love would only corrupt you.

"We can order something quick and easy. But you need to eat, okay?" He carefully tells you, watching as you just let yourself fall to your side, clinging onto the pillow in your arms until you stubbornly shake your head.

"M' not hungry." You mumble muffled into the pillow, but he won't have that, as his hand pulls it down.

"Maybe you do not feel hungry right now, but you are." He tells you with a stern gaze. "I've heard your tiny little tummy roar like a lion just a few minutes ago. You don't get to fool me." He jokingly scolds, and you pout at him defeatedly, pushing against his thigh with your socked foot - one he catches by the ankle. "Are you going to be a brat with me?" He tries, and your eyes glimmer with mischief at that. "I thought you'd be such a good girl, but look at you. I'm almost disappointed." He sighs, leading to your eyes widening as you quietly look at him with an expression he knows would melt anyone's tough intentions.

He himself knows he wouldn't be able to say no to you at any given time if you'd shoot him a glance like that.

"Maybe if you share a meal with me, I'll be happy again." He sing-songs, amused by the way you're so easily controlled by his words alone. He wonders how you'll react later on when he's going to play your body like this. He just knows you'll be so deliciously responsive to the tiniest touch - writhing underneath him, happily receiving his care. He already has to think about all the things he wants to try with you.

Will he be able to push you around a little? He'd love to dominate you with more than just his words, that's for sure. If he could, he'd even bite; mark your body up, leave his own proof that he's been allowed to be this close to you at all. You'd squeak so adorably once he'd bite your neck while taking you from behind, pushing his seed as deep as it can go, filling you up-

He snaps out of it, fingers stilling where they'd been running over the soft bare skin of your thigh, your leg laid out over his lap by now as he'd been busy in his thoughts.

Jungkook used to believe in fate. In soulmates, true love, destiny, and karma - but nowadays, he's grown up. He knows most of that is a lie. People who stay together for life are the exception and not the norm, and families break apart over the smallest of arguments. The fact that he feels himself slip even just the slightest bit from his own control means nothing. It can't mean anything.

He won't allow it to.

You'll forget about him after this. You'll be just another person's dirty little secret, something you might be talking about when you're drunk in the future playing some game with your friends- but nothing you will ever openly admit, and he's fine with that. He knows that this is his place in the world and in society in general. He's okay with that.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, he worries.

Because your scent is already stuck in his head. Your mere skin already makes him crave more. The sight of you has his muscles weak.

He blames his alpha genes again.

Because that's easier for now than possibly admitting what might actually be going on.

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm: A Matt Murdock x Reader Series

PREVIEW

Masterlist | Series Masterlist (coming soon)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Doctor!Reader

Set during: Daredevil Season 1

Summary: Two years ago, you fled across the country, leaving your past far behind you. Dedicated to helping those in need, you only barely escaped the shadows that haunted you. But you managed; you changed your name, acquired an entirely new identity and a New York medical license – all for a chance at a new life. You somehow managed to get a job at Metro General in Hell’s Kitchen, rented a new apartment and made new friends. The person you claimed to be did, anyway. Everything was going well. Too well. Until one day, you run into Matt Murdock. In an instant, the safe haven you built for yourself starts to unravel, and you find yourself forced to face the very life you tried your hardest to escape.

Warnings: Angst, domestic violence, implied/referenced child abuse, substance abuse, canon typical violence, injury, mental illness, strong language, eventual smut, Black Suit, medical jargon (but I’m not a doctor), Reader has a fake name that is used for a big portion of this story ("Olivia Carter"), no y/n

A/n: I've been watching a lot of medical dramas lately to cope with the drama of life. This is how this idea came to life. I couldn't help myself. As mentioned in the warnings, Reader has a fake name due to her history, but it still a reader insert. I use "you" and she/her pronouns when referring to the Reader. So you can either see her as an OC or as yourself. I hope you guys enjoy this little gem! See more information below.

18+ for EXPLICIT CONTENT. MINORS DNI!

More under the cut.

ONE: Night Shift (coming December 1st)

Excerpt from Chapter 1

[…] Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense.

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—he can’t get hurt again.

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true. […]

-> Story Aesthetic

If you want to be added to the tag list, please let me know! I do separate ones for all of my series because not everyone who filled out the tag list form wants to read an entire series. So, this will be tagged separately and only those who want me to.

[urf1lterr]

lovesick | pedro pascal [3]

"and on this night and in this light i think im falling, im falling for you."

next chapter: [4] previous chapter: [2] series masterlist

summary: in which a 1975-obsessed film student accidentally falls in love with an older man she can't have.

pairing: actor!pedro x intern!reader

genre: acting world!au, big age-gap!, strangers to friends- maybe lovers?? au | angst, mature, awkward, love- eventually

word count: 5.7k

status: in progress

author's note: in my head i have a certain way this story ends- but thats farrrr from this chapter. i couldn't stop laughing while writing this. i might have to rethink my ending bc i don't wanna make this series looooong. not edited.

Brutal banging on your bedroom door was not how you imagined to be awakened, especially when you were barely endearing maybe four hours of sleep.

Jolting up, you could feel your shoulders begin to ache as your severely tangled hair got stuck on the insides of your shirt. The shades in your room being shut, you had no sunlight whatsoever so you weren't sure what time it was.

Not like you needed to be anywhere important on a Wednesday- not until later anyway. Wednesday's were your arranged day off from school so you made sure to plan something productive to not feel more useless as you already were.

Typically, you were scheduled to work on these days- but we all know how that ended.

Thinking about your unemployment status aggravated you. The same day you were told you were going to be cut was actually your last despite being scheduled for the rest of that remaining week.

Oh how you wish you could say you didn't show up because of your stubbornness.

But frankly you had covid.

Not only did that job fire you, but they gave you a thoughtful farewell gift of a deadly virus to remember them goodbye.

Guess they took their storyline a little too seriously.

However, you did receive a few texts from your old coworkers wishing you well. At first, you wondered if Finn disclosed your personal medical information after you contacted him, but Jules admitted to doing so, swearing she only told Joon with the likelihood someone overheard and the rest was history.

Sadly, you barely talked to Pedro and Bella anymore.

The duo did reach out once they discovered you were sick and Bella would occasionally send you tiktoks at the most randomly times. But again, occasionally.

Pedro, on the other hand, never got back in touch after his 'feel better' text.

You weren't exactly distraught over it, it wasn't like you two made it your mission as friends to go out every day. But the thing was, you still did that when you worked together. Barely seeing him for a few seconds on some days in the past still meant you got to see him, but now you don't.

And strangely you miss him.

You always heard your coworkers discuss how considerate and down to Earth he was whenever they managed to work with him and you agreed. All the stories of him being one of the rarest, mindful human beings were true.

He was always the one spamming you with texts, but the only messages you received now were from your roommate, Joon, or the deals sent by your favorite food places.

But you weren't going to think too much of it. He's an adult, his days are always scheduled with new projects. You can't blame him for not making time for you.

Two weeks later here you were, using your extra free time to your advantage to stay up past midnight watching shows like Hell's Kitchen while eating ramen noodles.

The only con was you had the tendency to wake up late all the time.

Yanking the warm covers off your body, you slowly slip out of bed trying not to hit your desk by how poor your vision was at the moment. Opening your door, you give daggers to the other person behind it. "Is there a reason why you felt attempting to break my door was necessary?"

Jules sheepishly smiled, lightly rubbing the door in remorse before continuing. "I just wanted to remind you about our study date!"

"That's at 11."

"It's 10:32," she replied, pulling her phone out and showing you.

Gasping, you shut the door in her face before searching for clothes to wear. How could you possibly sleep in?

Actually, it was quite easy with American Horror Story having amazing plot twists. You decided to switch up your late night shows every now and then to spice things up.

But you were certain you turned on your alarm the night before. You must have slept through them. Damn, you were turning into Jules.

Quickly running to the bathroom to take a quick shower, you managed to finish the rest of your routine with ten minutes left to spare. You were certainly glad you could always count on the city's nonstop traffic as an excuse for your late arrivals.

Once you were able to catch a cab, which was a tremendous struggle considering your hand signals weren't clear enough to apprehend, Jules and you made it to a coffee shop a few streets away.

Being your designated place to study, you had to introduce Joon to it. He was practically the fifth member of the group, the third one being one of Jules' friend you frequently talked to and the fourth being the one you shared with Joon.

The best part about this cafe would have to be that it was two stories. You guess you could say you used the upstairs room conveniently when it came to debating, definitely not being afraid to raise your voice when your friends believed disagreeing with your opinions was acceptable.

"I didn't know a triple meant three shots of espresso," Joon pulled a disgusted face as Jules and you arrived to your familiar large booth. Sliding right next to him, you saw the coffee he was drinking was extremely dark. "I thought it meant three shots of creamer."

"For a guy who is phenomenally smart, you are phenomenally stupid," you heard your shared friend, Yoongi, comment after looking up from his notes.

The next hour consisted of the five of you centralizing your attention on your individual work before you decided you wanted to buy a coffee as your energy slowly drained away.

Walking down the stairs and placing a swift order, you stood to the side of the counter waiting as they prepared it. Scrolling through your phone to pass the short time, you felt someone near you.

"Hey, covid girl!" you heard a man exclaim, causing you to rush and shush him before the customers begin giving you the eye. "Long time no see."

"Don't expose me like that! I'm negative," you flush, tapping your fingers on your face to cool it down.

"Don't expose me," he clarifies, taking two steps back. "You're the one who's sick."

"Was," you groan, not standing for his teasing this morning. "Stop messing me with me, Nick. I am just a tired, broke college student who can't take anymore mocking in their life."

Nick chuckles, not denying that may be the case. He understands how you're feeling, he was once a student and knows how stressful it can be. Honestly, he can only imagine how tough it is now compared to when he last attended.

Inflation was no joke.

"I take it you're studying?" he eyes the large black frames on your head and the thick headphones around your neck. You only nod, making him laugh. "Very studious I see, it's a shame they let you go even after I told them not to. You could've done our taxes."

Pulling a forced smile, you just raise your right shoulder slightly not really wanting to talk about it much.

"Good thing I am very understanding," you joke.

"Hell, I wouldn't be," he curses, shaking his head briskly. "The least they could've done was offer another position while we left the country."

