#with every death comes a worry that you didn’t do enough

[mintyys-blog]

I am requesting cold hard angst for Shiesty! Where he is forced to watch his girlfriend die to her terminal illness, where he does everything he can to try and save her but is just wasting what little time he has left with her, and her dying but reassuring him it’s okay and that she’s dying knowing he loved her and that’s good enough for her.

…if you could also do small part of how he tries to move on but just can’t and cries over all her stuff she left behind! Please and thank you! ❤️‍🩹

FADED | sheisty mark x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: character death

The room was cold, sterile — a prison built of white walls and humming machines. The air was heavy with antiseptic and quiet dread. Shiesty sat by her bedside, exhausted, broken, trying to anchor himself to the tiny warmth of her frail hand in his.

Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and beneath it, the rapid, shallow breaths she took sounded like a countdown he was powerless to stop.

He swallowed hard, voice tight when he finally spoke. “There has to be something—there has to be a way to stop this.”

She turned her head slightly toward him, eyes glassy but still filled with the soft light that had always been her.

“You did everything,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “You fought for me.”

He shook his head, fingers gripping hers like a lifeline he was afraid to lose. “It’s not enough. It’s never enough. I’m supposed to protect you. Fix this.”

Her lips curved into a tired smile. “I know. And I’m sorry. But you can’t fix this.”

A jagged sob tore from his throat. His other hand covered hers, desperate to hold on—not just to her body, but to every moment left between them.

“You’re not supposed to leave me,” he said, voice cracking like glass breaking. “Not like this.”

Her eyes flickered with a tenderness that felt like a last gift. “You loved me. That’s what mattered.”

Tears blurred his vision as she squeezed his hand weakly.

“Promise me you won’t forget.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, feeling the thinness of her bones, the faint warmth slipping away.

“I promise. I’ll never forget.”

She exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering closed, and the beeping machines took on a slower, more solemn rhythm.

His world collapsed around him in silence as her hand went limp in his.

He stayed there long after they told him to leave—holding the ghost of her warmth, drowning in the cold that would never leave.

He didn’t remember walking out of the hospital. Didn’t remember how he got back to the apartment—their apartment.

All he knew was that the lights were off, the bed was too big, and her mug was still sitting in the sink like she’d only just used it.

Mark stood in the doorway, staring at the small things she left behind. The things that used to annoy him—the clutter, the mismatched socks, the way she always stole the blankets.

He used to sigh, roll his eyes, tease her.

Now he’d give anything to feel her cold toes on his legs at 3 a.m.

He collapsed onto the couch, fingers digging into the cushion she used to curl up against. The tears came quietly at first. Then not at all. It was worse somehow—the numbness.

The hollowness where her voice should’ve been.

“You forgot to water the plants again, dummy.”

“You stress-clean when you’re upset.”

“You always act like the world’s ending, but you’re soft. You just hide it.”

The memories weren’t gentle. They didn’t float in like comfort. They stabbed.

A flash—her smile, during a late-night gas station run. She was in his hoodie, dancing stupidly in the parking lot with a cherry slush in hand. He didn’t even remember what song was playing. Just her laughter echoing off the pavement.

He’d taken it for granted. That she’d always be there.

Another flash—her curled up in his lap, post-mission. Face buried in his chest, mumbling about how she worried every time he flew off. How she hated not knowing if he’d come back in one piece.

He should’ve stayed home more. Should’ve made her laugh more. Should’ve told her she was everything, every damn day.

But instead, he’d chased leads and called in favors, burned bridges trying to buy her time.

And it still wasn’t enough.

He thought he’d hated the world before. But now? He hated everything. Himself most of all.

Because all that power, all that speed, all that rage—none of it stopped the clock.

“Promise me you won’t forget.”

“I won’t,” he whispered into the silence, hugging the hoodie she left on the back of a chair. It still smelled like her. Like lilacs and vanilla and the warmth he couldn’t get back.

“I won’t forget, baby. I swear. I swear I won’t.”

His voice broke.

And this time, there was no one left to hear it.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Crimson Ties ~ 24

CRIMSON TIES MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,185ish

Summary: You and Tony work together to heal.

Warning(s): talk of rape, talk of abuse, torture, death, mental health, panic attacks

Note(s): Only 3 more chapters left after this!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

The room was dim, the curtains drawn halfway against the rising sun. Tony woke slowly— the kind of slow that came after painkillers, exhaustion, and hours of holding himself together with the mere thought of you. Every muscle ached. His head throbbed and his ribs pulled tight with each breath.

His eyes opened, blurry at first. He looked around to see that he was back at the house. In his room— your room. He turned his head and his breath caught. You were curled in the armchair next to the bed, knees drawn up beneath you, with a blanket wrapped around you like a cocoon. Your head was tilted slightly, resting on your shoulder. One hand had slipped off the armrest, fingers just inches from his. You had stayed at his side all night. 

Tony could see the exhaustion on your face. You had probably fought to stay awake in case he woke, but your body gave out. He didn’t move at first. He just stared. He hadn’t been sure if he’d ever see you like this again. Soft. Safe. Breathing. He let out a shaky exhale.

��Y/N…” His voice came out rough, barely audible. “Honey…”

You stirred, eyes fluttering open, disoriented at first. Then you saw those brown eyes looking back at you. And everything else melted away.

“You’re awake,” you whispered, leaning closer. “How are you feeling?”

Tony gave you a tired smile. It was small, but real. “Like a woke up with an angel at my side.”

You looked away bashfully. “Tony…”

“Sweetheart…” 

His hand reached over to yours, hovering over for a moment before his fingers brushed against the back of your hand. You didn’t move, letting him know it was okay for him to rest his hand on top of yours.

“Seriously, Tony, are you okay?” You asked, genuinely worried.

“I am now,” he responded.

“You scared me,” you told him again. “I kept thinking… I kept imagining—“

“Hey.” He squeezed your hand weakly. “I know. I know. I thought about you the whole time. You were… the only think that kept me going.”

You leaned forward until your forehead brushed against his. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just for you to stay.”

You nodded, slowly climbing onto the bed. You kept yourself on your side, not to touch or crowd. But close enough that he could feel your warmth. Tony closed his eyes and let himself just focus on your closeness. 

“Thank you for staying,” Tony whispered. You knew it words meant more than just for this moment. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” you breathed out. “But I always want to.”

He looked over at you. “You’re not…” He swallowed nervously. “You’re not scared of me?”

“No… I haven’t been for a while.” Tony was in awe at your admission. An easy quiet rested over the took of you before you spoke up again. “Are you hungry? I can get you breakfast.”

“Only if you’re coming back with it.”

“I will.”

As you sat up, Tony reached for your arm and grasped it gently.

“Stay,” he requested. “Just for a few more minutes?”

You nodded and laid yourself back onto the bedside him. 

~~~

Yelena brought breakfast to both of you not too long later. After it was all cleaned up, Tony tried to get himself out of bed.

“Tony,” you said gently, moving towards him, “what are you doing?”

He gave you a look— part defiant, part sheepish. “Stretching,” he replied simply. “Sitting still’s going to kill me faster than your father ever could.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

“I’m not trying to run a marathon. I just want to move a little. Go to a different room.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Your studio.”

“What?”

“I want to watch you work. And… and you go in there to find peace and comfort. I just want to be near that. Even if it’s just watching.”

You nodded, taking him in for a long moment. The sincerity in his eyes shined brighter that the pain that flickered beneath his features. He wasn’t being stubborn. He needed this.

“Alright,” you agreed. “But I’m getting someone to come help you there and bringing a chair in.”

Tony gave a small mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and smile as you quickly left to go get help.

~~~

Tony watched in content silence as you pulled a mound of clay onto the wheel and with steady hands began to center it. He got lost watching your movements, drowning out the problems that had been pressing down on the two of you since your wedding. He watched as you worked, making a few bowls of various sizes. 

He didn’t know when he drifted off to sleep, but when he woke up, he was alone in your studio. The light was still on and soft music was playing. He looked down to see that a blanket had been placed over him.

“Hey,” Rhodey’s voice got Tony looking at the doorway. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony moved a little, wincing at the pain. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Yelena pulled her away to get some proper rest.” Rhodey walked over and pulled up a stool beside Tony’s cushioned recliner. “She hasn’t slept a lot for the last couple of days.”

“Good. Yeah. She needs that… There’s been something on my mind.”

“Okay. Spill.”

“How did you find me so quickly?”

“Actually, it was Y/N.”

“Wh—What?”

“She knew that Obadiah would bring you back to his house. We pulled up the plans and she noticed there was something missing. She told us about the basement. Without her, we would still be searching for you.”

“That’s… Rhodey… I owe her so much… I… I…”

“You love her.”

“Yeah… I do… I love Y/N.”

“I’m glad to hear that. But I don’t know if you should tell her yet. Take things slow. You haven’t even been on a proper date with her yet.”

“Shit, you’re right. She needs a date.” Tony winced as he moved to the edge of his seat. “I need to—“

“Woah, woah, woah!” Rhodey gently grabbed Tony’s shoulders, stilling him. “Slowdown there, Romeo. You’re still injured. You’ve got to move slow.”

“Fine. Fine… You’re right. Help me to my room. I need to get cleaned up.”

Rhodey helped Tony up and out of the studio. They caught you in the hall, ending their way.

“Tones,” you greeted. “I was just coming to check on you.”

“I’m good, honey,” Tony replied. “Just heading to my room to clean up a bit.”

“Oh… are you… umm… are you staying the night in there?”

“Well, I don’t want to put you out of a bed again, sweetheart.”

“I just…” You looked down, your hand rubbing up and down your arm. “I…”

“Honey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think that I’ll sleep well without making sure you’re still there.” Tony inhaled sharply at your admission. “Yelena just tried to make me take a nap and I couldn’t… I was too worried that I’d wake up and find you not here or… or…”

“Hey, hey,” Tony stepped forward, reaching out with his good arm. “I’m here. I’m okay. And wherever you need me, I’ll be. Okay? You can head to your room and I’ll meet you there. Will that work?”

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“Okay. I’ll be sure to be quick.”

~~~

You were curled up in the chair beside your bed, reading, when Tony limped in. He had ushered Rhodey away before entering the room, not wanting to look more weak than he already felt. You stood up quickly and headed to his side to help.

“You shouldn’t be walking alone yet, Tones,” you admonished quietly.

“I’m fine,” Tony bit back a whine.

“Let’s get you to the bed.”

“No. No. You should sleep in the bed. I’ll take the chair.”

“Tony. You can’t sleep in that chair.”

“No, you can’t sleep in that chair.”

You sighed. “Please, Tony… please.”

Tony’s resolve immediately melted at your pleas. “Okay. Okay. I’ll take the bed.”

You helped him to the bed and got him tucked in. He watched as you got situated in the chair to read again.

“Do you, uh…” Tony grew nervous, especially when you looked up at him patiently. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you nodded, putting your book to the side.

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“I… I don’t… I don’t have one… my father—“

“You don’t need to explain.” Tony had to stop you. Your father was dead and yet Tony’s hatred for him only continued to grow. “And that’s okay. I’ll make sure to show you everything I love and more. Uh, you should, uh, come sit by me. If you want.”

You nodded and carefully climbed onto the bed, making sure there was space between the two of you. Tony winced as he grabbed the remote from the bedside table. You reached over and pulled your blanket off the chair and wrapped yourself in it. Tony turned on the tv and quickly began to pull things up that you didn’t understand.

“We’re going to start with one of my favorite Disney classics,” Tony said excitedly. “The Aristocats.”

“The Aristo… cats?” You questioned.

“Yep!”

You laughed a little. “That sounds… interesting.”

“You’ll love it. I promise.”

Tony pressed play and the two of you relaxed further into the bed. You were immediately entranced my the movie. Tony smiled as he watched you watch the movie. He loved to experience this with you for the first time and couldn’t wait for more times like this. Unfortunately, Tony’s body pulled him into sleep before the movie was finished.

Once the movie was done, you looked over to see Tony sleeping. You couldn’t help the soft smile that formed on your lips at the sight. You reached over and pulled the remote from his hand, turning off the tv. You laid on your side, watching Tony’s chest rise and fall with each breath until your body gave into sleep.

~~~

Tony woke up first, eyes immediately opening in search of you. His breath caught when he found you curled up on the bed next to him. There was still space between you two, but he could reach out and touch you if he wanted to. You looked at peace. More peace than he had ever thought possible for you. He wanted to make sure you always looked like that. He would do anything to keep that for you. But there was one person who could still get in the way: Pepper.