"When are you guys leaving anyway?'"

He looks up at the ceiling, trying hard to remember the exact date before clapping his hands. "The 3rd of next month."

"Three weeks from now? Are you ready for the cold and the snow?" you laugh as he shakes his head.

"Dealt with it growing up, don't wanna do it again," he groans before a barista calls out his name for his coffee. He excuses himself for a minute, grabbing the coffee along with a few napkins before walking back to you. "Have to get back to filming, they only gave me a half an hour break before we change scenes. Good look in university, kiddo. If you ever need anything you always have my number."

With that, he retreated back outside but not before sending you one final wave. You loathed the fact you missed them, but you had to get over it.

Grabbing your coffee once your name was called, you walked back up the stairs to find your friends staring at their own laptops as if they were going to breakdown in tears any second.

"When I tell you I would rather give up one of kidneys than learn about screenwriting," Jules weeps, pulling her hair in distress. "I just wanna tell people what to do, not write stories."

And that's how your whole study session went, one of you having your own malfunctions for the next few hours before the five of you agreed to end it.

"I am going to get a refill, meet you by the door?" Jules asked as you packed up your school belongings. You nodded, allowing her to walk downstairs with her friend as you stayed behind with the two other boys.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Joon called out as the three of you were making your way down the stairs. "I'll be out in a jiffy."

With that, Yoongi and you were stuck around a large crowd of customers trying to get their coffees in this 5 o'clock chilly evening. And one thing about these customers, they loved to push.

"If one more person hits my arm a brawl will unfold," Yoongi proclaims, making sure to raise his voice a bit to make his point come across. Which did nothing as he was granted another push in his arm in return.

Moving you head towards the exit, you made it clear to Yoongi that you two were better off just waiting outside unless you wanted to continue being compressed by total strangers whose been god knows where.

Feeling Yoongi's loss of touch from your shoulder, you sensed a group of friends rudely crossing between you both in order to make it to the front of the shop.

It amazed you how people had no manners in public places.

"Ah!" you shriek, feeling somebody aimlessly hit your body hard, knocking the wind out of you as you fell on your side.

That was until arms wrapped tightly under your upper arms, barely being able to stop your whole body from touching the ground as you felt you legs lay across the cold floor.

With the strong pair of arms effectively pulling you up, it caused you to slam your body against their unknown chest as the mob of customers didn't seem to die down any time soon.

Trying to find some stability, your eyes widened as your peripheral vision was met with a broad chest that you were too scared to figure discover who it belonged to.

This could either end with you meeting the love of you life or encountering a complete weirdo.

Moving your gaze upwards, you were met with familiar brown eyes that creased slightly as a gentle smile was released.

Okay, the second option was indeed your answer.

"Pedro? You fucking scared me!" you pushed him away, slapping his chest as he whined in response, clutching it in pain. "I was going to grab my pepper spray!"

"I see you're still satan," he glared as you crossed your arms. "No 'thank you for saving my severely mentally mad life from the mass of people who could've stamped over me'?"

Expressing an infuriated expression as he scared you, you begin to walk away from him but he quickly pulls you back into his arms and stares down at you. "Why are you leaving?"

"My friends are outside," you declare as he peers over the crowd to see who you were talking about.

He glances back down at you before pushing you straight by your waist, causing you to trust his guidance as he directed you backwards until you were against one of the walls to avoid being crushed again.

"Wait, my friends-"

"You wear glasses?" he slightly grasps the frames propped on your face, generating a strike from you. "What a dweeb you are."

"Isn't this a question you can ask through text?" you remark, causing him to purse his lips at how mediocre you were being.

"Oh come on, kid! I haven't seen you in weeks, it's my right to ask questions," he defends, giving you a staggering look as you sighed.

"And my glasses were the first thing that came to mind? Very clever."

"Would you rather me ask why we say 'cool' when it's not really cold?"

Studying his face in pure boredom, you set out to march past him but he pushes your shoulders back again, forcing you to stay put. "Sorry! Just trying to lighten the mood."

Scanning past him, you tried to locate your friends but to no luck they were absent. Glancing back up at him, you take a deep breath. "I really have to go before they leave me stranded a-."

"I can take you home," he instantly speaks up. "I know where you live remember."

Laughing, you disagree with his proposal. You arrived with Jules, you were leaving with her. But you were curious as to why he hasn't left you alone. It surely couldn't be just to chat about corny jokes-

Actually, you've had many of those conversions in the past.

"Is there a reason why you aren't letting me escape?" you blurt out, making him tilt his head suspiciously, trying to figure out what you were speculating.

His body language became edgy as he motioned his palm out in front of you. "I just so happened to drop by for some coffee and ended up being tackled by you," he confessed, making you scoff. "We haven't talked for some time, I wanted to check up and see how you were doing."

"I am as happy as a clam," you let out a radiant smile, making him squint his eyes and direct them to the side.

"English, please?" he pleaded.

"It means I am very happy," you respond, standing up straighter as he questioned you longer with his eyes as if he didn't believe a single word you were saying. "Everybody knows that expression."

"They really don't," he denies, giving you an awkward smile by your strange dialogue. "Anywho, I've been wanting to talk to you."

"Then why didn't you call?" you accidentally spit out, shutting your mouth as you grasped how bitter it came out.

He caught onto the sound of your tone, registering how unhappy you must've been for abandoning you friendship after strongly bonding for two months.

But he couldn't let you believe he did it on purpose, he had a reason. One that he was finally going to disclose after fighting battles until it was finally approved. "I was preoccupied with something else, I really am sorry," he apologized. "But I was going to reach out today."

Uncomfortably shrugging, you don't put too much thought into it. You didn't want him to assume you were upset, but you had a feeling he could sense it by how tense you were becoming.

"For what?"

He looked around before averting his eyes back to your own, grinning widely. "So I think there's a chance you'd be able to get your internship back."

Standing up straighter, you stared at him dumbfounded. What the hell was he talking about?

"How? They already terminated our useless contracts," you argue. "Why hassle making another one."

"Work for me," he ignores your sour tone, getting straight to the point.

This was why he didn't have time to communicate. Too busy trying to find ways to convince his own boss to keep you, it led to him being in a bad mood after failing each attempt.

He couldn't talk to you knowing his plan went wrong.

After the constant begging, whines, and even going out of his way to format a ridiculous petition as to why you should stay, which centers all interns because he didn't want to throw himself under the bus for you- the main producer eventually gave in.

"You want me to work for you here when you're leaving the country in a few weeks?" you narrow your eyes, confused as to how that was going to work out in the end.

"I was going to sneak you into my suitcase."

"What in the world are you rambling about?" you exhaled sharply.

Pedro grinned brightly as he held onto your shoulders again, "Come with us to Canada."

"No," you quickly answer, not even processing fully but you knew it could never happen.

There was no possible way you could ever go through with this. For one, you can't even leave the country. You parents were so strict they'll probably smuggle drugs in your luggage so you'll be gunned down and locked into the country.

Second, well there really isn't another reason- your parents were enough.

"Oh come on," he whined. "It'll be great! You'll gain so much experience like you've been wanting. Plus, you'd do more hands-on work with the film crew. Think of it as a student exchange program."

"That's literally not what a student exchange program is."

"Stop rejecting the idea. You go to school here, yeah? I assume you're taking classes online because you basically lived at the studio," he implied and you slowly nodded. "We can adjust your schedule to where you'd have time to work and focus on school."

Silently looking to the table nearby, you began digesting what he was going on about. It wasn't a bad idea, but it wasn't an easy one either. "My parents would never let me."

"Give me their number and I'll convince them," he persuades and you sway you head. You wanted to laugh in his face if he really believed he could make your parents agree.

"No," you fight back, watching him exhale loudly by how restrained you were being. "I k-"

"What would Matt Healy do?"

Immediately shutting your mouth, you freeze as he catches you off guard. He did not come to play and knew you well enough to use your weaknesses against you.

He knows Matt Healy would easily agree- that man was literally the devil's spawn.

And god, you just knew Matt would be disappointed in you if you didn't go.

Curse you and your infatuation over this short English man.

Luckily, your thoughts disappeared as you felt a tap on your arm. Looking up, you see Yoongi breathing heavily as Pedro eyes him, unsure if you knew him.

"There you are, I've been looking for you everywhere! My god the lecture your friend gave me about losing you-" he groaned, shivering. "-I was certain she was gonna file a police report."

Slowly averting his eyes to the older man beside you, Yoongi's face fills with curiosity. "Hey, aren't you that one guy from that Netflix show..." he stops, looking up as he tried hard remembering the name. "Narcos!"

Pedro's eyes shoot open as he tries to innocently stretch his body, purposely blocking your view of him, "No." Secretly waving his palm across his neck, he sends Yoongi daggers to keep quiet. Stiffly turning to you, he becomes flustered. "But don't watch that show."

Raising a brow, you decide to drop the random topic and focus your attention back to your friend until you heard another person shriek. The three of you searching to where it came from, you find Namjoon stumble between people, trying his hardest not to fall face first on the floor.

"A jiffy later and I'm back," Joon winks once he's released from the mass.

Pedro scrunches his face. "Jiffy?"

Joon breaks out into smiles once he notices who was with Yoongi and you. "Oh my gosh! What are you doing here? Did you miss us that much?"

"I don't think it was you he missed," Yoongi muttered, making Pedro send him a questionable glance and Joon tilt his head, not sure what he meant.

Wanting to leave this now weirder conversation, you step forward and grab onto Yoongi's shoulder. "Let's go, I wanna breathe." Turning your attention back to Pedro, he swiftly moved his eyes from your hand to your own. "Text me if you need anything else."

"Only you," he sends you a cheeky smile making you blush by how nice he was being. Yoongi glanced at the two of you, dazed as what you two were implying.

Staring at him, you waited for him to say his farewells first so everybody could leave already. Waiting for one, you never received anything but his quiet stance and gaze stuck on you.

It felt strange not feeling the strength to walk away- not even the strength but the need to go anymore as you couldn't take your eyes off him. It also wasn't only you as he couldn't help but bear comfort from the sight of you.

It felt like the both of you were interacting to each other in your minds.

"Are you having a staring contest?" Joon questioned, making your your consciousness come back to life as you looked back at him. Pedro's gaze weakened, but they were still on you as yours was unfortunately long forgotten.

"No," you laughed, now gripping onto Yoongi harder. "But seriously, let's get out of here. See you whenever, Pedro."

Watching as you stayed close to your guy friends in hopes of being secured through the populated room, he sighed to himself. He was sure your friends might confess their own intuitions to you and perceive him as a creep.

The sad part was he knew why your particular friend would have his suspicions. He never knew his age would have that much of an effect, but he never hung out with people that young before unless it was for a project.

Shaking these thoughts away from his head, he chuckled to himself. He shouldn't care about what other people thought, the two of you never engaged in anything but friendly encounters.

He just despised his gut feeling as if he was doing something wrong. People are making him feel this way, that was guaranteed.

But he feels awful how he keeps trying to find ways to see you, too embarrassed to think about the things he done just to see you for not even a minute.

He's just never had a friend like you before. It was nice.

"I can't believe he's offering us a job like that!" Jules exclaimed as Joon and you nodded. Yoongi lived in the opposite direction so he made his departure a few minutes ago as well as her friend. "I can't go."

Widening your eyes, you stared at her. "What? Why?"

She laughs before pointing at herself. "You think I'll be able to properly manage school and work in another country? I barely did that these last two months- I'll just be partying it up at hockey games eating gravy with fries."

"You mean poutine," Joon corrected.

"Same thing," she rolled her eyes. "All I'm saying is, being home made me realize how much I love sleeping. I would rather give that up when I graduate and actually have a real adult job."

She did have a point, she really enjoyed her naps.

"I'll consider it," Joon spoke up, putting his hands inside his hoodie as the three of you continued walking. "Doesn't sound too bad, it'll look good on resumes."

Smiling, you nodded. You weren't sure why you even dared to be happy about this when you were the one wanting nothing to do with the idea not even a half an hour ago.

You just knew your lord was giving you a disapproving glare from the clouds.

Within the next 20 minutes, Joon went his separate way home as Jules and you arrived in front of your shared apartment. Rushing to the bathroom, your roommate excused herself for the next hour for her 'needed' relaxation.

In other words, a bubble bath.

Turning on the tv, you sat down on the couch swiping through boring news channels until you decided to switch to Netflix. You still had to make time for Evan Peters before the night ended.

Clicking on the current season you were on, Freak Show, you began thinking about how massive Evan Peter's hands were. How can his girlfriends survive.

The thought freaked you out, this really was a freak show.

Soon, the next episode began featuring Twisty the clown more and you were terrified by how huge he was. He could crush you with a flick of his fingers.

Knocks on your door alarmed you, making you slightly jump and look towards the bathroom. Your roommate's music was softly playing in the background meaning she probably couldn't hear the blows on the door.

Slowly standing up, you grab the bat you keep near the door, in case someone tries viciously murdering you in your doorway, and go on your tiptoes to see what kind of stranger needed to pay a visit in the middle of the night.

Well, it wasn't even 7 o'clock in the evening yet but you get the point.

Gasping at the sight presented through your little peep hole, you promptly unlock the handles before extending the large door wide. "And why exactly are you here? Miss me that much?" you tease.

Not receiving an answer, you scoff. "Are you really giving me the silent treatment? You're hurting my feelings."

When he didn't react to that either, you felt your face drop. Slowly striding towards him, you notice his head was low as he stared at his shoes. Placing your right palm softly on his left shoulder, you felt him glance up.

Did something happen during your short time apart? Was he in trouble?

Knowing it was really you in front of him, Pedro lunged his body onto yours before you could stop and think about what was happening. Colliding his lips upon yours, you felt your thoughts drift away as he steadily moved forward and made his way inside your warm apartment.

Stopping to swiftly shut the door, you had no time to take in a full breathe before his mouth found yours again. Clutching the back of his head, probably pulling his hair out, you groan as his nails claw your exposed waist, your shirt slowly inching up more and more as the seconds went up. Slipping his tongue inside you, you felt the way his nose hit yours as dominance took over.

He wanted to control all of you.

It wasn't until your legs began wobbling from the long standing when his hands lost your waist, instantly making contact with the back of your thighs, squeezing them, soon allowing them to suffocate his sides. Following his lead, you pull your lips back before diving them to the corner of his jaw as he groaned, walking to god knows where.

You figured out where once you shrieked as your back made contact with your couch, his palms widening your legs in a hurry before situating himself on top of you. Surprisingly, the difference of weight wasn't an issue as he clinged harder against you, moving his hand behind your neck to pull it down, making sure to make you feel the pain of the slight hair tugging.

"What are y-" you softly choke, voice coming out in whimpers as he ignored you. Latching his lips to the top of your chin, he stuck his tongue out, dragging it gradually down your neck as your back arched, needing to feel closer to him if that was even possible. Your wish was his command as he hastily pressed himself against you, making you groan in surprise.

Making his way lower, he passes your neck down to your chest while his hands found their to your collarbone, smoothly rubbing the area up and down before clutching onto it harshly as he continue down his path. Something about the way his soft fingertips applying pressure near your neck as his lips kept kissing the rest of your body had you in wonders. You couldn't believe this was happening.

It wasn't until you felt his mouth near your exposed waist that made you completely lose it. You had long forgotten that Jules was in the room next door when you gasped, feeling his teeth swipe against your skin. "Shhh," he whispered against your lips as a way to silence you. "Don't want to let your friend know I'm here now, do we?"

You could only stammer shaky sounds as he planted a few more deep kisses, slowly pulling away and feeling the wetness of both your mouths descend down. He gave you one last dark gaze before returning his mouth on yours, loving the feeling of the dampness between your faces.

His mouth opening wider, he began intensively tasting you, swiping his tongue around your lips as you tried to keep up with his eagerness. Not giving you much time to catch his pace, you could feel how wet he was making you.

No, he was literally drowning your face.

Pulling back, you squint your eyes and take a few seconds to adjust to the poor lighting in your living room. You were met with dark, green eyes.

Lady Gaga.

Shrieking, you grab the black, green-eyed demon on top of you and throw her off, causing her to let out a loud hiss with the immediate sounds of footsteps following afterwards.

"Lady Gaga!" you hear Jules squeal in her pink robe, wrapping the nauseating cat in her arms before turning to you, giving you a look of rage. "Did you throw her?!"

"She licked me!"

Jules scoffed harshly before hurling a nearby pillow at you, allowing it to hit your face in full force before stomping back to her door and violently slamming it shut.

You fucking hated that cat.

Laying back against the couch, you rubbed your red face in humiliation. Not only did you have an intense dream about Pedro but you're pretty sure you just had a full on make-out session with a cat.

Groaning, you couldn't believe what was happening to you. Why would you dream about him-

No- why would you have one doing not so child friendly activities?!

You just know you'll never be able to face him with a straight face, too embarrassed to even be near him now without thinking about this moment.

It wasn't even like you thought about him in that way- you didn't.

Maybe your time of the month was approaching or you were in desperate need of a date because there's no way any normal human being would fantasize over some older man that way.

Okay, maybe it was possible.

But that was definitely not you...even though you just did. Although, you did see the comparison between him and Lady Gaga.

They looked kind of alike- right? Same whiskers.

One thing that was certain was you were never going to tell anybody about this. If people believed for one second you had feelings for him, which you don't, you'll never hear the end of it.

He was not your type nor close to your age. It would never happen.

Sighing, you close your eyes and silently send out a prayer to not engage in another session with the demonic cat. Maybe sleep will make you think clearly once awoken and abolish all these wild concepts floating through your head.

But once you were actually awoken, your mind still wasn't clear- or maybe it was because the pounding on your door ultimately pulled you from your slumber.

Stretching your arms, you scratch the top of your head as you try to open your eyes but it was no use, you were way too tired to fully engage with anybody right now.

Completely avoiding looking through the peep hole, which was a red flag on your part, you swing the door open to find a man who looked like Pedro standing on the other side of it.

Groaning aloud, you slap yourself as he takes this by surprised, not sure why you just did that.

How are you having another dream about him? Was this the bad luck needed after scoring tickets to your favorite band? Is this some kind of sick revenge someone has against you?

Pointing at Lady Gaga, who was dressed up as Pedro, you rudely spit out the words needed to be said. "You are just a cat. Nothing happened between us."

With that, you step back inside, ignoring Lady Gaga's attempts of trying to gain your attention by waving their arms in front of you. Making your way to your room, you see Jules walk out of hers.

"Who was that at the door?" she questions, hearing another round of knocks appear.

You tiredly wave your hand in nonsense, denying that thought. "It was Lady Gaga, go back to bed."

Jules sends you a bewildered look as you enter your bedroom and face-plant on your cozy bed, allowing sleep to reel you back in. Turning her head, she looks at Lady Gaga who was sitting casually by her bedroom door.

"She is turning fucking nuts," she whispers to herself before swiftly opening the door to reveal a very confused Pedro. "What's up?"

Pedro's concerned face takes over his actions as he jumps to his eager questions. "Is y/n okay? She thought I was a cat."

Jules shrugs, rubbing her eyes with her palm. "Who knows, I think she's getting over her coffee hangover."

Pedro carefully nods, still skeptical as to what happened to you. What did you mean nothing happened between you two? Did something happen that he wasn't aware of?

Were you hiding something from him?

Gracelessly gesturing his leave, Pedro walked quickly down the hall as Jules stood there for a moment too tired to comprehend why he paid the apartment a visit this early in the morning. The sun was barely out, why did he come?

After shutting the door and taking a seat on the couch, she laid back and stared at the ceiling. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but for some reason a strange intellect emerged out of nowhere.

She shrugged it off, instantaneously knocking out, too exhausted to conquer her suspicions.

+

taglist: @thesapphirequeen @floralsightings @wrathofcats

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 1

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.  