Swallowing back a groan, Tony got himself out of bed and hobbled to his office. He needed to do what he could to find Pepper and but an end to her before she ruined anything more.

~~~

Your eyes fluttered open. You were still facing where Tony was laying, but it was no longer there. You reached over felt that his spot had grown could. What had made him get out of bed? Was it you? Should you have slept in the chair? It seems like you had kept your distance, but what if— a sudden crash had you jumping to sit up. You waited with baited breath for someone to come rushing in, but no one did.

Letting out a shaky exhale, you slipped off the bed and headed out into the hallway. You saw Steve step out of Tony’s office, head hung. You timidly walked over.

“Steve?” Your voice was quiet. “What’s wrong?”

He forced out a smile. “It’s fine,” he said too quickly. “Tony’s fine.”

“Then what was that noise?”

“Tony… He… he threw something.”

Your throat tightened. “Is he okay?”

Another sharp sound of shattered ceramic sliced between you and Steve before he could answer that. You jumped, breath catching in your throat. Your ears began ringing and suddenly you’re not in the penthouse anymore. You’re in your studio at your father’s, watching Brock pick up your favorite vase and hurled it to the floor. 

You staggered back a step as you pulled yourself from the memory. Your arms moved to cling around you. Steve’s eyes widened.

“Y/N, hey,” he spoke calmly, trying to keep you there with him. “You’re okay.” Your eyes remained locked on the door to Tony’s office. He sighed, running a hand down his face. “He’s going to hate me for this, but… he’s not doing as well as he wants you to believe.” Another muffled sound slipped out of the room. A broken, choked breath. “You don’t have to go in there if you’re not ready. But… he might need you.”

You swallowed hard. Your palms were cold and your knees were shaky. Your heart was beating too fast. But… you nodded.

“I— I’ll go in,” you stammered quietly as you held on to the belief that Tony wouldn’t dare to hurt you like Brock did.

The door creaked open slowly as you entered the darkened space. Your eyes were drawn to Tony immediately. He was on the floor, backed into the corner like he was trying to melt into the wall, breathing in short, frantic bursts. Near the door lies one of your vases. A red one you made and gave to him without any words. It’s smashed. Fragments scattered across the floor. You couldn’t help but stare at it for too long.

Your eyes found him again. Tony was gripping the sides of his head, eyes wide and wet, mouth open but saying nothing. Just gasping. Your own panic is clawing at you, begging you to leave. But something stronger was keeping you there.

Finally, you stepped in fully and shut the door behind you. You took a few steps more, avoiding the pieces of your once beautiful vase.

“Tony,” you said, voice hoarse. No response came from the man. You took a few more brave steps before crouching a safe distance away. “Hey,” you tried again. “It’s me.” His eyes flickered towards you, but there’s no focus— just more panic. “I’m okay.” Your hands were shaking despite your words. “I’m okay… are you?”

His lips moved, barely a whisper. “I— I— I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to break it…”

You let out a tense breath. “I know.”

“It was yours. I kept it safe… I ruined it… I ruin everything. I can’t stop. I can’t—“ His chest convulsed with another breath that didn’t go anywhere.

“Tony… Tones, look at me.” He tried. Blinking. Focusing just a little. “You’re having a panic attack.” Your voice remained steady despite the pounding of your own heart. “I know what that feels like.” His hands lowered slightly, causing him to wince at the pull of his still sore body. You placed your own shaky hand on the cool wood floor, pressing down where he can see it. “Can you copy me?”

Tony’s hand was trembling more than yours as he mirrored you. He watched you inhale and exhale. Following your breaths. Again and again. Until his breath began to catch the rhythm. Silence stretched as the room started to still. Eventually, Tony sagged back against the wall, spent, but no longer spiraling.

“Tony…” you spoke up softly. “What happened?”

He closed his eyes, hanging his head. “It’s been months…” he rasped. “Months… with no sign of Pepper. Nothing… Brock and Obadiah are gone but her threat still remains… She’ll come for you… and I’m terrified that I won’t be fast enough this time.”

You nodded, understanding deeply what it was like to have danger only a mere breath away. “You don’t have to carry this yourself… not anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“You’ve seen me worse.” You inched closer, just a little. “Do you… do you want me to stay?”

Tony looked into your eyes and could see the tinge of your own panic. He hated that he had caused that. “Only if you want to… I’m sorry for whatever a triggered… I never— I hate that I did that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Honey, I can see it in your eyes… you’re ready to run any second if I move wrong. I did that… and I hate myself for it.”

“I think… I think if we get out of here, I’ll be okay. Can we… can we go to the studio?”

“I don’t want to bring this all into your space, sweetheart.”

“You won’t. We leave it here. Both of us.”

Tony took a moment before nodding. You both stood up carefully and walked out of the office. Yelena and Steve watched silently as the two of you disappeared into your studio.

~~~

In the days that followed, you and Tony got into a routine. Breakfast together then you’d both do things separately. You’d have lunch together and then the rest of the afternoon was spent in your studio. Sometimes Tony just sat and watched, other times he was your assistant, and then there were times when he tried to make things too. You’d then make dinner, with Tony helping. Nighttime in the bedroom had become a sacred place where Tony and you would watch movies and fall asleep next to each other, while still respecting each other’s space.

It was night now, three weeks since Tony’s rescue. You were sitting on the bed, reading, while waiting for Tony to join you for your next movie night. You didn’t notice as he entered the room, staying near the door, nervously moving his weight from leg to leg.

“Uh, Y/N,” he nervously caught your attention.

You placed your book down as you looked at him. “Yes, Tones?”

“I— I… Well… I was thinking about something stupid.”

You tilted your head. “What kind of stupid?”

“The… hopeful kind. Can I sit?” You nodded. Tony moved carefully over to the bed, sitting on his side of it. His fidgeted in his lap. “I want to take you out… Like on a real date.”

You blinked in surprise. “Oh.”

“Not tonight,” he quickly added. “I’m still not in five-star shape and I just sprung this on you. But soon. When I’m a little less bruised and you’re not worrying about me every five minutes.”

You offered a hesitant smile. “I don’t mind worrying about you.”

“I know. But I want this to be different. Not just something out of survival. And not just because we’re married. I want to take you out because I… I like you.”

“You— You do?”

Tony let out a soft breath of a laugh. “I’m kind of crazy about you, actually. I know we didn’t ask for this marriage or anything that came with it, but if you’ll let me… I’d like to start choosing you.”

Your chest ached in a warm, foreign way. “And if I said yes?”

“I’d probably smile like an idiot for a week straight. And then over think our date and make too many plans.”

A giggle slipped past your lips. “I wouldn’t mind that… A date. A real date.”

Tony’s expression softened as he turned to face you a little better. “I won’t rush anything. You lead. Always.”

next chapter >

[archerygun]

It’s always so heartbreaking to me that every time we see Owen display how he really feels about Luke in canon (the books, and Kenobi) Luke is never there to hear it.

When Owen faces down the inquisitor and declares that Luke IS his son, Luke is already way out of earshot (even though I do sort of consider the Kenobi show non-canon). When Owen talks to Beru after the argument with Luke on the day they die, telling her he feels bad about having to squash Luke’s dreams and wanting to find some way to make it up to him, he never hears it.

Owen’s relationship with Luke WAS complex, and it was rocky sometimes. I’ve always read this as Owen having difficulty being emotionally open, at least as far as the ANH novel and Kenobi show have shown. Owen loves Luke DEEPLY, right to his core. But he doesn’t know how to put that into words. He’s an awkward man! He’s been raised on nightmare hell planet where becoming too attached to someone might end up in them being killed or sold into slavery and you being miserable! Look at what happened to both of his mothers!

When someone you love dies, you look at all their actions with a new light and deeper introspection. Can you imagine the absolute world-shattering thoughts Luke must have had after Owen and Beru died?

Realising he was more deeply loved than he could have ever realised, even if Owen had a harder time showing it.

And Owen’s parental anxiety is shown in Kenobi! Owen Lars, one of the most dedicated fathers in the galaxy, probably died wondering if his son would ever know how much he really loved him.

Owen probably died with so, so many regrets. Owen probably died wondering if he deserved to raise Luke (which he DID) and if he had done enough to prepare his son for the world (HE DID).

Owen Lars has always been a heartbreaking character for me.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Doting

Tags: jjk men as dads, tooth-rotting fluff, comfort drabbles

Synopsis: How the JJK men treat you while pregnant (spoiler warning- they dote on you.)

An: This is my formal apology for writing Nanami angst on the “Baby’s first words” post 😔 it will never happen again (can we stop with the death threats now?)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

Oh, your loving husband is all over you while you’re pregnant. He genuinely has such a cute fascination with all the changes your body is going through. He seriously thinks you’re so strong for carrying his heir.

He loves rubbing your bump. In fact, he will always be touching it in some form or fashion while you two are together. When he’s away on missions, he has you send him pictures and updates on your pregnancy as if anything major has changed in a couple of days.

You best believe he is ready to indulge you on your every craving, no matter how strange. It’s three a.m and you’re crying because you need that specific brand of chicken wings and a can of whip cream? He’s heading to the store immediately to fetch whatever you tell him to.

He genuinely worries about being a good dad. Many nights he lays his head on your bump and talks to you about how teaching didn’t come naturally to him. He wasn’t born knowing how to meet people where they’re at. He use to expect people to be able to meet him on his level. He worries that he may inadvertently put a lot of pressure on his kid, and that’s the last thing he wants due to how he was raised. He just wants his kid to be a kid.

He’s the best, most loving and compassionate dad to your baby, more than you could ever hope for. Even if teaching didn’t come to him naturally, being a father did.

SUGURU

He’s such a “sit down and let me do it for you�� while you’re pregnant. He cooks, cleans, works, and tends to you completely throughout your pregnancy.

Suguru gets hyper fixated on your health during pregnancy. He only feeds you the yummiest and healthiest foods while you’re pregnant. He encourages for you to sit on the yoga ball and do (very) light exercises. He just wants the best for you and his baby.

Whenever I said he tends to you, I genuinely mean he tends to you. He’ll gently brush your hair at night time, rub your back when your belly is becoming heavy to carry around, serve your breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed, carries around emesis bags and breath mints for if you get morning sickness while you two are out.

This man is the king of enforcing your boundaries to people when they don’t listen. That really annoying family member that insists on being there for the birth even though you’ve already explained to them that you want this to be an experience for just you and Geto? Yeah, he’s made it very clear to them that they will not be at the birth if they want to be in your kid’s life.

He is absolutely not afraid to hurt feelings if it means his wife and future child are safe and cared for. He really don’t give a fuck who anyone else is. You and his child are first priority.

TOJI

Toji is definitely the type to express his love and devotion for you in other ways than the most conventional methods.

He is so incredibly gentle while you’re pregnant. He doesn’t rile you up as much or play fight with you anymore. He constantly reminds himself that you’re carrying another life inside you and that you have enough on your plate.

This man… whew does he love seeing you pregnant. Toji’s the type of man to feel so feral when he looks at you heavily pregnant with his kid.

He adores your body. He’ll rub lotion all over you and oils to help your skin accommodate to the stretch of carrying a kid. He massages your body and absolutely worships it while he’s rubbing the lotion and oil on you.

Your breasts are sore? He’ll gently massage them until they feel better. Your back hurts? He’d be the type to lift your bump up and take the weight off you for as long as you ask him to so you can feel relaxed for a few minutes.

And look this is probably TMI but like, if you got a clogged milk duct due to breastfeeding, Toji would unfortunately be the type of man to fix that issue with his mouth. i’m sorry but he would.

Final thing is, you better believe that he doesn’t allow anyone to get too close to you. He is so unbelievably protective over you while you’re pregnant. If he could, he’d lock you up at home to prevent anyone from getting close to you.

SUKUNA

On the outside, he acts very nonchalant and unbothered by your pregnancy. On the inside, he is constantly plagued by the thought that your body may not be able to carry his heir. The thought of losing you or his child haunts him.

He will secretly observe and take notes on your body and how it is changing. If he catches you expressing any sort of short windedness, he will immediately send you off to bed rest. Though, you’re usually able to convince him to take you off of it by the next day.

The only servant he trusts to tend to you is Uraume. No one else in his court is allowed to be anywhere near you unless he gives specific instructions. Still, he hates leaving you in the care of Uraume. He trusts them, but he wants to be the one to take care of you.