Rating: Mature Word Count: 6.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence, death, gun use, angst. Jack has a temper and Tequila has a dumb first name.  Summary: A mission gone wrong ends with disastrous consequences for Jack, but Champ has a plan. A plan to change your life forever. Notes: Welcome to soulmate story number six, everyone! I’m so, so excited to dive in here because I adore Jack. Keri and I are moving ahead with full steam on this story and we can’t wait to see what you all think of it!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Statesman, the independent intelligence agency, probably has some of the most up-to-date intel that anyone could ever want. Most times. Right now, that isn't the case. Ducking down behind a flipped over table, Jack – Agent Whiskey – rips off the broken frames of the glasses that not only fed him information but also scanned anyone for weapons and allowed his oversight team to see what he was seeing. A little bit of 'through the looking glass' magic.

"Now, damnit Ginger, I'm not trying to be difficult, but I need to know how the fuck to get out of here." Jack growls into the minuscule microphone that is imbedded into the earpiece that allowed her to talk directly into his ear. He glances at a body that is laying nearby, limbs sprawled with his eyes open and lifeless. The target that he had been after but someone else had started shooting up the place before he could reach him.

“You’ve been made, Whiskey, you need to get out of there.” It might be a little bit of stating the obvious, but Ginger’s even tone comes through his ear piece loud and clear. “What’s your clearest exit?”

"Does it look like I know?" Jack huffs, rolling his eyes even though the Statesman tech couldn't see him as he takes a chance and sticks his head up to scan the area for the nearest exit. The rapid burst of gunfire makes him duck back down, wood from the table splintering above his Stetson. "Southeast corner."

“Get out through the kitchen.” Ginger orders, clicking through floor plans and security cameras at her desk at lightning speed. “Through the kitchen, out the delivery bay doors, and left when you hit the alley. That will put you in the parking lot. Grab a car and get to the hell back to the Silver Pony.” The end of this mission has gotten messier than Champ will like, and extraction is their best option until a new strategy can be decided on. It’s ugly, but it happens sometimes. That’s one of the hazards of their line of work.

"Copy." Jack hunches down a little more when another barge of gunfire erupts, this time he feels the tug of a bullet as it tears through the wood and punches a hole through his hat. "Didn't think y'all'd give me a second." He grumbles, reaching for the pair of pearl handled .44 revolvers that are tucked into his holsters. Flipping them easily by the trigger guards as more of a habit than anything else, the weight of them is familiar and steady in his hands.

"Gonna hit the sprinklers and fire alarms in five seconds, Jack." The warning is the best Ginger can do for him, knowing that the ensuing chaos will confuse and disorient the enemies shooting at Jack and give him just a few seconds to get across the room while they adjust to something new happening around them. "Five...four...three...two...one!"

The distraction is just the window that he needs. Springing out from behind the compromised cover to start shooting. Jack's aim is true, taking down two of the people shooting at him with quick pulls of the triggers under his fingers. Three pounds of pressure to pull the hammer back and fire, custom designed for him for better rate of fire in a pinch. Those targets down, Jack starts to dash through the spraying water, the alarms starting to blare out to warn of a fire that isn't there but the system thinks it is.

The double doors into the hotel kitchen slam open, expelling Jack into the crowded, overheated room full of clamoring cooks getting ready for dinner service. A radio blaring in one corner and more than a dozen people shouting to each other had covered most of the noise of gunshots, but there's no mistaking their surprise when the mustachioed cowboy falls through the doors into their domain.

Jack’s eyes are darting around the room, seeking out a potential threat and when he doesn’t find one, he starts running for the door on the opposite side of the long galley.

Most people jump out of the way, some brandishing the knives in their hands as defensive weapons and others hide behind prep tables. The blaring alarm has now made its way to the kitchen, and everyone not cowering or weakly defending themselves is now trying to cover the food they have been cooking from being destroyed by the water splashing down from the ceiling. There is shouting and chaos, but no one dares to stop the cowboy running at full speed down the length of the kitchen.

“Ginger!” Jack shouts, even though he doesn’t have to as he pushes out of the doors that lead to the dock and loading bay. “Where to—” His words break off as he sees the glint of a gun out of the corner of his eye, reacting without even hesitating. Twirling around and his weapons fire on instinct.

"Jack?" Ginger's voice echoes in his ear as the man whirls around to see two bodies drop to the pavement behind him. One had a gun outstretched, the crisp lines of his suit wrinkled under the force of the shot that sent him falling backward. The other pitched into the wall before he fell – chef's jacket stained crimson with his own blood. "Jack! Are you hit?" She asks, voice more determined and edging on nervous.

Jack’s blood rushes to his ears, making Ginger sound like she is underwater. Or maybe it’s him that is drowning. It’s suddenly hard to breath, the seeming sucked from his lungs as he sways on his feet for a heart stopping moment. The impact of what he has just done crashing over him.

“Jack? Jack!” Ginger’s voice in his ear makes his vision sharpen from where it had gone fuzzy, bringing him back to the moment.

“Ginger Ale.” Jack chokes out. “I—shit, I just shot a civilian.”

"Shit." For a woman who rarely ever curses, the impact of it doubles coming from Ginger. "Get out of there, Jack. I'll send in Gamma Team to clean up. But I don't want you being part of the cleanup. You hear me?"

A civilian. Shit. Champ is going to be furious.

******

“Jason Howe, 36, born in Northwood, New Hampshire on April 4th.”

Jack winces and curls his hand into a fist as he stands in front of the conference room table. Not having been invited to sit, nor to have the glass of ‘67 Statesman Reserve that Champ has sitting in a glass at his elbow. A drink that Jack desperately needs. “Champ, there was a gun.” Jack defends, although he knows it’s a weak excuse. Statesmen take out the bad guys, not hurt the innocent. And Jack’s killed a bystander who had nothing to do with anything.

"You've been off since Cambodia, Jack." And although Champ knows exactly why, it can't be considered an excuse. He looks back down at the file on the conference table and frowns, then keeps reading. "Two siblings. Parents both living. Soulmate so far unknown." The older man looks up, locking his eyes on Jack. "We're tracking her down."

“Why?” Jack demands, frowning at the mere idea. Statesman had never tracked down a soulmate of anyone before, why start now? “We don’t know who it is, or if they care.” He scoffs. “Better to let sleepin’ dogs lie.”

“I don’t blame you for not noticing.” Champ sighs and shakes his head before finally motioning for Jack to sit. The man is his best senior agent, his quickest set of reflexes, and his closest friend. Frankly, Champ is worried about the upheaval in Jack’s life lately. It’s affecting his perception on a base level, not to mention his work. “You didn’t come out of that fire fight unscathed, and your adrenaline was too damn high for the pain to get through to you.” Running one hand down his face, Champ huffs slightly as he sips from his own whiskey glass but still doesn’t offer Jack any. “The back of your right arm. Just above your elbow. You have a new mark, Jack.”

“Bullshit.” Jack spits, furious at the implication of what Champ is saying. “My soulmate is dead.” He reminds the older man, as if he wasn’t well aware. Hell, Champ was the one who had recruited Jack to Statesman, so he was well aquatinted with his backstory. Until this moment, he would have called the man a friend. Maybe his best friend, even though Tequila likes to claim that’s his title. “Been dead and gone for years. So there ain’t no marks on my body.”

“I don’t mean to say anything against her memory.” Champ holds up one hand in a defensive posture. With the other, he gestures to the large mirror on the conference room wall. “Roll up your sleeve and take a look for yourself. Ginger noted the appearance of scars from minor cuts and bruises and a small tattoo on your arm. None of these marks were found on the civilian that was killed or any of the other dead men that Gamma Team cleaned from the scene. Following protocols, we’re now tracking down any and all soulmates and searching databases for your exact set of new marks.” He knows it isn’t good news. It isn’t good for the agency, and it isn’t good for Jack. But, despite it being a long shot, it is now more likely than not that someone out there shares these marks with him. And that makes her both a liability and a potential target. Whoever she is.

Fuck.” Jack hisses bitterly, his shoulders jerking as he shuffles out of his sports coat and tosses it down so he can start rolling up his sleeve. “Can’t Ginger remove it?” He demands, not wanting marks on his body. He hasn’t had any since the day Abigail died and he doesn’t want some other woman’s scars or tattoos on his skin either. He doesn’t have a soulmate and he doesn’t want one.

“Soulmate scars don’t work like that.” He knows Jack knows it, but he also understands the younger man’s distress as he tears his sleeve back to inspect his skin. “As far as Ginger’s nanites are concerned, that’s just your skin. No imperfections about it.”

“Who gets a goddamn tattoo on the back of their elbow?” Jack growls, twisting his arm around before he catches sight of the ink. “I don’t want another soulmate. This needs to be broken.” Tattoos and scars were things that could get an agent killed. Identifying marks, things that nanites fixed to conceal their real identities. Even agent’s soulmates had their scars removed if they were together.

“How exactly do you propose to do that?” Champ asks, raising one incredulous eyebrow at his friend. “Soulmate bonds are only broken by death, Jack. You know that as well as anyone. So unless you’re intendin’ on killing this girl just for existing, I’m afraid you’re shit out of luck.”

For one horrifying split second, Jack considers it. In his grief and rage at having his original soulmate, his wife, he thinks about killing another innocent person. “Jesus Christ.” He manages, body sagging and slumping in disgust at himself and overwhelming sadness. “I— I can’t—” Looking helplessly up at Champ, his eyes are filled with pain. “I can’t be someone else’s soulmate.”

“No one’s askin’ you to drop everything and bring whoever this woman is back to the ranch and start your life over.” At this, and Jack’s defeated shoulders, Champ finally pours two fingers of ‘67 Reserve into a clean glass and slides it across the table to Jack. “We’re gonna find her, and she’s gonna be under Statesman protection. That’s how we’re gonna handle this to start out with. Until we know more about her, the best thing we can do for your safety and hers is keep her close.”

“Why the fuck was this Jason Howe outside?” Jack snatched up the glass, pissed that because of one cook’s inability to be in the damn kitchen where he belonged, he’s burdened with a soulmate he doesn’t want. Is he victim blaming and deflecting? Yes, he is. But he doesn’t care right now. The whiskey burns on the way down and Jack sighs in appreciation of that fact.

“Smoke break.” Champ shrugs, knowing that why doesn’t really matter. “Gamma found his DNA on two cigarette butts nearby.”