He loves holding your body close to him at night. All four arms are wrapped around you and holding you closely. Since he doesn’t need much sleep, he will stay awake rubbing on your tummy all night long. One time, he felt the baby moving in your stomach while you were asleep. He was so intrigued that he woke you up and told you to “make them do it again”.

Now, he will randomly approach you at any given time while you’re heavily pregnant and hold his hand out so he can feel his baby moving around inside of you. It soothes his worry.

During birth, Sukuna was a complete mess. The amount of blood lost during birth fucking terrified him. He was panicking and yelling at anyone to do something to save you, even while everyone was assuring him that you’re okay and this was natural.

After 9 long excruciating months of extreme worry and constant fear, he finally feels peace when he’s cradling a newborn in his arm and a sleeping wife in the other arm. All of his hard work to protect you paid off he thinks.

NANAMI

Oh, to be pregnant by the king of domestic love himself.

Nanami is the type of man to immediately start working on a nursery for you as soon as you reveal to him that you’re pregnant. He immediately changes the guest bedroom into a nursery that you design for your little baby.

He reads up on all the parenting books and articles. He’s constantly compiling things to either do or to not do during pregnancy and even while raising a kid.

Like Geto, he tends to your every need. He is a total house husband all while working 40 hours a week. When he’s at work, he is constantly calling and texting you to make sure that you’re okay and taking care of yourself, but let’s be fr he literally did everything for you before he even left for work (meal prepped for you, set out your clothes for you, put out all your self care items in case you want to bathe).

When you express concerns of your body getting bigger to him, he does everything in his power to show you that he loves and respects your body for creating life. He literally cherishes and worships your body for hours if you let him.

Like Toji, Nanami is protective over you. He constantly has an arm around you if you two are in public, and he watches everyone who dares to get close to you like a hawk. If he gets a bad vibe about anyone, he’s immediately stepping in front of you and taking over the conversation.

Nanami is the best partner to have during birth. His reading of articles during your pregnancy really paid off. He is supportive without being overbearing. He listens to your needs and tends to you without question. Constant praise and encouragement while you’re giving birth. The moment he gets to snuggle with you and the baby is the moment he realizes that he cultivated the life of his dreams. He has the family he always wanted.

[layaispunk]

still here with me | joel miller x reader

my masterlist | taking requests! <3

pairing: jackson!joel x female!reader

summary: you save Joel.

warnings: spoilers for episode 2. canon typical violence, jackson's hoard, angst, lil bit of fluff. Ellie isnt mentioned.

a/n: i love abby but NOT ON MY WATCH. anyway .... how are we feeling ....? 🫂

The sounds of gunfire crackled through the cold. 

The blizzard felt like an entity - roaring, kicking up like ash as the hoard was running toward Jackson’s gates - hundreds of them, more than you'd ever seen. Clickers, stalkers, runners. Screeching. Crawling. Dying in waves, but still coming.

You stood on the wall beside Tommy, breath steaming in the cold as your rifle jerked back with each shot. “There’s too many, Tommy. We need the barrels."

“Fuck!” Tommy yelled, loading another round. “Keep your aim steady!” Tommy barked.

But you weren't hearing him anymore. Your ears were ringing. Joel.

You blinked hard, fired another round. “Tommy,” you muttered, voice tight.

He didn’t turn. “What?”

“I have to go.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“I need to find him. I need to find Joel. Amy said he's at the ski lodge."

Tommy finally looked at her, eyes wide. “Are you crazy?"

 “Something’s wrong, Tommy. I can feel it.”

Tommy grabbed your arm. “You run out now, you’ll die. Its a death trap.”

“Then I'll die trying.” you muttered, his hand still on yours.

He hesitated—just a breath—then nodded toward the watchtower behind them. “Back gate. It’s clearer that way. Take a horse and ride fast. You hear me? Be fuckin safe. Go."

You sprinted to the stables, saddled a horse with shaky hands, and rode like hell—snow blurring your vision, heart screaming louder than the wind, outrunning the hoard. Toward the lodge. 

Every fiber of you wanted to scream Joel and Dina's names to look for them. To cry out. But you had enough experience to know that you couldn’t.

If they were in trouble, if they're hurt —you yelling would only paint a target on your back. Or theirs. It wasn't an option. 

So you rode low in the saddle, head ducked beneath the howling wind, your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack a rib.

When you finally reached the edge of the lodge, you dismounted, boots hitting the ground heavy and wet. Snow clung to your coat and lashes. The horse huffed, nervous.

You crept forward, one foot after the other. Fingers clenched around your rifle. No footprints leading away from the door. No sign of anyone leaving in a hurry. Just quiet.

The sky above you was darkening fast, blizzard now in full force. 

You walked in, slowly. . It felt like your body knew something before your mind did, like it was bracing for impact. Weathered wood, furniture covered in plastic. Then, you saw a door. You placed your gloved hand on the knob, the other pressing your body flush to the wall beside it. Then you leaned in, ear to the wood.

Voices.

Muffled.

A woman’s voice.

"where was the last place you saw the fireflies?,” she was saying, her tone sharp but almost distant, like she was trying to keep steady.

Think. Think, think, think.

You didn’t know for certain—It could be anyone. But something in your chest twisted so violently, it was like your body already knew Joel and Dina were in that room, and they were running out of time.

How many voices? Two? Three? More? Your blood roared in your ears. You couldn’t make out words—just tones. Angry. Confident. Like they weren’t worried about being caught. 

You stepped back from the door, trying to breathe past the knot in your chest and move as quietly as possible. You had to distract them. Get them away from him. Make them come to you.

You crept down the hall, eyes sweeping the room. Old furniture, untouched for years. You spotted a rusted kettle on the stove and stealthily, you knocked it off with your rifle. You usually do this tactic with glass bottles, but you needed to think fast. 

It hit the ground hard—clang—echoing through the lodge.

Shouts followed. Heavy footsteps. “What the hell was that?”

You dropped behind furniture just as two came around the corner, both unarmed. 

There was a high-pitched ring in your ears, drowning out everything but your own pulse.

Your hands moved before your mind caught up and you stealthily walked behind them and plunged the knife into the side of their throat, a trail of bodies behind you now. 

You crept back toward that door, heart slamming against your ribs. You kicked it open hard, rifle raised—ready to die if it meant he lived.

Joel. On his knees, arms up, breathing heavily. Dina passed out on the floor. And in front of Joel —a woman. Armed. Blonde. Braid hanging down her back. Gun aimed at his head.

You didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. Bang.

She dropped before she even turned fully.

The other two put their hands up, trying to save themselves. You fired again. And again. You needed to move fast. 

You ran to him. You dropped your rifle, crossed the room in seconds, and crashed into him like you were afraid he might disappear if you let another second pass.

Joel caught you with both arms, pulling you in so tight it felt like your ribs would snap. His eyes were red and teary, his body was shaking. You could feel his heart hammering through his chest, loud and frantic, like it was trying to fight its way into yours. 

Neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your breathing—sharp, broken. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand tangled in the back of your jacket like he couldn’t let go.

By the time you made it back to Jackson, the blizzard had quieted, but the damage was done.

The wall was down. Dead clickers littered the snow, half-buried in blood and snow. Smoke curled from where fires had been. Guards moved slowly through the wreckage, dragging corpses, calling out names.

You rode in with Joel just behind you, Dina slumped between your arms on the saddle. She hadn’t woken up yet, still drugged, still breathing.

Tommy met you at the gate - or what was left of it. His face was pale with ash and blood, eyes going wide when he saw the three of you.

Joel slid off the horse first, then reached up to take Dina from your arms.

You followed, boots hitting the red-streaked snow, gaze locked on the chaos around you.

Jackson had survived, but just barely.

You and Joel sat in the quiet of the house, the kind of silence that only comes after something  that violent. Your jacket was still damp from the snow, but your hands were warm now—held out toward the fireplace in your home. 

Joel hadn’t said much since you got back.

You’d stayed behind, helped with the wreckage. But Tommy had grabbed your arm, eyes heavy, voice low. “You’ve done enough. Take him home. Take care of him.”

So now here you were. Home. With the love of your life. 

He sat in the armchair beside you, elbows on his knees, head bowed like he was still catching his breath from hours ago. The firelight danced across his face, cutting soft gold into the bruises blooming along his jaw. Gosh, he looks so beautiful. 

You walked over slowly, knees brushing his as you knelt in front of him. He looked up—eyes tired, but still Joel. Still your Joel.

“You okay?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached forward, pulling you into his lap like he’d been waiting all night to feel you close.

You curled into him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands threaded into his hair. He let out a shaky breath against your neck, like he’d been holding it in for hours.

You pulled back just a little, just enough to look at him.

Then you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Slow. Careful. Like you were afraid he might break if you weren’t gentle.

“I’m so happy you’re still here with me,” you whispered, voice thick with everything you didn’t say out loud.

Joel didn’t answer—not with words. But the way he held you tighter, like he’d never let go again… that was enough.

For now, it was enough.

[lokissweater]

“i would never lie to you.”

{toge inumaki x f!reader}

summary: inumaki’s always coming home to you from missions coughing up mass amounts of blood and completely overdoing it while fighting curses with his cursed speech technique. and no matter how many times you tell him to be careful, he just doesn’t, arguing with him, giving him the cold shoulder, and completely unaware of the reason behind why he fights so hard when he’s out there— that reason being of course… because of you.

warnings: angst, fluff, cursing, toge and reader have a lil argument but it’s more the aftermath, slight sexual mention but it’s literally once and nothing LOL, no smut!, toge thinks he’s not doing enough SNIFFF, angst with comfort, toge is DEVOTED to you, aged up characters, pet names, afab!reader.

word count: 2.3k

authors note: short n sweet one!! wanted to give you guys a break from my MLA format essays i always make y’all read LMFAOOO!! this one is SHO SOFT AHHHH :] i hope this keeps you guys fed in the meantime while i write the next one! i love you and i love you all ALWAYS MWAAHH <33

————————————————————————

toge inumaki hates it when you don’t talk to him.

as if he doesn’t do that enough already, toge absolutely despises when you both get into arguments or heated discussions and you turn a cold shoulder to him— needing space to unwind and prevent yourself from lashing out even more, to let the situation simmer down.

he understands it. believe him he does— you’re upset and angry and you need time to cool off… but toge is stubborn and needy and just doesn’t care, needing you and only you, him going absolutely crazy at the silence in your shared apartment that he was starting to hear random ringing in his ear drums.

so as he sat on the couch, eyes unblinking as they stared off into the darkness of the living room as the sun had already began to set, you upstairs locked away— he wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and let his cursed speech force you to come downstairs and talk to him.

but he didn’t, though the thought was definitely tempting, as toge vowed the day that he laid eyes on you to never ever use his cursed technique on you, even if it was harmless, an oath he wanted to carry with him until his very death bed and until he was six feet under.

his ears perked up then at the quiet sounds of the upstairs room door knob twisting and clicking open, soft padded footsteps making their way down the hall and closer to where he was, feet sticking against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor.

at the sight of you with your hair a little disheveled, your eyes so red and puffy, and an arm wrapped around yourself as you rummaged through the fridge looking for fuck knows what and not sparing a single glance at him— toge felt like a fifty pound gutting weight was resting on his chest and crushing his heart.

you had both argued about something you always seemed to circle back to almost every week. but this time, you were sick and tired and fed up, seeing as toge was never going to try and understand the situation at hand through your worried eyes.

every time toge was out for a mission, you would spend your days anxiously throwing yourself over the couch or trying to keep yourself busy with random activities like baking or scrapbooking (which you deemed later meaningless), all within the sole purpose of trying to get your mind off of your boyfriend and the recklessness he always seemed to pull while on missions, regardless of how much you begged and pleaded with him to be more careful and aware of his health.

toge inumaki had such a powerful and lethal cursed technique that frightened and astonished you all at the same time, a conflicting feeling to have when he had to leave you in the middle of the night or during the early hours of the morning to run around and fight curses… but always coming home to you warm and loving and safe.

but not right now.

not when toge had literally come home this morning with not even two steps in the door and he was already on his knees, coughing up strings and loads of crimson blood, it pooling on the floor as he had used his cursed speech to the highest degree today and had you a crying mess thinking he was dying.

and he always did that. always. today was just the worst of them all, him without a fault coming home with excruciating pain in his bruised and clawed up throat, the cough syrup medicine he usually downed like water having absolutely no effect anymore as you scrambled around every time trying to find a solution, toge brushing off your distressed and frightened rambling as if his health wasn’t a big deal, and as if how much it affected you wasn’t a big deal either.

upon you closing the fridge, toge slowly stood from the couch and carefully walked over to you, his throat still in pieces but his mind lurching and guilty over how upset you were at him.

he slowly raised a gentle hand and placed it on your shoulder, you shaking your head somberly in response— your back to him.

“i don’t wanna talk right now toge i’m sorry…” you mumbled, rubbing over your tired sore eyes.

he squeezed your shoulder, insisting.

but you only shook your head again.

toge huffed and placed both hands on your shoulders this time, physically turning you around to face him— his eyes soft and his eyebrows pinched together in pure concern for you.

you peeked up reluctantly, but the sight of his face and the events from earlier flashing through your mind only made your bottom lip wobble and the bottom of your palms shoot up to dig into your eyes, more stinging tears flooding in and slipping through the corners of your closed lids.

his heart fucking broke.

“why don’t you care toge?” you hiccuped. “i worry myself sick every time you leave for a mission and— and that’s fine because it’s what you do but you never take care of yourself!”

he gently pried your shaking hands away from your eyes and wiped your tears softly with his thumbs, caressing your cheeks after— wishing so badly, more than anything in this fucking world, to just be able to speak to you like a normal human being instead of resorting to words scrambled on a piece of paper or text messages on a screen.

he gently placed a little timid peck to your nose before releasing your face and fumbling around in his pockets for his phone, tapping it awake once he retrieved it and opening his notes app to write out a sentence.

he flipped and faced the screen towards you, the brightness making you squint a bit.

“i do care i swear. i just always forget when i’m in the middle of it and i’m sorry baby.”

“so you keep forgetting after what feels like the fifteenth time i’ve told you?” you wiped more tears from your cheeks. “how— how do you think it makes me feel when you come home and you’re coughing up blood all over your clothes and the furniture huh? all over me?”

he sighed softly through his nose and went to type again, but you continued.

“i get scared toge that one day you’ll push yourself way too far and then you just won’t come home. you scare me when you cough up so much blood like that!—”

toge tugged you in then with his unoccupied hand and wrapped his arms around you, pushing your head in and stuffing your face against his chest— the scent of his freshly washed t-shirt filling your nose as you cried softly.

fuck he felt like such a douche.

he typed for a moment behind your head, a pit in his stomach that only grew in size the longer he heard your little sniffles.

toge pulled back a bit, his arms still keeping you in place but just enough so that he could lower his phone and show you his message.

“please please don’t cry. i’m really sorry okay i really am and honest to god this won’t happen again.”

you nodded meekly and he flipped his phone back, quickly typing again and showing you once he finished.

“i feel like you think i don’t care but that’s not true at all. part of the reason why i try so hard when i work is because the more curses i fuck up the safer you’ll be when you’re out there without me.”

you laughed a bit at his wording, and he beamed at that, typing.

“i love you pretty girl. and im sorry i always get blood everywhere.”

“oh i don’t care about the mess baby, i care about youu,” you whined lightly and wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him in tight.

“and i love you too, a lot… like an embarrassing amount that strips away my dignity.”

he chuckled boyishly and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his body stuttering slightly as a single thought grazed his mind— the same thought that’s been in the crevices of his brain since he asked you to be his.

you felt his tension and pulled back.

“what?”

toge bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at you, his weight shifting as he contemplated telling you something he didn’t want to burden or upset you with, the pad of his thumb softly rubbing over your chubby cheek.

you quirked an eyebrow. “what? are you cheating on me?”

he burst out laughing and shook his head, kissing your forehead before dropping his hand from your cheek and pulling out his phone again.

he typed for a minute then showed you.

“me not being able to speak to you like a normal boyfriend should or respond to you whenever makes me freaking useless. so i push myself out there to keep you safe because that’s literally the least i can do for you, since i can’t even do the bare minimum.”

you gasped softly. “toge huh? this is—”

he shook his head once more and you stopped as he typed again.

“i always try to make you laugh with the things that i do or whenever i text you because i’m afraid that one day you’ll get tired of me not being able to talk to you and you’ll leave. which is also something i would never blame you for and understand.”

your heart squeezed in the worst excruciatingly way possible, completely baffled and mortified to the fact that toge was thinking about things like this and wholeheartedly believing it without you noticing or him saying anything to you about it.

he typed again.

“that’s why i cosplay as gojo when i leave for missions and come back a dumbass with blood in my mouth. that’s why i forget when you tell me to be careful because the need to be something for you is way fucking greater.”

“togeee!” you sobbed, bursting out crying like a little baby as you were moved and haunted by his words simultaneously, your arms engulfing him as he desperately shot his hands out and quickly wiped your tears again, shaking his head frantically as if pleading with you not to cry.

“how could you ever believe that?” you nudged him away and hiccuped, your eyes serious. “why haven’t you told me about this? everything you just said is literally propaganda.”

he chuckled, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“toge, why do you think i’ve been with you for so long? do you think i’m just dicking around?”

“dicking around on my dick?”

you swatted his phone away. “no! not right now.”

you both shared a small giggle, twinkling eyes looking at each other.

“if i felt like you weren’t doing even the bare minimum, i would’ve been gone before you had the chance to put this ring on—”

his gaze drifted down to the black shiny heart promise ring on your ring finger that you held up for him, and he smiled softly.

“baby what you do for me everyday is above and beyond the bare minimum. i’m happy. i’m so happy to be with you that you not doing enough has never crossed my mind and it never will.”

you slid your arms around his neck and pulled him down a little, gently. “i’ve never cared about your ability to speak. i fell in love with you, who you are, and the fact that i did without you having to iterate words to me? olympic sport.”

toge rolled his eyes playfully at your comment, and you stood on your tippy toes and kissed the tip of his pretty nose then. “all men do when they talk is lie anyways…” you tilted your head. “but i know you’ll never lie to me.”

“never.” he mouthed silently.

he bundled you up in his arms and lifted you like you were nothing, him carefully leaning in and pressing his lips to yours as if you were a fragile little thing— kissing you so devotedly, warmly, his forehead resting against yours once he pulled apart after greedily getting his daily fix of you.

“i know your job as a jujutsu sorcerer pays the bills and comes with you putting yourself in difficult situations… and my job doesn’t even compare, but please don’t overdo it for my sake. i want you to come home, okay?”

you know it’s selfish… he should be saving lives no matter the cost.

but he was your man. was it so bad to just want to keep him for the rest of your days? to get the chance to grow old with him, and buy a little quiet house on the country side like you always joked about in the late hours of the night with him? drinking cool glasses of lemonade on the porch?

“please don’t always be the hero.” you whispered guiltily. “but if you must… just keep me in mind while you do it.”

you’re always on his mind. he hopes you know that.

toge breathed softly through his nose and smoothly set you back down, the pads of your feet making contact with the icy tile flooring as his hands dragged up from around your waist to the sides of your head, him pushing a hard kiss to your cheek as if to seal your request.

“do you promise?” you mumbled.

he pulled back and held his little pinky out for you, and you giggled, linking yours with his firmly.

“you can’t go back on it okay? you used your pinky it’s legally binding!” you warned, a silly smile on your face. “don’t lie to me and break it.”

toge grinned and leaned towards you as he bent down a bit— your gaze locking with his as he looked at you at eye level with his hands on his knees, him mouthing his next words, slowly.

words that made your cheeks buzz a cutesy pink, words that he took seriously, and words that tied you to him and the little house by the countryside he wanted so badly with you, as those words solidified how much he truly truly loved you— him hoping you always knew.

“i would never lie to you.” he mouthed.

taglist!! <33: @saebaey

[luveline]

i just saw someone on tiktok say “behind every girl that always wants to be around their partner is a little who’s dad didn’t choose her.” with aaron pls :(( and reader reveals her daddy issues? xxx

—hotch comforts you when you worry you depend on him for the wrong reasons. fem, 2k

You were aware of the irony. Girl who hates her father latches onto the first older man to give her any positive attention: the framing isn’t complimentary to either of you, and it’s not true, really. You love Aaron because he’s kind, and he’s handsome, and because he loves you first. You won’t pretend he’s perfect even if he might say that about you. He doesn’t have to be. 

Aaron is kind where all the other men in your life have been cruel. He is the person you go to when things go wrong, even if you don’t expect him to fix things for you. You know you have ‘daddy issues’, and you don’t want them to affect how you and Aaron are when you’re together, but it’s obvious to the both of you that you crave being looked after. The way Aaron takes care of you absolutely factors into why you love him. 

He wraps the tail end of your scarf into your coat and flattens the lump of it until it’s under your chin. “Alright?” he asks, not expecting an answer as he turns away to grab his own scarf. “Will that coat be warm enough? It might be a few hours.” 

“Fine. We’ll be inside most of the time.” 

“Mm,” he hums, reaching back to pinch your side. You laugh and he smiles but doesn’t say anything further, pulling open the front door, and holding it for you until you’re on the porch. 

“You know you don’t have to… spoil him, so much,” you say lightly. 

“It’s not spoiling, he only wants a few things.” 

You’d personally felt that Jack’s birthday wish list was a bit long, but you don’t care. You don’t have a vendetta against Jack's happiness. If Aaron wants to spend half a paycheck (alright, a quarter, if that) on some toys, he should do it. But he probably knows already that Jack won’t care if he doesn’t get all of that stuff. “I didn’t get half as much for my birthdays,” you say. 

“Believe me, honey, neither did I.” 

“One year someone’s mom got me a full box set of movies though. That was a good one.” 

“One year, I got two different pagers.” He snorts. “And now they’re useless.” 

“I never used a pager.” 

Aaron goes a bit red, self-shame or something silly like that. “Don’t tell me that.” 

“Cradle snatcher.” 

“Stop, that’s not funny.” 

It’s funny. You aren’t shockingly younger than Aaron but it’s definitely enough time to see the difference (not that you care, you quite like him with his permanent wrinkle between his brows and his big, big hands). “I really haven’t. I know what they are, of course, but I went straight to a cell phone.” 

He grumbles something unheard. Together, you get into his car and drive to the shopping centre nearest the house, a maze of storefronts with outdoor entrances, like a mall that’s been shaken and thrown out over two streets. It’s not entertaining but in a way, it’s good. Aaron holds your hand and you can walk around with your head held high, proud to be a well-dressed, in love-looking partnership. See, your face says to anyone who’ll look, I’m well-loved. 

After an hour or two he kisses your cheek and decides aloud that you need dinner. He doesn’t ask if you’re hungry, he just chooses, and you love it. 

“Thank you for letting me come today,” you say, sitting across from him behind a dinner plate and a towering glass of lemon water. 

“Did I let you?” he asks, distracted by his steak and fries, though he sounds as loving as usual. 

“You could’ve said no.” 

“I have no reason to. I like when you’re with me. Thank you for letting me bring you, then, and boring you half to death.” 

“Freezing me the other half.” 

“Ah, so smart, so clever,” he murmurs. 

“Witty.” 

“Always, aren’t you?” 

You wonder about the dessert menu, find your mouth working of its own accord. “It doesn’t feel believable, sometimes. That you want me around so much.” 

He pauses, resting his knife across his fork. With a free hand, he gestures to your hand. “Would you like more proof?” 

You aren’t sure what he means, the tennis bracelet he got you for your first anniversary, or the engagement ring that sits heavily on your marriage finger waiting to be traded for a golden band. Maybe he means the teeny silver bracelet that falls down your arm whenever you move, that one just for fun. 

“Not,” he says slowly, his eyes squinted to tell you that you’re caught, “that jewellery should be your sole proof.” 

“Would you like to prove it to me now?” 

He reaches over to squeeze your hand. “I want you around all of the time. If I could I’d have us sewn together at the hip.” He’s grinning, thumbing against your knuckles. “It might not be comfortable at night when you’re trying to climb all over me.” 

“You climb all over me, Hotchner, don’t lie.” 

Aaron nods appreciatively. “That’s right. You’re the second most important thing in my life, and that’s not your fault, only Jack is so endearing.” 

“He’s a lucky kid.” 

“No, he’s not,” Aaron says gently, “but I really do love him.” 

“Of course he’s lucky. He has a dad who loves him to pieces, his Aunt Jess is like, superwoman, and– you know, I know I’m not the same as that, but I love him.”

“You look after him,” Aaron says. 

“It’s honestly just nice that you seem to like him. You don’t act like he’s an annoyance for you, you aren’t angry to have to come out today to get him his presents.” 