There’s a sarcastic comment about how smoking kills somewhere rattling around in his brain, but Jack can’t bring himself to voice it. Not when he knows he is to blame, he had reacted and didn’t take a split second to make sure it wasn’t someone innocent nearby. He had done this and it weighs heavily. Nearly as heavy as his wife’s death and he hadn’t been directly responsible for that - though he felt guilty.

Shifting back in his chair, Champ surveys the agent in front of him as an agent rather than his friend, and he drains the rest of his glass in one go. “You have to come out of the field for a while,” he tells Jack firmly. There’s no room for debate here. “Psych eval, incident investigation, and that mark on your arm all have to be addressed before we can get you back out.”

Jack’s jaw rocks, immediately wanting to argue but he knows Champ. There’s no getting around this. He’ll be out of the field until the man gives his stamp of approval and not a moment before. “Had no problem throwing out the Golden Circle but now this is a problem?” He growls, stomping around the table to snatch a bottle of Statesman ‘72 off the bar cart. “Let me know when I gotta talk to the head doctors. Until then, I’m drinkin’.”

“I can’t get you out of this one because I threw my weight around on the Golden Circle case.” Champ huffs, not wanting to cause a fight but ready to have this conversation if need be. “I’m not worried ‘bout you passing, Jack. It’s just gotta get done.” The real concern is the black ink on the back of his arm – a hearts playing card with a teacup where the ace would be and the words ‘Curioser and curioser’ encircling it. While he carries that mark, he’s a danger in the field.

Snorting, Jack turns on his heel, grabbing his jacket off the chair and flicking a mocking two finger salute at Champ. “Sure thing, Champagne,” he huffs, knowing how much the full code name chosen for him irritates him. “I’m on desk duty.”

Champ huffs again, annoyed at Jack for being seemingly even less mature than Tequila in realizing that this isn’t a punishment, it’s caution. “And you’ll stay that way,” he grumbles as the door slams shut behind Whiskey’s retreating figure. “Goddamn stubborn donkey’s ass.”

Jack’s boots slap against the floors as he stomps down the hall. Several agents sidestep and move on the other side, warily eyeing the fierce scowl on his face.

The sound is unmistakable, and Tequila has been waiting to hear it since Jack had reported to Champ a half hour ago. He situated himself in Jack’s office almost immediately after, not really knowing what would happen but figuring that his friend might want to rant about something or go for a drink after. Civilians don’t exactly get caught in the crossfire every day – and Jack takes that kind of thing personally.

The door swings open and Jack pins Tequila with a hard stare. “Get out.” He huffs, striding over to the desk and slamming the bottle down on the hundred year old oak before he turns around to his own wet bar to get a glass.

“Guessin’ Champ ain’t too happy?” Tequila stands from the chair he had been occupying but makes no movement to leave. He’s known Whiskey too long and thinks too well of him to just up and abandon the man.

Jack doesn’t answer, grabbing the cut crystal glass and setting it down a little too forcefully before he picks up the bottle to pull the cork out and pours himself a double.

“Takin’ that as a ‘no, he ain’t’.” Stretching awkwardly, Tequila crosses his arms and watches Jack for a few seconds before he tries again. “There’s a couple of new girls leading tours who’ve been hinting at wanting dates,” he offers, knowing that that usually perks the older agent up a little. “We could blow off some steam tonight?” Mostly he’s just not sure that leaving Jack alone is going to be good in any way.

“Not interested.” Jack grunts, stomach rolling with guilt and anger. “God damnit!” He slams the glass down on the desk and his hand shoots out to sweep the neatly stacked files off the desk to scatter across the floor. Not like he wouldn’t have time to reorganize them anyway.

“Shit, Jack. What the fuck did Champ say?” Whiskey might have a temper, sure, but he usually just blows off his steam at the firing range or with a one-night stand. He’s not the type to go destroying things for fun or catharsis. Tequila steps forward warily, like he’s dealing with a spooked horse instead of his upset friend. “You know you can tell me. We can figure shit out.”

“There’s no ‘figuring it out’, Tex.” Jack snarls, well aware of the fact that Tequila hates his given name and prefers to go by his code name. “Apparently I inherited the civilian’s soulmate.”

“Fuuuck…” Tequila’s jaw drops so hard that his ass ends up back in the chair he has been sitting in only a minute ago. “How the hell does that happen?”

“Fuck if I know.” Jack blows out, reaching up to start unbuttoning his shirt. He needs to examine himself to see what other fucking marks this mystery woman has ‘gifted’ him with.

“Second soulmates are supposed to be a myth…” Anybody who knows a single thing about Jack Daniels knows about Abigail, and the fact that he lost her more than twenty years ago. A bit like anyone who knows him knows he was a rodeo man.

“Second soulmates are lies you tell the poor son of a bitch who’s burying his sweetheart.” Jack spits bitterly, remembering the bullshit people had spouted at him in the name of making him ‘feel better’. It hadn’t worked. “Not needed or wanted.”

“Looks like they ain’t lies at all.” Tequila hunches forward in his seat when Jack peels away his shirt and makes a noncommittal sound at the black-inked image on the back of his arm. “Weird place for it,” he comments, inching closer to get a better look.

“Fucking stupid is what it is.” Had Jack been admiring the tattoo on a woman, one he had in bed or aiming to get into bed, his opinion would have been different. But this was ink on his body. Even the tattoo he had gotten after Abigail and Tim died had to be removed when he joined Statesman.

Tequila squints a second before letting out a half-hearted chuckle. “It’s Alice in Wonderland,” he informs the other man once he remembered what the damn quote was all about. “Guess she likes to read.”

“Champ wants to find this woman.” Jack huffs, rolling his eyes and looking towards the mirror that is attached to the bathroom door. Looking for anything else.

“You don’t?” He probably sounds more surprised than he is, but if it were him - Tequila would sure as hell want to find the woman the universe says he’s supposed to love and cherish for the rest of his life. Even if all he had was a platonic soulmate, he would still want to know them. To have that connection and closeness. A friend that means so much they become his family. “Not sayin’ you hafta marry her, Jack, but damn. I mean…she’s got a target painted on her now if anyone ever finds out. Shouldn’t Statesman keep her safe?”

If it was anyone else, Jack would say that the protection of Statesman was necessary, but he can’t bring himself to say it. He knows that Champ and Tequila are right, this person – whoever she is – deserves to be safe because of who he is. Instead of answering, Jack pours himself another drink.

“Right.” Nodding at Jack’s silence, Tequila adjusts his Stetson and raps his knuckles once on the large oak desk. “I’ll see you in the morning, then?” It’s the end of the day and he’s presuming that Jack will be drinking his supper tonight. Which is a fair bet, all things considered.

There’s defeat in Jack’s stance, unable to gather his thoughts properly. Work was easy, it didn’t involve his heart and this was everything to do with it. When Jack still says nothing, Tequila stands and turns to move towards the door. “What does it say?” Jack asks quietly, staring down at the empty glass and wishing he was already wasted. “That I’ve got marks on my body again? What does it say about my love for my wife?”

“I don’t know what it says about her,” Tequila admits, turning again to face his friend. “But I think it says that you deserve a chance to be happy again. And from everything you’ve ever told me about Abigail?” He shrugs slightly, glancing down at the framed photograph of the two of them that he knows Jack keeps in pristine condition on his desk at all times. “Seems to me she’d be more upset at you closin’ yourself off than at the universe givin’ you an ass kicking.”

Shame fills Jack, knowing that Tequila had hit the nail on the head. Abby woulda torn into his hide for the thoughts he had about this new soulmate without ever meetin her. Or setting his beautiful, fiery wife up on a pedestal.

“You don’t have to do anything about it.” Tequila says again, knowing that most people in the world see their soulmate as their mandatory partner. Their person as ordained by the universe. Jack had already had that, and it’s not hard to see that he doesn’t find a repeat experience to be necessary. “But at least let Champ protect her. She didn’t ask for this anymore than you did.”

“It’s my fault.” Jack murmurs already pouring another three fingers of whiskey and staring at it for a moment before he takes another swallow. “I killed her soulmate, so the universe is punishing me. Punishing us both.”

“It ain’t a punishment necessarily.” Sensing the tide turning in the conversation, Tequila drops his hat on the side of Jack’s desk and grabs himself a glass before sitting down again. “Not all soulmates are romantic, and not all soulmates are perfect. Maybe you inherited her marks so you can protect her? Who knows.”

There it is. The crux of the problem. “Can’t protect her. Don’t even know her.” Jack huffs. “Couldn’t protect the woman I loved. The woman I would die for. Shoulda died for.” He would have traded places with her in an instant if it meant Abby and Sam were safe and still roaming the earth. It would have been the easiest decision he’s ever made.

“Then stay away.” The younger man suggests instead. Pouring himself a short drink and sitting back, he offers Jack a shrug. “Let Champ protect her once he finds her, and don’t tell her who you are. What you are to her. Let her live her life. I don’t pretend to have the answers, man. But I can help you piece this whole thing out.”

Staying away sounds like a solid plan. “I’ll be back out in the field anyway.” He rationalizes, imagining that it will be just a week or two before Champ needs him. Who’s to say that this woman even wants a soulmate? She hadn’t found the Jason Howe fella. “Sometimes that bean between your ears actually works.” Jack grunts with a whisper of a grin.

“Don’t worry.” That gets a hearty laugh from the younger man, and Tequila raises his glass in salute before he takes a sip. “I won’t let it go to my head.”

Jack snorts and drowns the rest of his drink and pours himself another before he slides the bottle towards Tequila. “Good.” He jokes. “Otherwise your hat won’t fit.”

******

By every Monday morning you’re always dragging. The restaurant was packed with reservations all weekend long and you probably burned off another fingerprint trying to do the sugar work for the dark chocolate salted caramel tarts that chef insisting on adding to the menu ahead of the new year. They’re beautiful, and delicious, but sugar work is tricky with an overblown wind bag shouting over your shoulder all night. The house is bustling this morning, though, and you have your niece on your hip while you sip your morning coffee and your mother in the other room is singing songs with your nephew. The dog is somewhere, the cat is on the windowsill, and your sister is finally getting her morning shower in after getting up early with the kids because they wanted to see Daddy off to work. There’s enough going on that you almost didn’t even hear your cell phone ring in your pocket. Almost.

Champ taps the file that Ginger had given to him, listening to the ringing in his ear. The soulmate had been found, surprisingly quickly to his delight. While it was assumed that no one knew about the soulmate connection between this woman in the packet and his senior field agent, but never guaranteed. Now he just needs to pitch the winning game to get her to Kentucky.

You almost don't pick up - who would be calling you from Louisville, Kentucky? - but eventually decide that you're curious enough to answer. At the worst you'll have a two-minute conversation with a telemarketer. There are worse things in the world. "Hello?" You press your phone to your ear and shift your niece a little higher on your hip with your other hand.

Clearing his throat, Champ says your name jovially. “Champ Rogers here, happy to get you on the phone, how are you doing this fine morning, darlin’?” Some might take offense to the antiquated word of endearment, but he has a feeling you won’t.

"I'm doing well, thanks." The funny face you make at the one-year-old hugging your side makes it almost sound like you're laughing, the smile coming through in your voice. "I'm not sure I know who you are, though, Mr. Rogers. What can I do for you?"

“Apologies, miss.” Champ shakes his head at himself chuckles. He knows a lot more about you than you do him, although that’ll change if he can help it. “I’m lookin’ for a pastry chef and the head hunter I’ve paid more money than God handed me your resume and said you’d be a good fit.”

"Oh!" Well, that's unexpected. Your head nearly snaps up from sticking your tongue out at your favourite little girl and a frown wrinkles your forehead a second later. "And...where did you say you were calling from?" He didn't, but you don't want to be rude. If he's looking for a personal pastry chef or a one-time catering gig, then Kentucky is a little far for you to travel.

“Kentucky, ma’am.” Champ spins around in his chair and looks out from the top of the infamous bottle that houses his office down at the distillery below. “I run a little outfit called Statesman.” Technically Jack’s CEO on paper, but Champ has final say.

"Statesman like the distillery?" Like your father's favourite whiskey that he's been drinking your entire life and there's always a bottle in the house at all times? Statesman is head hunting you? "Without meaning to seem rude, why exactly would a distillery need a pastry chef?"

Smart as a whistle. Champ grins, delighted that Jack’s new soulmate seems to have a firm head on her shoulders. “Well, we have a little tour operation here. We have around one point three million folks file through our distillery, and I’ve been wantin’ to jazz it up a bit. Offer more than just peanuts with the whiskey tasters.”

"I see." Leaning back against the counter, you lean over and press a kiss to your niece's thin hair while you chew on your bottom lip. It is a hell of an offer, but it seems like it's coming out of left field. Not that you're going to complain about being sought after - that would be the epitome of looking a gift horse in the mouth - and honestly you're pretty damn curious. "What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Rogers?"

Champ winces at the formality and the way the use of his legal title sits wrong on him, like an ill-fitting hat. “Pastries. Cakes and creams that use our whiskey. Fruit tarts and those little sandwiches. Somethin’ that’ll make the womenfolk happy and I’ve got a space that I want to have set up to make it an experience they can’t get anywhere but Statesman.”

"You want to have...boozy tea party food?" It's so hard not to sound excited when that's right up your alley with the exact kind of baking you already love to do. "Well, I certainly appreciate the call." And since you've never been head hunted before in your entire fucking life, you really don't know what could possibly come next. "And the position you're looking to fill is...an assistant? Sous chef?" There's no way one of the biggest distilleries in the entire country is calling to offer you a brand new executive chef position making your dream food. That would be insane.

“I don’t know what a Sous chef is.” Champ huffs, his accent butchering the word. “I want someone to run the damn thing. Make up the menus to make mouths water.” He feels like your interest might not be enough to get you here. “Tell you what?” Champ grins. “How ‘bout I send the jet to pick you up and you come on over to the distillery and see what you’d be workin’ with?” He offers. “Take the tour, see the space I want to turn into a restaurant and we can see if you think it’s a good fit?”

"The j-jet?" You stutter out the word in disbelief, eyes flying up to catch your mother's as she walks into the kitchen with your nephew in tow – only to immediately give him the quiet signal a second later when she sees you on your phone. "I, uh—" Breathe, you remind yourself aggressively. "I assume you'll want to see what I can do, as well? A headhunter is all well and good, Mr. Rogers, but if you're going to show me your space, I should at least be making you a few sample recipes while I'm there." It's all so much to take in and you're nearly overwhelmed at the enormity of it. This sounds like a dream. Way, way too good to be true.

“Please, call me Champ.” He insists, almost pained at hearing the name his father had been called for years. “Tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen. I’ll send you an email, how’s that sound? When do you think you could be here? Jet can be where you are in three hours.” The mention of a private jet always impresses, and he notices it had an effect on you.

"Well...I do have some flexible time at the moment." Two days off from the restaurant in a row is what you've got, and your mind is buzzing with possibilities. "Three hours should be enough to prep a list and book a hotel in Louisville for a night." It will be the most expensive job interview you've ever taken, but really? You can't see passing this up. If nothing else, you'll get to take the distillery tour and bring a bottle back to your dad for his bar. An unexpected trip could be fun.

“Pishaw.” Champ scoffs. “No need for you to book a hotel, there’s a residence on the grounds where we can put you up. It would be yours if you accept the job.” He smirks at the idea.

"You're kidding." It escapes your lips before you can stop yourself, and you would facepalm if you had a free hand. "Out of curiosity, Champ," the informality would never fly in your restaurant kitchen, but you actually prefer it. "What exactly would this position pay?"

“Well darlin’,” Champ admires a woman who gets down to brass tacks. “Considerin’ you’d be responsible for the menu and the runnin’ of the kitchens, I was thinking that we would start you out at 90 with a guaranteed half a percent of all profits per quarter.” Champ offers off the top of his head. He’d only glanced at the baseline salary for an executive chef when he had thought of this – though it was a good idea. “How’s that sound?”

With your phone jammed between your cheek and your shoulder and reach for your mother, gripping her hand so tightly she actually flinches as your eyes nearly bug out of your head. The base line salary you were just quoted is more than twice what you're making now, and it would have profits on top of it, and it even comes with guaranteed housing. "That sounds...like a salary that comes with a lot of responsibility," you admit, when you can finally form a damn word on your own lips again. "You go ahead and send an email with the full job description and offer, and I will send you back a list of supplies to give you a fair view of what I can do. We'll see if my abilities fall in line with your vision for the next step forward at Statesman."

“That sounds like a fine plan.” Champ leans back in his chair, sure that he’s reeled you in. “I’ll be seeing you soon, ya hear?” He hangs up the phone and starts to chuckle to himself as he looks down at your picture in the file. Poor Jack is in for a rude awakening.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." The second your phone beeps and disconnects, you stare at it like a ghost has just popped out of it before looking back up at your mother in wonder. "I just...got a job offer. For the most insane job of all time." Shoving the electronic back into your pocket, you shift your niece in your arms and place a kiss on her little head before setting her down in her highchair at the kitchen table and slumping down beside her to grab your now-cold coffee. "Oh my god."

“What in the world is going on?” Moving over to the coffee maker, your mother reaches for her own cup. It’s a routine that you two have coffee while she watches the babies for your sister.

"Apparently a head hunter got a hold of my resume and passed it on to the head of the Statesman Distillery in Kentucky." It's the most unbelievable sentence you've ever said in your life, and you fall back in your chair with a dazed look on your face. "They want to expand their food offerings for tours and events, apparently? They want me to go down there and look at the facility. Mom...that phone call was offering me an executive position."

“An executive position? To do what? Run the bakery?” Your mom turns and leans against the counter so she can sip on her black coffee. “To develop recipes?”

"Develop the entire menu, run the bakery, help roll out this whole new entertaining program for the distillery." Cold coffee is still coffee, and you drink yours slowly just so you don't choke on the drink your excitement. "The job comes with on premises housing and pays more than twice what I make now." The number he quoted is enough to boggle your mind all over again. "They're sending a private jet to pick me up and bring me down there for this interview and lord I hope this is not just some weird scam."

Your mom’s eyes widen and she frowns. “I – you should call the distillery. Ask some questions to make sure. Who sends a jet for a chef?” She doesn’t mean to sound harsh, but it strikes her as extremely odd.

"It sounds too good to be true." Your shoulders drop, and your eyes track down to stare into your coffee. "He's supposed to be sending me an e-mail with flight info and the job offer. It either won't come through or it'll be fake. But at least then I'll have two days off to wallow in the amazing job I almost had."

As if to argue, your phone dings with an email notification. Your mom sighs. “Sweetie— I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so negative. I don’t know how this works in big corporations.” She feels guilty, like she’s stolen your happiness away and you deserve all the joy you can find.

"No, you're just being realistic." Neither of your parents are particularly negative people. You'd call them realistic optimists, if you had to give it a title. They always try to look at the best parts of very practical situations. You pull your phone from your pocket and tap on the e-mail, studying it carefully for any signs of fraud or imitation. "What do you think?" You ask your mother, turning your cell around to let her read what just came through. Decades in journalism have given her a pretty good eye for detective work.

She studies the email carefully and looks up at you. “This looks legitimate.” She admits after a moment, a smile cracking her face. “Keep your phone on you, check in with us, but I think you should go for it.”

"He wants me to make four samples for the interview." Taking your phone back, you can feel the excitement rising all over again. There's nerves there, and a little bit of fear of the unknown, but mostly a giddy amount of glee rising from the tips of your toes all the way up to the top of your head. Moving a thousand miles away from your family for a job wasn't exactly a possibility on your radar, but if this job is for real? You'd be foolish not to do it. "I guess...I guess I need to figure out what I'm going to make and send off a supply list and then pack."

“You go do that.” Your mom takes your coffee cup and grins at you. Would she miss you if you took the job? Absolutely. But this is too good of a chance for you to get out of your current restaurant. “Just think— your own kitchen where no one can yell at you.”

"And if that isn't the dream, I don't know what is." With hugs and kisses for your niece and nephew, you start to hustle out of the room but stop in the living room doorway and turn back around. "What do you think about doing Grandma Jane's coconut cake as cupcakes and adding bourbon to the cream cheese frosting?" If Statesman wanted booze in their desserts, you sure as hell weren't going to pass up the chance to present it with the family's coveted cake recipe.