“Well, no. It’s not something to be angry about. When you have kids, you’re signing up for every part of having them.” 

“I know.” 

He takes a sip of his drink and puts it down beside your own in what you know to be him buying a little time. “Honey, is there something… I don’t know, something you want to talk about? Is it Jack's birthday…?”

You feel your heart fall into your mouth, as though it began life somewhere else, heartbeat mortified on your tongue. He sees you fluster and immediately softens, turning your hand in his to stroke along the inside of your wrist. 

“Nevermind,” he says. 

“No.” You clear your throat. “It’s not about Jack’s birthday. It’s just… you know you weren’t always the best father you could’ve been.” 

He nods. “I do.” 

“But you are now. You’ve made sacrifices, you– you chose Jack.” 

“I couldn’t not.” You’re quiet. He understands. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to talk about it now. Would that be better? You can think about what you have to say, and I promise I’ll listen without judging you when you’re ready to tell me about it. Okay?” He gives your wrist a squeeze. “You aren’t upset, are you?” 

“I’m just thinking.” 

“Are you too distracted for dessert?” 

You let Aaron pick one for you. Let him pay the bill, he’d be insulted if you even asked about splitting it, and he might genuinely get annoyed if you offered yourself. You usually love it. Someone loves you enough that money is practically immaterial. Just last month he had to have the roof of the house redone, and you know his money isn’t infinite, as does he, and yet it didn’t stop you from being spoiled, because any money he has was money shared. You know if he suddenly turned pauper he’d still spoil you, same way you’re spoiled with soft touches and less chores than you should take. 

“You know I don’t think of you as my father, right?” you ask. 

Aaron chokes on a startled laugh. “Of course I do,” he says, coughing, clutching your elbow. 

“So if I tell you that sometimes the way you treat me reminds me of my father, you won’t take it the wrong way?” 

“No.” He smiles where he should frown, wraps an arm behind your back when he should be judging you. “Men are still men. And I am a father, so it makes sense that you’d have those connotations in mind sometimes.” 

“I don’t want you to be my dad, but I do wonder… I wonder if I want to be around you so much because my father didn’t want to be around me. Does that make sense?” 

“I think it makes sense to wonder about it,” he says diplomatically. 

You’re nearly back to the car and this is a strange place to bare your heart, but it’s not so dramatic, you suppose. “I just think that sometimes I cling to you so much, and it must be– I’m insecure about you.”

“Mm, but you have no reason to be,” he says, pulling you closer still, his fingers aligned against your ribs and warming through your layers. 

“My father didn’t like me, not like you like Jack. There were things that were far more important to him. But with you, I’m important, and– and I know it’s not the same relationship, but–” You groan, not sure what you’re trying to say to him, or what you want him to understand. 

“My father didn’t like me, either,” Aaron says, encouraging you to keep walking to the car. “He was not a nice person. And it absolutely affected how I feel now, even if I don’t always think about him. The way he treated me when I was young influenced the person I am now. And looking for the things I wish he was, looking for kindness, for a gentle partner, it doesn’t mean that I need a placeholder for him, does it? I know what you’re saying to me. Don’t think you’re wrong for wanting to be looked after.” 

You can’t help breathing out a sigh of relief. “Right.” 

“I’ve never been a young woman, and I don’t have a daughter, but it’s not hard to imagine how you felt. It’s okay to wish you’d been loved properly.” 

“I was never a daddy’s girl,” you confess. 

“It’s not fair. Everyone wants to be treasured when they're a kid. And it makes sense that you’re still looking for that feeling. We both know it’s not the same, but I really will look after you.” He smiles. “Okay?” 

“Okay. Sorry if it’s too weird.” 

“It’s not weird to want someone who takes care of you.” 

You bring your hands to his face. They’re smaller than his, you’ve shorter fingers with softer palms, but they fit perfectly on his cheeks. You tease the scratchy hill of his chin with your thumb before closing your eyes, reaching up for a kiss. The bags hanging from your elbows crack, crushed as Aaron gets his hands behind your back to hold you. 

“You’re too good to me,” you say softly, returning flat to your heels. 

Aaron pulls your face back to kiss your cheek. “You deserve everything you get, honey. I promise.” 

[coralaura]

Primadonna

"You say that I'm kinda difficult”

Your father was never a present figure; sometimes, he would see you, give you a pat on the head, and disappear into the darkness of the mansion.

In reality, he vanished for the entire day, especially when the sun set, and the moon greeted the sky. Like all the other inhabitants of the mansion, nighttime was when you were left alone and could wander without anyone noticing or caring.

Every now and then, you’d see Alfred, but he, too, would soon disappear. It didn’t bother you; in fact, it gave you free time, allowing you to take late modeling jobs without anyone asking the typical questions: “Why are you coming home so late?” or “What were you doing outside so late?”

Sometimes, you went out with friends (if you could call them that people you used and who defended you when someone doubted your innocence). Rarely, you stayed in the enormous mansion, but honestly, you didn’t care where you were.

And it wasn’t like they cared about what you did or where you were, so maybe that’s why you didn’t care when Dick left the mansion. When Jason arrived—his unwanted presence and lack of manners—it was annoying, especially when he dared to compare his mother to yours. How dare he compare the two?! Despite that insult, spoken right to your face, you simply smiled. But inside, you were about to beat him senseless, to put that fool in his place for comparing your beloved mother to his and when he died, you cried at the funeral, pretending to be in pain, mourning the loss of a life.

But deep down, you felt nothing for him. Sure, his death was gruesome and ruthless, but it wasn’t like you felt anything beyond antipathy for the poor devil in the coffin. When Tim arrived at the mansion, you couldn’t have cared less. After all, you would only see him for a few weeks before heading off to university, so your interactions were minimal, barely enough to count on one hand.

Alfred saw you off with a smile, though there was a hint of sadness in it. He didn’t try to stop you or convince you not to move out; in fact, he encouraged you to pursue your career, as long as you sent some sign of life a letter or a text message. But let’s be honest, student life was expensive, and as a model, you made little money for just a few hours of work. So, when you had to choose between your studies and a full-time modeling career, the choice was obvious you went with the long-term option and pursued your modeling career. No one was supposed to know. You’d write to Alfred, telling him you were still studying, just to keep him from worrying.

In reality, you could have been in Metropolis, about to step into a photoshoot. But of course, things couldn’t stay perfect forever. Some idiot spotted you and then compared you to Bruce Wayne. And for the first time in years, people seemed to have more than two brain cells because the question immediately popped up all over the internet:

"Is it just me, or do Bruce Wayne and Y/N look alike?"

And unfortunately, they attached your image right next to that billionaire’s. To say that the media explosion and the interview requests for both you and Bruce were the worst possible thing that could happen was an understatement. As headlines and news reports flooded in, you bit your nails in frustration, enraged by your inability to control the situation.

So, when they asked about your parents or if you were a poor orphan, you responded with a warm smile—though deep inside, you were disgusted that you couldn’t just avoid answering or shut those nosy reporters down.

"I have no parents."

Most people, moved by your kind smile and the false tears welling in your eyes, dropped the subject and moved on with their lives. But the press always loved fresh, juicy gossip, especially when it involved Bruce Wayne.

Since your father didn’t comment or give an interview, part of you assumed he either didn’t care or considered it a minor issue his PR team could handle. For a moment, you thought you had dodged this problem. Until you saw him in the middle of a photoshoot—waiting for you to finish so he could talk to you. And, of course, right behind him was his family… or rather, his walking orphanage.

Alfred believed in you. He loved you like a father loves his child. You were practically the normal kid he had always wished Bruce could be so sweet, so innocent. But when he saw your face in the morning paper, next to your father’s, with the full story laid out, for the first time… he felt disappointed in you.

Why would you hide something like this?

Did you not trust him?...

It hurt him, but deep down, he knew you must have had a reason for keeping your modeling career a secret. Maybe his thoughts consumed him for too long because Damian’s voice pulled him back to reality.

“What are you reading, Pennyworth?"

“It seems the press has discovered the connection between Master Bruce and Master Y/N.”

Damian frowned in confusion. He had never heard of you. Taking the newspaper from Alfred’s hands, he scanned the headline and the full story, noting your features and how similar you looked to his father. The picture they used of you was… bold, striking. He wondered if you were really family, but Alfred had called you "Master Y/N," so you must have been. Damian didn’t waste time.

He stormed to his father, slamming the newspaper onto his desk, demanding answers. Bruce raised an eyebrow at his behavior until he read the headline and saw your picture. The only thing Bruce thought in that moment was how much you had grown.

How tall were you now?

He picked up the paper, reading the article, noticing how you denied any connection to him or his family. He didn’t understand.

Had he done something to make you reject him?

Thinking about it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The more he read, the more that bitterness spread.

“Who are them, Father?”

Finally, Damian asked. The answer was simple yet so complicated. You were his child, his firstborn, and yet he had no idea how to be a proper father. He had never seen you in the mansion, maybe because he never had time, maybe because he felt guilty, knowing he could never raise a normal child. He could only raise someone to become a vigilante.

"They are your siblings."

And that was the beginning of the end of your modeling career. Because, in the end, it was only natural for your father to crave control, both as Bruce and as Batman. It was something you had inherited from him.

When you saw your father there, standing in the middle of your shoot, clearly annoyed that you had noticed him and yet continued with your session, you knew he would eventually step in. Still, you wanted to push his patience, to see how long he could endure before leaving. But you hadn’t counted on your manager asking you to stop the session to talk to him instead. You sighed. He was just doing his job, though a part of you couldn’t help but glare at him, hating that he was wasting your time.

"What is it, Ethan?"

You didn’t even acknowledge Bruce. Instead, you spoke to your manager, Ethan, who forced a tense smile, silently begging you to be respectful.

"Bruce Wayne is here to see you."

He emphasized the last name, almost as if reminding you of your place beneath the great Wayne name. Not that he knew the truth, that Bruce’s blood ran through your veins and that your striking resemblance was nothing but shared genetics.

"Mr. Wayne, Mr. Grayson, and company, what brings you here?"

You didn’t bother greeting them. You recognized a few faces, but most were either forgotten or simply unknown to you. And honestly, you didn’t care.

"Y/N, we need to talk."

Your father's deep voice and condescending gaze turned to you, hating that he spoke to you that way, as if you were a child, when in reality you were more than him, more than any of them, you were Y/N, the person that everyone would pay for because at some point you would look at them or simply greet them, there were people who would kill for a simple touch from you.You hid your displeasure in the mask that you always wore on your face that was difficult to remove, the one that had buried itself in your face and had taken root until you simply couldn't get it off, at least not until you were alone and no one could see your true and unpleasant personality that eclipsed your cute face and false golden boy personality.

You thought about the possibility of being rude to them, after all it's not like they could prove that you were something of theirs, you still had your mother's last name and they had never seen you with the Waynes until now, besides, who could blame you? Being rude was your privilege for being a model and also being attractive, it would be your first time being rude to someone, besides, everyone knew you, you were so kind that the ones who would end up being reproached for things would be the Waynes, so you decided.

“I don’t want to and if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do”

For the first time, your father stopped looking at you with that condescending look and in its place there was something you couldn’t identify. Anger? Indignation? Frustration? Surprise? You didn’t know and honestly you didn’t care, you were surely the first or at least one of the few people who says no to your father’s face and in front of so many people, that thought made you smile to yourself, it was the satisfaction and pride of making that cold expression of your father go away.

“But it's always someone else's fault”

[andypantsx3]

FILLING IN | BAKUGOU x READER ˖˚˳⊹

summary: A production assistant for an erotic arts studio, you think you've seen every ridiculous plot line under the sun. But not even porn tropes can compare to the absurd reality you find yourself in when the on-screen talent drops out, and you're asked to fill in opposite the studio's number one star Bakugou Katsuki.  contents: The classic oh-no-the-porn-talent-has-gone-missing-let's-sub-a-rando-in trope, no quirks au, pornstar Bakugou, soft dom Bakugou, gn + afab reader, unrequited-requited crush, slight bondage, descriptions of afab genitalia, nipple sucking, cunnilingus, piv sex, pet names used: angel and sweetheart, porn with surprise feelings, 18+, 8.2k words notes: This is my Bakugou x Reader commitment for @ficsforgaza, and I am sorry it is late enough to also count for Valentine's Day (but also Happy Valentine's Day!!) Additionally, a special thank you to my angel princess @ofmermaidstories for handing me the nerd + pornstar combo when I was worried about Bakugou's characterization. I think this is the only way I could have ever written a pornstar Bakugou that felt right to me. Love you, Mermie.