“If they don’t give you the job based on that alone, they are fools.” Your mother huffs, giving you an encouraging smile. “You’ll knock them dead.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3

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[drdemonprince]

Hey Doctor Price!

Do you have any tips for how to stay sane while autistic with no privacy? I live in a one room college dorm with a freind and there's literally nowhere anywhere on my campus where I can have even 15 minutes alone without being on edge that someone will come in any second. I'm going nuts and struggling to cope :[

I was in a four person dorm room on a 50,000 student campus and suffered from overwhelm virtually all the time, and I had to compensate by learning to really scope out the places where privacy could be found, so I believe I have some relevant tips for you!

Locate the study rooms or study carrels that can be signed out for individual use, typically in the library. Keep a close eye on them and book them as often and as early as you can, as they tend to be booked up during finals quite quickly.

Scope out the computer labs and study areas in department-specific buildings and get a sense of their busy and fallow periods, especially ones that remain unlocked during the weekends. I worked in the Psychology Department computer lab as a work study student, and they were completely empty on the weekends. The Sociology Department's computer labs were also totally empty most nights and weekends too.

For that matter, find on-campus jobs that can get you some privacy, often lab monitoring or administrative jobs in smaller offices. One summer I worked at the front desk of the student newspaper, which was tucked away on the eighth floor of a massive building, and it got basically no business because it was the summer. I also worked as a Psych Department admin and hid myself away in the copy room and supply closet as often as possible. If a job gives you key card access to break rooms or bathrooms you might not otherwise be able to use, so much the better.

Find the bathrooms that are tucked far away from any heavy activity. Check out the basements, top floors, and down around the corners of long hallways, and near meeting halls that have to be reserved for special events. The Chemistry building had a weird, shitty women's restroom that had been converted from a supply closet across a long walkway connecting two buildings, and everybody hated it. That meant it was nearly always empty. In my old office in the Psych building at Loyola, there was a bathroom off the main hall that was busy, but then another that was up a half flight of stairs near a room that was only ever used for guest speakers. NOBODY used that bathroom. I spent hours in there curled up in the dark vaping.

Learn the rhythms of a building or area of campus so you can take advantage of slow periods. If a building only has one dedicated purpose, such as a massive lecture hall, try checking it out when you know there aren't any class sessions happening. If a building is only used for recitations but those are only on tuesdays and thursdays, check it out on a wednesday. I went to a big football school, so on weekends half the campus was absoultely crawling with sports fans, but the gyms were completely dead during that period.

Stairwells. Sit at the tops of stairwells. If a building has multiple sets of stairs, find one that's far off in a corner and then hike your ass all the way to the top floor. The southwest stairwell of Loyola's Information Commons is a place I've written whole essays in, and even attended Zoom meetings from, it's so quiet.

Learn you roomate's schedule. If you're on good terms, ask them to put their schedule up on a whiteboard where you can see it, and share your own. Both of you will want time alone sometimes, and coordinating can really help. If your'e on good terms you can text as well. If your roommate ever requests alone time to study or to fuck, you get to, too.

Find the totally useless neglected spaces by exploring a little. Some dorm buildings have a shared kitchen in the basement or an activity room with air hockey tables that nobody uses. Laundry rooms are good during off times. Because most campuses are in a perpetual state of construction, there's usually old union buildings or emptied-out department buildings that haven't officially closed down yet but have next to nothing going on in them. There's lots of small waiting areas by professor's offices in nearly every building. Try every door. Duck into available classrooms. You will get interrupted sometimes but the more you learn the countors of the place and its patterns the more mastery you will have, and the less stress you will feel about the possibility of being interrupted.

I know that you said there is nowhere for you to find privacy, Anon, but I promise you that is not true! I have been on 50,000 person campuses, 12,000 person campuses, and for a few years I worked on a 2,000 person campus. I was ALWAYS able to find tucked-away bathrooms, empty classrooms, tops of stairwells, and weird neglected study areas to find some peace in. You can too. Please explore and help yourself feel more in control of this stressful situation! Good luck and let me know how it goes.

[randomly--accessed--memories]

Overlord Niffty backstory because why not

She was born Nancy Sada in 1931 to two first-generation Japanese immigrants in middle America. She had a relatively happy childhood, mostly confined to her local Japanese American community. However, after the US entered WWII, she was suddenly under enormous pressure to acculturate herself into mainstream American society in order to prove her and her family's loyalty to the country.

As she aged, Niffty developed an obsession with perfection– being the perfect American, the perfect woman, the perfect everything. She began molding herself to fit these roles, making herself smaller, sweeter, more demure, all in hopes of achieving the ideal self. It wreaked havoc on her self-esteem and mental health, and more often than not it felt as though it was all in vain since society was so hostile to her due to her ethnicity.

However, when she was 19, Niffty finally made some progress towards her goal of achieving the post-war ideal; a handsome young man had taken an interest in her. Niffty jumped at the opportunity, falling head-over-heels for him (or at least, the idea of him), and agreeing to marry him the moment he asked. This was it. She had the perfect, all American husband and she was going to be his perfect wife.

Things were fine for a while. Niffty was perfectly happy to stay home running the household all day while her husband was at work. She enjoyed housework and even if she was a bit lonely, she knew she'd make friends with the other women in the neighborhood eventually, and if not, then her future children would fill her days. But as time went on, that sunny outlook started to seem more and more naive. The neighborhood women were cold to her due to her ethnicity, she wasn't getting pregnant no matter how hard she tried, and her husband was becoming increasingly callous and neglectful, treating her more like a maid than a wife.

The isolation took its tool on Niffty and she started edging her way towards a nervous breakdown. She tried to suppress her anxieties by committing even harder to the Perfect Housewife persona, but that only made things worse as now she was not only unhappy, she was failing at her goals. Things eventually came to a head in 1953, when she discovered her husband had been cheating on her with someone at work. Niffty felt as though her world was crumbling around her and, in a fit of rage and grief, she stabbed her husband to death with a kitchen knife. The neighbors heard the screams and called the police, who promptly shot Niffty three times in the chest when she refused to drop the knife.

Niffty was devastated when she woke up in Hell. She'd spent her entire life being as sweet and kind and good as possible, but all of it had been for nothing. She'd killed the person who was supposed to be the center of her world and was now damned for eternity because of it. She'd failed. Despite how heartbroken she felt, Niffty wasn't willing to just roll over and die or let herself be swept up in the violence of Hell. She was only 22– she wanted to live, and live well at that. She'd wasted her whole life being good and submitting to everyone who crossed her path and it'd gotten her nowhere, so why not try the opposite?

Niffty never did things by halves. She fully committed herself by seizing back her agency by any means necessary. Using her small size and cute demeanor to her advantage, she started carving out a life for herself in Hell. She got herself a job in the fashion industry (one of her great passions in life that she'd abandoned for her husband) as a seamstress and settled into a typical sinner's life. However, she wasn't satisfied with the state of things for long; she didn't want to just be another face in the crowd, she wanted to make her mark on the world.

Slowly, she started tricking people into contracts. It wasn't hard– so many sinners saw her as weak and harmless that they easily agreed to deals that they would've been far more cautious of had they been dealing with a more physically intimidating demon. Networking, exchanging favors for favors, building up her status– all of it paid off in the end when the previous Overlord of the fashion industry was killed, leaving a power vacuum that people were rushing to fill. Niffty managed to start her own business using the connections she'd made, and while all the other wannabe Overlords were fighting over the old Overlord's power and territory, she positioned herself to start gaining power of her own.

Her business was successful and began to grow, starting to swallow up smaller fashion studios left and right. Niffty's tireless pursuit of her goals was starting to pay off and she was not about to let up now. She pushed her employees to work harder, work faster, and within only a few years, she was the head of the most successful clothing brand in the Pride Ring. It was child's play to topple the person who'd come out on top in the scramble for the title of Overlord of Fashion and claim it for herself. By the end of the 1950s, tiny, humble little Niffty had clawed her way to the top of Hell's hierarchy.

For the next several years, things stayed that way. Niffty felt as though she'd finally reclaimed her personal power and was content to protect that power at all costs. She made sure her brand was always putting out the best clothes they could possibly make; she became very territorial and would crush any competitors who threatened her power like bugs; she decided that while she may never be the most powerful Overlord, she could be the most perfect one.

She developed a toxic work culture within her company, telling her employees/contractees that they were all one big, happy family, with her as the doting mother. She was genuinely sweet and affectionate with her workers and did whatever she could to make them like her– other than improving the sweatshop conditions of her factories, of course. Then, when a problem arose or they fell behind on their quotas, she would leverage that emotional connection against them and punish the whole group for the actions of a few, using the justification of "mother knows best."

Niffty started to open herself back up to men again after several years of ignoring them to focus on her career. She started leaning towards the "bad boys" she'd admired in her youth, since the perfect, seemingly wholesome option had worked out so badly for her. Despite all her power, she was still scared of entering into a real relationship though; if she let her guard down, things could so easily turn abusive again and she'd be back to being someone's little toy on a string again. She eventually decided that she liked men more as aesthetic objects more than as people. She ended up with a little collection of breathtakingly handsome male models who'd signed their souls away to her– she never engaged with them sexually or romantically, but instead got her kicks from displaying them like taxidermied butterflies, reveling in the total control she had over the people who had once had such control over her. She'd occasionally hook up with men outside of her employ, but she never entered into a significant, long-term relationship ever again.

Niffty sat comfortably on top of the hierarchy until the late 1960s. She'd met Alastor in passing a few times during Overlord meetings/events, but she'd never exchanged more than a few polite words with him. She didn't feel particularly in danger from him– his huge Overlord massacre had been over thirty years ago at that point and while he still did topple one every once in a while to keep himself fresh in everyone's minds, he usually went after far bigger fish than her, power-wise. Sure, business was booming, but she was a 4 foot tall bug woman without any of the big, flashy powers most Overlords had; she'd be too easy a target for him to get much of a thrill out of, right? She felt utterly secure that day, sitting in her office, drawing up new designs for the upcoming season, completely invested in her work. And then everything went black.

[shmoopies]

INVADER ZIM: PHASE TWO

A FAN AU SERIES BY SHMOOPIES.