The studio was churning in chaos by the time you arrived.

The first sign that things weren’t right was Komori, one of your fellow production assistants, propped against the wall outside. Her cellphone was pressed against her ear, and she looked nervous, her foot tapping a thousand miles a minute. She had a thumbnail pressed to her mouth and was chewing steadily through the nail like a rabbit through a lettuce leaf.

You didn’t want to disturb her, so you buzzed inside the studio, only to find the hallways filled with an equally nervous energy. Yaoyorozu, one of the production managers, hovered in the doorway of a dressing room. She looked to be arguing with someone, her normally sweet expression pinched in profile. A small circle of people took up the hallway behind her, shifting apprehensively.

A shrill voice filtered out of the dressing room as you tried to wedge yourself by. “I said I’m not doing it. We’re getting married and we agreed I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Bibimi—” Yaoyorozu started.

“Effective immediately. Find someone else,” Bibimi’s voice replied.

You stopped in your tracks, blinking as you turned back to the doorway, peering over Sato’s shoulder.

Bibimi Kenranzaki was one of the studio’s top actresses, the very performer scheduled to shoot the production you were working on this afternoon. The shoot was a Valentine’s Day special, and had already been delayed at Bibimi’s request several times. If you’d understood Yaoyorozu’s previous concerns correctly, today was the last possible day to shoot it with enough time for it to make it through editing to post on Valentine’s.

This was not good.

“Bibimi, of course we would never force you to do something you did not consent to,” Yaoyorozu said patiently. “But you can see how having delayed this shoot many times already puts us in danger of not delivering on our commitments.”

You heard a dismissive snort issue from the room, and peered over one of Yaoyorozu’s slender shoulders. Bibimi lounged across one of the waiting room couches, arms crossed over her chest. An enormous diamond ring you’d never seen before glinted from one of her fingers, clearly the source of today’s change of heart.

Oh, production was not going to be happy.

You winced as you ducked out from behind Yaoyorozu, heading back down the hall to stuff your things into one of the vacant lockers. It was a struggle to fit everything in as today you’d come directly from a lecture—two textbooks the size and weight of cinderblocks choking up all the space in your bag. You would have thought that, considering that a wide swath of the production staff were college students—including several of the performers themselves—the studio would have had a better set up. But it was often a fight to the death to even find an open locker amongst the many other bookbags, and an equally Sisyphean struggle to get the door shut on the tiny cubbies.

Once you finally managed to finagle the door shut on your backpack, you made a beeline for the supply room. Typically, your first task of any shoot was acquisition of about a million pounds of baby wipes and lube, though you wondered if they would be needed today, given the scene with Bibimi you’d just witnessed.

You checked the film schedule posted in the staff entry to find the allotted set room. Then you made your way down the twisting maze halls carpeted with ancient olefin to the set for You Cumplete Me, the obnoxious working title Kaminari had come up with for this particular Valentine’s Day project.

The room was set up like some generic apartment, a large bed with a wire-framed headboard dominating the majority of the space. A cherry wood nightstand cluttered with fake knick knacks stood diligently at the bedside, and two fake windows with their curtains drawn shut overlooked the whole affair, red dressings fluttering slightly in the breeze from a fan.

Most of the production staff was already inside the room, the cameramen and director huddled together in the corner, whispering nervously. You spotted Mina, the wardrobe coordinator and makeup artist, fussing with her phone in the other corner, her various products and brushes spread out across a plastic folding table, looking put out.

“You know if we’re going to be able to sub anyone in for Bibimi?” you asked as you approached her, flopping down in one of the chairs set up at her makeshift dressing table. You arrayed your armful of lube and plastic packs of wipes at the corner so as not to disturb her arrangement.

Mina’s eyes flicked up to yours and she grinned, the upturn of her mouth accented with perfectly-applied hot pink lipstick.

“Komori’s called like ten other actresses so far and can’t get anyone,” Mina answered. “And Shiozaki and Kendo are in-studio but both just got off another shoot so we contractually can’t use them. I think Yaomomo is ready to start shaking people down.”

You winced. Yaoyorozu never lost her cool, but the pressure must be mounting. You knew marketing materials had already been put out on the studio’s website, specifically promising the return of the studio’s highest-grossing star—Bakugou Katsuki—opposite Bibimi.

While Bibimi might be the highest paid actress, Bakugou was the real draw of UA Productions. UA churned out projects that were largely targeted towards less traditional markets—largely women—porn that was often of higher production value, higher quality scripting, and careful coordination showcasing enthusiasm and consent. It also subsequently employed more than its fair share of beautiful men.

And Bakugou Katsuki crowned that pile of performers. Though foul-mouthed and often irascible, he was undeniably breathtaking to behold, both on screen and in person. He was the typical blend of tall, strong, and well-muscled that most UA actors were. But he moved with a singular precision and intention that drove fans wild, and came equipped with bed-rumpled blond hair, mile-long lashes, a surly, pouty mouth, and a facial symmetry that Euclid himself would have wept over.

He was also nearing the end of his doctoral and would not be filming for much longer, you were given to understand. So the studio stood to lose a significant amount of audience trust and money, should this production fall through.

As if on cue, Bakugou Katsuki himself stomped through the doorway. The expression on his face told you he was already well-aware of what was happening with Bibimi, and he was getting annoyed with the hold up. He set a direct line for you and Mina, mouth twisted in dissatisfaction.

Your ears promptly went hot, the way they always did when Bakugou was in your line of vision.

You’d unfortunately had something of a crush on him from the minute you’d become a production assistant at UA, your third year of college. Funds were tight and your masters program loomed large in front of you, its meager stipend like a slap in the face. You’d needed something else flexible, and you’d found UA through the friend of a friend—its proximity to the university, and ever changing schedule of ongoing productions offering the perfect amount of flexibility for your situation.

Bakugou had been there that first day as Yaoyorozu gave you the tour, too. He’d been tucked up on the couch of the waiting room as you passed through, blonde hair rumpled, someone’s lip gloss still smeared at the corner of his jaw. He looked like a soft, relaxed mess—clothes askew like he’d pulled them back on after a shoot and immediately migrated to the couch—though his scarlet eyes tracked intently across the page of an enormous engineering text spread across his thighs. His long fingers twirled a pen absently, tapping against a notebook peeking out from just under the textbook, headphones jammed over his ears.

He did not look up as you made your way inside, but your stomach had flared to life with a sudden flutter of butterflies. You were startled by the pretty set of his mouth, the long lashes that swept over his cheeks as he read, the flex of those long, beautiful fingers on his pen. You had never seen a person so perfect in real life, and the effect was dumbing.

“That’s Bakugou, one of our performers,” Yaoyorozu had told you, leading you through the room. She did not stop to introduce you. “He’s working on a PhD in chemical engineering, and performs once every couple of months for us. He’s—erm—not quite friendly, so we’ll skip the introduction today.”

You’d followed her, nodding obediently, leaving Bakugou behind. You’d dutifully concluded your tour and signed all the paperwork, and met several other members of the staff. It was only when you’d been released from your onboarding obligations that you saw Bakugou again, as you ran out into the parking lot to start your car.

It was raining out, a torrential downpour much worse than when you’d arrived that came down in thick, pelting sheets. Visibility was bad enough that you almost missed the tuft of blonde hair across the parking lot, ducking under the awning of the nearby bus stop.

You knew the route headed back towards your university, and subsequently your apartment, and it dawned on you that Bakugou’s would most likely be attaining his cited PhD at your same college. You felt your mouth twist, impressed. PhD tracks were notoriously difficult to attain at Musutafu University—no wonder Bakugou needed a job that was, for lack of better phrasing, quick and dirty. He probably was drowning in post-grad labs and dissertation materials.

The memory of those long fingers tapping at the edge of his text suddenly flickered again in your brain, and something possessed you as you started up your engine. Before you knew what you were doing, you had pulled your car around into the bus stop bay, leaning out to call out to him.

“Hey—Bakugou, right?” you said, watching as scarlet eyes found yours, narrowing suspiciously. His pretty mouth lifted in an immediate, reflexive snarl, and those broad shoulders squared off, like he was getting ready for trouble.

You cut in, quickly explaining yourself when you realized he had no context for the rando hanging out of their car window at him. “I’m Yaoyorozu’s new production staff. Just joined today. Are you headed towards Musutafu U and do you want a ride?”

A blonde eyebrow lifted. “You’re with UA?” he asked. His voice was a kind of low growl, not unlike the thunder suddenly echoing overhead, and the sound shot through you like a bolt of lightning.

“I—yeah. Just signed the paperwork this afternoon.”

Several spatters of rain dampened your cheeks where you had your head poked out of the window, and Bakugou’s eyes tracked them closely as he leaned in. “Then let’s get one thing straight right off the bat—I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You recoiled, horrified at the conclusion he’d immediately brought himself to. “No! That’s not what I—I didn’t mean like—! I just thought because it’s raining out, you might want—”

“I want you to fuck right off, is what I want,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest. He made a show of leaning back against the glass wall of the bus stop, its interior papered over with moldering ads. It was a clear dismissal.

You blinked at him stupidly for a moment, mind reeling that your gesture had been received so poorly. But then you realized he hadn’t seen you, in your trek through the staff room during your afternoon tour. You’d only just seen him, and you hadn’t spoken to him besides. Despite your immediate interest in and respect for him, he knew nothing about you.

And he was a pornstar, come to think of it. He probably had had a fair number of creeps proposition him out of the blue. Enough that he was suspicious now, as you might have been, were you in his position.

Your cheeks heated, suddenly ashamed. You nodded, gritting your teeth as you ducked back inside your car.

“Right, fucking off, as requested,” you said, turning your blinker on to move back out into the road. “Sorry to scare you. See you, um—see you at work sometime.”

“Oi—I ain’t fuckin’ scared,” you heard him growl, but then you were turning back out into the street. You rolled your window back up as you sped up, resisting the urge to look back at Bakugou in the rearview.

What a humiliating first impression that had been.

You'd fretted about it for another week before your first official day at UA, and for several weeks more when you didn’t immediately run into Bakugou. When you’d finally met him properly, however, Bakugou acted like he’d never even seen you before in his life, and you somewhat gratefully followed his lead. He treated you like anyone else, with the same kind of universal severity he turned on the other production staff. You discovered very quickly that he was impatient, brusque, no-nonsense. He stalked onto every set with all the latent energy of a nuclear missile strike, and never softened until after the shoot was over.

His general attitude, and your humiliating first encounter should have been enough to turn you off of him. But the occasional glimpse of him after a shoot—rumpled, relaxed, open in a way he normally wasn’t, in the way that you'd first seen him—was unfortunately enough to keep those initial butterflies aflutter.

The fact that he was smart—and annoyingly adept in the bedroom, considering the number of reshoots his costars often needed after they accidently came too early—did not help matters.

“Where the fuck is Yaoyorozu?” he demanded of you and Mina, as he approached you in the set room now.

You met his scarlet gaze, holding very still under his regard.

“She was negotiating with Bibimi just now when I came in,” you told him, cheeks heating as his eyes flicked over you. He had a very direct way of evaluating people, and rarely missed a detail. You hoped your makeup wasn’t smudged from where you’d had your head propped up in your hand, valiantly resisting falling asleep in your earlier lecture.

“Bibimi’s a waste of fuckin’ time,” Bakugou growled.

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t very well act opposite his own hand, so someone was going to have to fill in.

“Well Mina says we’re not having luck finding anyone else either so Bibimi is your best bet,” you told him.

Bakugou looked down his perfect nose at you. “Anyone in this damn studio could do better than she does.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. Bibimi was popular with a variety of audiences for her exaggeratedly dollish features—you doubted just anyone could fill in for her and look as good. You said as much to Bakugou, and he scoffed.

“‘S not about looking good, it’s about showing that you’re feeling good,” he said plainly, igniting a wave of fire across your cheeks. The flames worsened when he crossed his arms over his chest and you had occasion to notice he was in nothing but a workout tank, his bare biceps flexing enticingly in the studio lighting.

You were thankfully spared from having to form a coherent response by Yaoyorozu stepping into the room. She was tailed by Komori, and wore a troubled expression. She waved an elegant hand that encompassed both your camp in the corner and the directors on the other side of the room.

“Bibimi is unfortunately out. And we cannot use Shiozaki or Kendo. I am afraid we may have to call off the shoot this afternoon,” she said.

“So get someone else in,” Bakugou said, with his usual brisk directness. He turned to face her. You caught the whiff of something light and clean on him as he did so, laundry detergent and recently-applied shampoo.

Yaoyorozu fixed him with an expectant look. “We’ve unfortunately worked our way through the roster of available performers. Unless you know someone else?”

Bakugou stared back at her evenly, arching a blonde brow. “There’re a bunch of extras already here, aren’t there?”

A little shock went through you. Extras. As in the…people in the room right now? Did he really mean the production staff?

Yaoyorozu blinked, apparently taken aback. Then her gaze slid thoughtfully between Komori, Mina, and you. Another little thrill raced through you, like you’d suddenly missed a step. Surely they both could not actually be considering that.

“I’m a hoe but I’m a loyal hoe,” Mina said from next to you, immediately putting up a rosy palm. “Eiji is my one and only, sorry babes.”

Yaoyorozu nodded. “Of course, I would not expect you to violate any commitments you already had to a significant other.”

“I am also seeing someone,” Komori volunteered, a shy little blush sweeping across her cheeks. You smiled a bit at her obvious regard for whoever it was—until you sensed a dozen pairs of eyes suddenly turning to you.

Your stomach dropped—less of a missed step then and more of a sudden push off a cliff.

Worst of all was the pair of scarlet eyes suddenly burning with undue regard in your direction. You stared straight at Yaoyorozu, unable to meet Bakugou’s gaze. You still felt like you might burn up under his scrutiny, like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“I—uh—” you said dumbly, floundering for the right set of words to explain yourself. “Uhh.”

“You seeing anybody?” Bakugou prodded, prompting a fresh wave of heat to your cheeks.

“Well—no—”

“You clean?” he asked.

Your face burned hotter. “Yes, if you must know—-but uh—”

“Then what?” he prompted.

“Is it that easy for you? To just switch partners like that?” you asked. You weren’t exactly a blushing virgin but you still had only slept with partners you had cared for. Bakugou had worked with you for years and never signaled anything beyond dismissal and semi-professionalism—so it wasn’t like he had that same level of interest in you, despite your enormous crush on him. How could he just switch, just like that?

Bakugou uncrossed his arms to settle his hands on slim hips instead, and he gave you another evaluating once over. “Something the matter with you?” he asked. You noticed he did not ask if you thought something was the matter with him. You wondered if your crush on him was that apparent.

“No,” you said defensively. “Just—I don’t know that I’d be any good on camera.”

“You’ve been in videos before,” Mina pointed out, tugging playfully on your belt loop. “You were in Bibimi’s Christmas special a couple years ago.”

“That was different,” you said, staring at her. “I was her evil coworker who sent her running into Tetsutetsu’s muscular arms. I didn’t have to get naked.”

“We can give you time to get prepared,” Yaoyorozu promised kindly. “If you wanted to um, clean up or trim—”

“It’s not that!” you said quickly, waving your arms. Your ears burned. “I just mean I would be shy.”

Bakugou watched you silently for another long moment, his full mouth pursed in thought. His gaze dragged down your body and then back up to your face, and you felt it like a physical touch.

“Then if you forgot you were on camera?” he asked, a rasp in his tone.

You blinked at him dumbly. “If I—forgot?”

“If I made you forget,” he said, flashing a sharp smirk. The arrogance looked so good on him, zinging through your veins like an electric current. Your cheeks and ears flared even hotter, until you thought you might actually be emitting smoke from them.

You tried to form words but seemed to have trouble shaping the proper ones with your tongue, making a series of choking noises before you managed. “There is no way you could—you’re not that good.”

Something hot flared to life behind Bakugou’s eyes, and his smirk curled even sharper. “We’ll see about that.”

“What if Bakugou helps you get over your nerves, and we just try it and see how you do.” Yaoyorozu prompted gently. “Is that something you would be willing to do? Of course we won’t pressure you.”

Your gaze jerked back to her as you startled. For just a second you’d sort of forgotten there was anyone in the room but Bakugou.

“I sort of doubt—but if you really need—I mean I could—try…” you fumbled out.

Yaoyorozu nodded gratefully, looking pleased again. “Alright, then let’s at least try it. Mina please find proper costuming and help get Y/N ready. I will draw up a short contract with the same terms we promise all our on camera talent for you to look over when you’re done.”

You nodded, a little dazed. Had you really just agreed to—?

But then Mina was laughing, grabbing you by the elbow and drawing you out of the room. She marched you towards the back of the studio building where she’d amassed a respectable wardrobe, racks upon racks of clothes. “Alright, this is going to be so fun! I love dressing new talent! It’s always fun to work out what’s going to work with your coloring and style on screen.”

The mention of you doing anything on screen had all the blood draining from your veins, but Mina didn’t seem to mind. She kept up a stream of happy, easy chatter as she pecked around in the racks like a chicken hunting a grasshopper. Eventually she emerged with a robe in a deep pink, slippery and silky and glistening faintly under the overheads.

“Okay so you’re supposed to be a loving couple celebrating your anniversary and looking for ways to spice things up,” she said. “So you’ll be waiting for him to come home, looking delicious in this little slip of a thing. He can unwrap you like a V-Day present!”

Her callback to the plot of the shoot suddenly made you realize there were way more things involved in the project than just being pawed at on screen—and you did not know any of Bibimi’s lines. How the hell were you supposed to deliver any kind of performance?

“Don’t worry about it, I assure you the gears are already churning in Momo’s big brain,” Mina said when you asked as much. She peeled you out of your sweater and jeans, and ushered you into the robe. Cheeks burning, you let her look you over to make sure you were properly groomed for the camera.

Then before you could get cold feet, she bundled you up and shepherded you back into the set room and set to work on you with her various pots of paint and ointments. She worked a couple things into your hair, applied something glossy and sticky to your mouth, and adjusted the fit of your robe to her liking until she pronounced you ready.

Yaoyorozu was already leaning over you by the time Mina released you, laying out a packet of sheets in front of you. She detailed the terms to you in the professional, clipped tone you’d heard her conduct business in before, and soon enough you were penning in your own name in a shaky hand. The strokes looked almost foreign on the page, and you felt a little more than lightheaded thinking about what you’d just signed yourself into.

“So—what am I supposed to do about Bibimi’s lines?” you asked, your voice coming out kind of dry and crackly.

“We’re going to improvise,” Yaoyorozu said. “Bakugou will guide you. Try to respond as best you can to what he says, along the framework of being a couple celebrating their anniversary. It’s most important to capture your intimacy, however, so we can always come back and reshoot any dialog as needed after. You can call him Katsuki, there are no aliases for this shoot.”

You nodded, feeling even more nervous now that all the prerequisites had been completed.

That left Komori waiting for you. She was apparently assuming the duties you’d abandoned by becoming the star of this absurd alternate dimension. She led you over to what had been meant to be Bibimi’s starting mark on the bed and helped you spread your pink robe out enticingly. You almost laughed as you helped her, feeling foolish and distinctly unsexy for the deliberateness of it all.

There was nothing less romantic than half a dozen other people in the room with you, cameras and hot lights trained on you like you were an escaped convict under a helicopter floodlight. You got the impression that it was going to be a monumental task to work up the nerve to even loosen the tie on your robe, nevermind remove it.

Except then Bakugou walked in.

He’d changed, sometime in the half hour or so Mina had had you in her clutches. He prowled into the room in a dark charcoal suit, the consummate businessman home from his generic businessman job.

He looked unfairly good in it too—the close cut of it highlighted how his broad shoulders slashed inwards into a trim waist, and his pants showcased the flex of a strong, hard thigh. He’d acquired a chunky wristwatch in a dark metal, and it glinted dully under the overhead lights.

He looked sleek and dangerous, even though you’d just seen him stomping around in sweatpants not thirty minutes prior. You felt your breath escape you in a whoosh, your heartbeat kicking up as he prowled closer.

“I’m home, angel,” he said, a smoky rasp curling on the end of his voice. Despite the pet name, he sounded enough like his usual self that you almost answered him in turn.

You vaguely remembered you were obliged to playact with him, and you summoned up your nerve. “Hi, Katsuki,” you said. You hoped your voice did not sound too shaky. “Happy Anniversary.”

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes dipped down to your robe, fastening to the spot where it gaped open suggestively over one thigh. Your skin buzzed like a hive of bees was trapped beneath it.

“This my present?” he asked, stalking closer. He snagged the tie of your robe in his long fingers, toying with it speculatively.

“It should be easy to open,” you joked, then almost cringed.

Sexy. You were supposed to be sexy, not goofy as hell. And what happened when he really did try to open it?

A small amount of panic crept up your spine again, seeping into your veins. You did not feel ready to be naked before all of the eyes in this room, nevermind the roving gaze of the internet. What had you been thinking, signing up for this?

Your hand came up defensively to tug the robe tie back out of Bakugou’s hand, only for it to be captured too. Bakugou tugged you up and to him, and your face broke out in another sweeping wave of flame as you felt the hard planes of him against you. He was so warm, and smelled so good up close and you could not even begin to know what to do or where to put your hands—

Before you could ask him what the heck he was doing, however, he brought your captured hand to his mouth. You almost leapt out of your skin when you felt the gentle press of his lips on the inside of your wrist, the careful flicker of a tongue. Those scarlet eyes slid over you knowingly, near enough that you could see tiny flecks of deep purple in them.

His other hand came up to take your chin, his thumb stroking over the side of your jaw. The feeling made you shiver slightly, and it must have been clearly visible because the corner of Bakugou's mouth lifted into a smirk against your wrist. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, every inch of your skin thrilling with the feeling of your longtime crush doing something this to you.

“Think I’m gonna enjoying opening you alright,” Bakugou intoned.

You struggled to remember what he was talking about, giving up almost immediately as his mouth trailed along the inside of your arm. It traced up and up and up, until he was hovering dangerously close to your face. His fingers tightened on your chin, tilting your face up to his.

And then he bent his head, and crushed his mouth to yours.

Immediately, everything else disappeared.

Kissing Bakugou was three thousand zillion times hotter than you could have ever even imagined. You’d sort of imagined that with an attitude like his, he would be all power and impatience. And the power was there, but leashed, somehow. His mouth was hot and shockingly sweet on yours, and his fingers cupped your face to his, holding you there like he planned to kiss you for hours yet.

Your head was spinning by the time he let your mouth free, and the dip of his blonde lashes as he looked you over was extraordinarily self-satisfied.

His hand on your chin went to your robe instead, pulling the collar wide so that he could lower his mouth inside instead, kissing over your throat. You seized fistfuls of his suit, clinging to him, as he mapped a hot path across your shoulder and collarbone, one of his hands coming up to up your chest.

You heard yourself let out a soft hiss as his thumb pressed over your nipple through the silky fabric. Bakugou sucked a careful bruise into the side of your neck as he did it again, letting out a barely audible snort when you jerked in his hold, unconsciously arching into his hand.

“So sensitive for me, angel,” he drawled as his other hand came up to carefully pinch your other nipple.

You heard yourself make a small, choked off noise like a whine, and you could feel Bakugou’s lips pull into an answering smirk against your throat. You didn’t think you had been quite this responsive to a partner before—but something about the careful, purposeful way he was touching you had your blood running quicker in your veins.

Bakugou’s thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles over your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make you groan. He teased you again and again as his mouth traced higher on your neck.

Within minutes you were panting, a slow, syrupy pleasure dripping down into your core.

Bakugou tugged your robe wider, then bent his head. You felt the tickle of his hair against your collarbone, softer than you would have thought, as his mouth closed over the point of one nipple. The draw of his mouth had you arching up into him immediately, pleasure zinging through your veins.

“Oh my god,” you said, seizing a fistful of that blonde hair.

Bakugou’s tongue teased at the nipple, and you writhed in his hold. Then he did the same to your other one, and you thought you might die. He hadn’t even touched you yet and you already wanted to crawl out of your skin with impatience.

“Katsuki—please,” you heard yourself say, almost distantly. “Katsuki—oh!”

“Please what, angel?” he said into the skin of your chest, before laying his mouth back over your nipple and giving a sweet suck.

“Oh my god—please!” you said, stupidly. Not an answer to his question but you’d forgotten how to string words together, your brain-to-mouth connection running on autopilot.

“Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart,” Bakugou said, and you heard the relish in it. Your face burned, and you yanked his hair a little more firmly. He just groaned, and then sucked you a little harder.