SYNOPSIS: Zim mysteriously disappeared without warning when Dib was 15. Fast forward 5 years. A now 20-year-old Dib Membrane is still mourning the loss of his greatest nemesis- and the chance to expose Zim once and for all. Now living life with a degree in Parapsychology, and a less exciting side job at his father's company, Dib's life could have once passed for a desirable future. Only, he regrets not exposing Zim while he had the chance. Dib has become unhealthily obsessed with the dilemma, and clings to the hope that he may one day return to earth.

ISSUE # 1 - THE REEMERGING

The Membrane household was bustling with excitement — well, at least for Professor Membrane, whose son was turning twenty years old today.

Dib sat uncomfortably as his father and little sister carried a birthday cake to the kitchen table.

"Happy Birthday, Dib!" Gaz declared, somewhat flatly. Although her voice lacked any emotion, it was evident that she cared about her brother enough to make an effort.

"Twenty! Oh son — here come the tears!" A sobbing Professor Membrane loomed over the table, a party hat perturbing from the side of his head. Gaz stood in horror as her father cried beside her. Affection wasn't really her thing.

"Are you sure you're not just crying because you have gray hair now or something?" Dib remarked, clearly embarrassed by all the attention.

"Nonsense, son! Gray hair is scientifically natural for someone my age!"

Dib stared unenthusiastically at his father. Typical response. With a sigh, Dib stared at the candles on his cake. Twenty didn't seem real. Had it really been so long since Zim vanished?

As if he could read his own son's thoughts, Professor Membrane leaned in and placed his hand on Dib's shoulder. "I know things have been rough since your foreign friend moved away all those years ago, but your future is bright! I'm beyond proud of you, son."

This praise was everything Dib ever wanted as a kid, but now, he felt as if he could have done more to deserve his father's admiration. Still, it meant the world to hear it, regardless of how oddly specific his father's words were.

Dib half smiled. "Thanks, dad!"

"Enough chitchat, blow out your candles, son!"

Reluctantly, Dib leaned over his cake. If he had one wish, it would be for Zim to come back to earth, so that he could expose him once and for all. Dib blew out his candles, prompting Professor Membrane to sob once again.

A few hours and a Bloaty's pizza later, Dib sat in his room in front of his computer. He still had a room at his father's place and often stayed there. However, he also had his own space on the top floor of Membrane labs, which he had been using as a bachelor pad.

Tonight, though, he sat in his childhood room, staring at the monitors that remained connected to the hundreds of cameras surrounding Zim's now abandoned base. He poked his plate of birthday cake with a fork absentmindedly as the live feed pouring from the monitor threatened to swallow him whole.

He spent every waking moment that he wasn't working obsessing over Zim and his disappearance. When Zim first vanished, Dib had almost reverted to his human chair form. That didn't last long, though, when he was met with the opportunity to study parapsychology. He graduated top of his class, and his diploma—although not as useful as he'd like it to be—finally somewhat solidified his potential future work with the paranormal.

Paranormal science. Something his dad still didn't consider 'real science', but as long as his son was happy, he could live with it.

He also worked for his father a few days a week, which was less exciting, but good money. Dib couldn't complain. His life was okay. There was just one thing missing. He was supposed to expose Zim to the world, and finally prove to the Swollen eyeballs — and everyone he knew — that he wasn't batshit crazy.

"Where the hell are you, Zim?"

Dib muttered to himself, his eyes shifting between every monitor seemingly faster as the minutes when by. Nothing. Zim wasn't anywhere to be found. Not a single glimpse of him, or his crazy little robot, in five years.

Five years. Was it really that long ago?

He was fifteen when Zim disappeared, but that seemed like it was just yesterday.

Dib sighed. It was getting late. Maybe he should try to get some rest. He raised a forkful of cake to his mouth when his plate began shaking. No, his entire room was shaking. The house was shaking. Dib jumped up from the computer, his eyes shifting toward his bedroom window.

Rushing towards it, he poked his big head out. The sky was an ominous shade of dark red, and it appeared his entire street was experiencing some kind of earthquake. A few car alarms went off in the distance, and one neighbour began swearing. Just as sudden as the rumbling had started, it seemed to stop just as abruptly. The sky returned to its normal state, just dark enough for 11:30pm.

"What the hell?" Dib muttered to himself, scanning his surroundings for any sign of impending doom. Then it hit him. What if?..

Dib immediately spun around, his wide eyes locking onto his computer screen. On the monitor, right in front of Zim's base, was a crashed spaceship. The lights flickered as dust and smoke engulfed it.

"I KNEW HE'D BE BACK!" Dib shouted, fumbling over and pressing record on the computer. He reached for his camera and bolted out of his room.

"Where are you going this late?" Gaz asked as she stood at the bottom of the stairs, a slice of pizza in her hand. She wore her usual fish nets, pink and black goth arm warmers, and her purple dress over a dark grey T-shirt.

"ZIM IS BACK! GOTTAGOEXPOSEHIMBYE!"

Dib barely took any time to breathe in between his words and flew out the front door.

Gaz stood chewing her pizza, cocking an eyebrow. "It's been five years, Dib! You just turned twenty! Let it GO!"

Dib was already halfway to Zim's base by now, and didn't hear a word his sister said.

Dib practically stumbled onto Zim's lawn, stopping dead in his tracks as he came face to face with the alien ship. It definitely looked IRKEN, but it wasn't the Vootcruiser. How nobody else had seen the crash or cared to look outside was beyond him. There sat an alien spaceship! His birthday candles had really come through this year!

"It's OVER, Zim!" shouted a triumphant Dib, raising his camera high. "Come on out and let me EXPOSE you once and for all!"

The doors to the ship slowly lifted, and out stepped an oblivious Zim. He appeared to be eating what looked like IRKEN candy — a stick and some sort of dipping mechanism. GIR waddled out after him, sucking on some kind of empty space slurpee. A giant mountain of snacks poured out on top of GIR, instantly burying him.

It took a minute for Zim to notice Dib's presence. Even then, he didn't realize who he was.

"Get OFF my lawn, you stinking human!" He protested, swinging his hand, which held the candy stick high.

This took Dib by surprise, but surely Zim remembered him. Right?

"ZIM! I've got you now! My monitors are recording this as we speak! And I brought my camera!"

Zim blinked, studying Dib as if he had just seen a new species. "D-Dib?!"

"That's right Zim! I'm here to FINALLY expose you and- "

"What — what happened to you!?" Zim asked, dumbfounded.

"—What?" Dib's face twisted into confusion.

"You look—different! And you- you're TALLER!" Zim stood with a look of sheer horror, dropping his candy onto the grass.

Dib blinked. Clearly Zim had forgotten how long he'd been gone. Or maybe his mind just simply couldn't comprehend the human aging process.

"It's called AGING, you moron!" Dib snapped. "I had a growth spurt right after you disappeared!"

"A growth-what-now?" Zim stared in disbelief, still clearly confused.

"You've been gone for FIVE years, Zim! I'm an adult now! But that won't stop me! I'm still the same Dib — just even more qualified than before!"

"Eh?- "

"I've got a degree in PARAPSYCHOLOGY!!"

GIR emerged from the pile of snacks, still sucking from his empty cup. He tossed it away at the sight of Dib—the robot knew exactly who he was, even after all this time. "MARY!! YOUR LEGS ARE SO LOOOONG!" GIR shrieked.

"Yeah. Good to see you, too." Dib murmured.

"Where have you been all this time, Zim?!"

The IRKEN still stared in horror, blinking several times before clearing his throat. "I went to get some snacks from space."

"It.. it took you five years to go and get snacks?" Dib cocked an eyebrow as he let his question sink in. It sounded completely ridiculous.

"Yes." Zim glared at Dib, grabbing handfuls of snacks and dragging them towards the front door of his base.

"THATS SO STUPID!" Dib shouted angrily. Five years of his life, he would never get back. Five years creating so many interesting conspiracies in his mind about where Zim had gone, and this was the answer?

"DON'T DARE question my IRKEN ways, Dib-stink!" Zim shouted as she stuffed endless amounts of snacks into the base.

GIR ran in circles, screaming something about corn chips.

"Where did you even go to get them?! The END of the goddamn galaxy?!" Dib gritted his teeth, visibly pissed.

"I made a few stops along the way, actually. I managed to stop by IRK. That ship isn't mine." Zim shuddered, thinking back to the trouble he had gotten himself into on his recent intergalactic travels.

Dib's face contorted. "I don't CARE where you were! Why did you just LEAVE me here?!

A moment of silence passed. Dib furrowed his eyebrows once he realized what he had said. He sounded almost as if he missed zim. That wasn't even close to reality. He just would have liked a warning. Five years was a long time to wonder. To wait.

"What?" Zim asked, his antenna dropping low. Pathetic. Was he actually feeling sad for this human meatbag?

"I mean, you left earth! You didn't even bother to warn me. How was I supposed to — EXPOSE YOU?!"

Dib jumped back into action, snapping as many pictures of Zim and his stolen smoking spaceship as possible.

Annnd it was gone. Zim was back to wanting to disintegrate Dib's giant head.

"STOP THAT, you filthy HUMAN WORM!" Zim angrily chucked a box of candy at Dib's head.

"OW!" Dib dropped his camera, rubbing his head vigorously. "Jeez!"

"GIR! Retrieve the human picture taking device!" Zim commanded, prompting the robot to run towards where the camera had fallen.

GIR snatched it up and shoved it into his mouth.

Dib stood in horror as the robot ran in circles, his strong metal mouth repeatedly slamming down onto the camera.

"SHIP! SELF-DESTRUCT!" shouted an irritated Zim, packing the rest of the snacks into his base.

"Wait!- "Dib didn't even have time to finish his sentence before the ship exploded, instantaneously disintegrating. Once again, he was left with no proof of what had just transpired. Or was he?

The monitor recordings!

"This ISN'T OVER, Zim!" Dib shouted. "I still have you on video!"

Zim glanced back at Dib. He sure looked different now. Different, yet still the same. Tallness looked good on Dib. But being taller wouldn't save him from world domination.

Zim knew he'd have to do something about the monitor footage. He just wasn't sure what. "Bye, Human FILTH! Go recharge like the weakling you are! You cannot expose ZIMM!"

The IRKEN slammed the door behind him. And just like that, Dib's life finally felt like it was complete.