“Touch me! Please—Katsuki,” you panted out, hips flexing unconsciously with the pull of your nipple.

“Thought this was my gift, angel. I can’t enjoy it how I want?” he asked.

You considered his words muzzily, having no idea what he was talking about. Gift? What gift was he talking about?

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes flicked up to yours, and something in your expression must have told him you had no idea what he was on about. His mouth pulled up into a self-satisfied grin, and he leaned up to kiss you again.

You flattened yourself out against his chest, all but velcroing yourself to him. You wanted to feel every inch of that hard body against you, wanted to climb as far into him as you could. Something gratifyingly hard pressed against your stomach as you kissed him, and he grunted, locking you to him with a muscled arm across your back.

“Want me to touch you, angel?” he asked.

You nodded. A smile played across his lips.

“Get on the bed for me then, sweetheart.”

It took a minute for you to process but then you were scrambling to obey, scrabbling your way onto the bed, turning and watching as Bakugou stepped nearer.

He shed his jacket as he approached, yanking off his tie too and flinging it somewhere behind him. Then he crawled over you, his fingers seizing the ties of your robe as he did. He pulled it open gently, then yanked a little harder until the silk tie slid free.

His eyes picked over it speculatively, then flashed back up to you. A look of intent interest settled over his features.

“You ever been tied up before, angel?” he asked.

You shook your head, even as it swam with the implication. Your skin prickled, somehow growing even hotter. He didn’t mean to…?

“You gonna let me?” he asked.

You rather thought you would let him do anything he wanted with you. The question was barely out of his mouth before you were nodding hurriedly. A shocked laugh punched out of him, and he gathered up your wrists, scooting you backwards until they pressed against the headboard.

He looped the silk around your wrists, gathering it into a series of complicated knots. He moved with a purpose and precision, his movements sure and practiced. You tested the give of the ties when he sat back on his haunches, finding that they held firm, even when you put a little more muscle into it.

Bakugou’s gaze blazed over you, hot like coals. His eyes traced over your body, spread out under him now, your silk robe pooling at either side of you in a pink puddle.

He bent his head and kissed you again, until you were fuzzy with the feeling once more. Then he worked his way downwards, softly biting your shoulder, licking over one nipple, pressing deep kisses into your belly and then indent of your left hip.

A shock of pleasure raced through you when you realized where he was going with this, and you let out an involuntarily little gasp as he hooked your thighs over his broad shoulders.

“Katsuki,” you began, though you had no idea what you meant to follow it up with. Bakugou didn’t wait for you to finish, ducking his head and licking a hot stripe up the cleft of you.

Immediately you arched, thighs flexing under his hands. Your face heated when he laughed again, but any embarrassment was instantly forgotten when he licked over you again, slower and more deliberate this time.

“Oh my god,” you said again, biting off into a groan when his tongue dipped deeper between your folds, flicking up over your clit.

“Yeah, angel?” Bakugou asked, his voice a heady rasp. “You like that?” He layered another open mouthed kiss over you, slow and thorough, until you were arching up into his mouth again.

It would have been evident to anyone on earth how much you liked it from the noises you made, the way you kicked and squirmed with the movement of his mouth. He sucked your clit gently into his mouth, then laved over it firmly as he pressed his fingers to you, the pads of his index and middle slowly sinking into you.

Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when he gave another slow suck, the feeling almost too much. His fingers pressed deeper into you, easily slipping in with how comically wet you were for him. The gentle suction of his mouth made everything a million times better, everything a million times worse, as he carefully curled his fingers within you. He seemed to immediately find a spot within you that felt like he was touching your clit from the other side too, and the feeling was immediately far too much.

“Holy shit,” you heard yourself say, cutting off into an honest to god whine when his tongue swirled around your clit, just as he teased a finger along you from the inside too. “Katsuki—oh! Katsuki please! Please oh my god oh my god.”

Bakugou’s ministrations grew a fraction firmer, and you heard him groan too as he kissed you messily.

“So fucking hot for me, sweetheart. So sweet,” he said, then sucked again, a tiny bit harder this time. His fingers stroked you from the inside, a firm, deliberate rhythm that had you turning your face and muffling a keen into the meat of your arm.

Your hips flexed against his face, wild and uncontrolled, wanting less, more, not enough, too much, oh my god—

“Katsuki!” you cried, as you suddenly hit the crest of your pleasure. Your wrists pulled against their bonds, and the feeling of helpless restraint suddenly made everything feel a thousand times more intense. Every single nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire, so that even the air of the room seemed too harsh on your skin. You screamed as you rode out your pleasure against Bakugou’s face.

He worked you through it diligently, licking and sucking until you collapsed back to the mattress, panting like you’d just run a marathon.

“Good, angel?” Bakugou asked.

You nodded breathlessly, turning your face to his when he crawled up your body to kiss you again. The taste of yourself on him was both embarrassing and thrilling, but Bakugou didn’t give you much leeway to consider it, kissing you into a stupid, pliant little puddle against the mattress.

You could feel him hard and hot against your hip as he did so, but he didn’t make any move to get inside you yet. Instead, his hands moved over you, slowly teasing you from satiation back into want. His fingers played with your nipples again, pinching them softly and rolling them. It felt like he'd rigged up some kind of wire, leading from your nipples right to your core, that lit the pilot flame of your interest again.

A couple minutes of diligent teasing, and easy, unhurried kisses had you wiggling under him again soon enough. It was only then, when you realized you were unconsciously rocking your hips against Bakugou’s, that he finally sat back to shuck off his shirt and pants.

He was so unfairly beautiful, bared in the bright light of the room. You’d known he was gorgeous, of course, but up close he was something else entirely. He was chiseled with thick muscle, his chest and arms hard and glowing faintly with perspiration. The light and the shadows of the room played over the divots of his muscles with a deliberate care, like he was a painting instead of a man, highlighting him in loving shades. A set of perfect abs trailed down into the hard jut of hip bones over his pelvis, and his cock was just as upsettingly gorgeous as the rest of him. It was thick and full and flush with his arousal, and he wasted no time crawling back between your thighs.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked. His voice had gone even more gravelly than usual, and it plucked at your core like a string.

“Please, Katsuki,” you said, your voice embarrassingly breathy. You couldn’t help yourself though, couldn’t be ashamed with the easy way your thighs fell apart for him. Your ankles hooked across his back, trying to pull him closer still.

He groaned and surged up over you to grab a condom off the nightstand. He quickly rolled it onto himself in one practiced movement, before immediately pressing himself into you.

He sank in mortifyingly easily, you already half out of your mind with want. He didn’t seem to mind, though—you heard the soft, sibilant hiss of his own pleasure as he filled you, and your robe tugged the skin of your shoulder as he fisted a hand in it, just beside your head.

“Been dying to fuck you, angel,” he said. “Thinking about how hot and tight and sweet you would be for me. Been thinking about it nonstop.”

You made a vague noise of agreement, moving your hips with his as he drew back and pressed inside of you again. The slide of him inside you was mind-numbingly good, the pressure against your stomach as he pressed back in almost sparking stars in your vision. The flex of his abs between your thighs as he found his pace was almost immediately too much for you, and you had to turn your face away. You tilted your face up to his, watching him as he watched you.

Bakugou seemed to read your expression easily, finding the angle and pace you liked incredibly quickly. He slid an arm under the small of your back to angle your hips up into him, yanking you up like you were nothing, and the show of easy strength had your toes flexing and curling against his back.

He kissed you again, catching the sounds of your pleasure in his mouth as he rocked into you. You moved against him, hips bucking, delirious with the feeling of him. Eventually he freed his arm from under you, pressing his thumb to your slit again with deadly precision.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned into his mouth, legs tightening on him as he played with your clit. The almost-too-gentle sensation of his thumb on your clit, coupled with the relentless drive of him inside you had your vision sparking and greying at the edges. His face swam in front of yours, and all of your limbs began to feel shivery, almost too weak to lift yourself into him the way you needed, to rock against him and find relief from the friction.

Bakugou continued to tease at you, carefully pinching and petting. His hips drove into you tirelessly, slapping the bottoms of your thighs, as you strained in your silk bonds, wanting to grab him, pull him even harder into you.

“Katsuki, please please please,” you heard yourself begging. You felt him smile against your mouth, tasted his reply more than heard it.

“You want me to let you cum, angel?” he asked, doing something with his fingers that made your breath catch in your lungs.

“Unhh, yes—please!” you cried, desperation coming over you in a white haze.

You had never—never—been so desperate for anything in your entire life. You didn’t know how Bakugou was doing it, why his touch felt like so much more than anything else you’d ever felt in your life. If he didn’t let you cum you were certain you were going to die, right here and right now.

“You gonna scream for me, sweetheart?” Bakugou asked, his voice raspier than you’d ever heard it. He grit the words out, like he too was on the edge of his own climax, barely staving it off.

“Anything, I will do anything,” you babbled senselessly. “Yes—going to scream for you—Katsuki!”

Bakugou’s gaze was hotter than you’d ever seen it, scarlet eyes clouded with pleasure, glowing like banked coals. “Then you can come for me, angel. Come on, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” you cried in answer, your feet planting themselves on the bed to jut your hips up hard. Bakugou’s thumb pressed hard against your clit, then, firm and merciless, and he fucked into you harder, his pace growing faster, furious.

Your second orgasm hit you like a truck, snapping your spine into alignment, locking all your limbs up as if in rigor mortis.

“Katsuki!” you wailed as you writhed against him, clenching and fluttering around him as you sobbed.

“Oh fuck,” you heard him say, and his hips stuttered. You realized he was coming too, fucking into you sloppily and disjointedly as he rode out his own pleasure. You arched and spasmed with him, clawing uselessly at the silk that bound you, twisting in blissful agony.

When you finally came back to yourself you found yourself slumped on the bed, Bakugou’s weight pinning you down into the mattress. His chest was slicked to yours with sweat, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of it against you as he caught his breath.

“That good, angel?” he asked, his voice heady with satisfaction.

You nodded, absently turning your face back up to his for a kiss. He granted it, kissing you almost possessively. He looked soft and rumpled, just the way you'd always liked him, and something in you purred with satisfaction at finally getting to have him like this for you.

Gradually, you became aware of other sounds in the room as you came down from your high. Quiet murmuring and the sounds of shuffling met your ears, the shutter click of a camera lens slicing through the atmosphere like a knife.

A sudden shock raced through you when you realized you and Bakugou were not alone—and you were on the set of a porn film, half a dozen eyes glued to you just over one of Bakugou’s thick shoulders.

A porn film. You had been shooting a porn film!

“And cut!” you heard the director’s voice ring out, like a bucket of water dumped over your head.

You tensed up beneath Bakugou, mind racing. Holy shit, he had actually managed to make you forget, exactly the way he'd promised.

You could tell Bakugou was thinking the same thing as he went to untie you, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

“Told you, angel,” he said, flashing something of a feral grin. You hated how good the self-conceit looked on him.

You went to draw your wrists back to yourself as he let them free. But Bakugou caught them instead, carefully massaging the skin there as if to make sure things were circulating properly. It was a startling note of unexpected care, as was the way he drew your robe closed around you again against the sudden chill of the room.

You found yourself saying wonderingly, “Wow. It was just that easy for you to switch partners like that.”

The thought somehow stung, even though you’d known going into this what you were getting yourself into. Somehow, the latent care and intention with which Bakugou had fucked you had addled your brain, made you think your connection had been something more. He had felt like he had feelings, beyond those mimed for the camera.

But here was evidence to the contrary, plain and simple. There literally was a camera.

Except then Bakugou looked down at you, a frown marring his pouty mouth. “Well yeah. ‘Course it was gonna be that easy when it’s you we’re talking about.”

You blinked at him, not understanding what he was saying. “Uh. When it’s—me?”

A crease came in between Bakugou’s blonde brows. “I said it, didn’t I? While we were fucking? Wanted to fuck you for a long time. Of course it was easy.”

Your stomach dropped, like a rug had just been yanked out from beneath you. “You—have? What? Since when?” you demanded.

Bakugou leveled you with an unimpressed stare. “Since the second time we met,” he said, and your mind flashed back to the way he’d seemed not to recognize you, that second time you'd spoken to him. “Once I realized you did work for UA and weren’t actually a little fucking creep trying to lure me into your car.”

You felt your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline. “Then—? For years? You cannot be serious. You never acted like we were anything other than coworkers!”

Bakugou scoffed. “We fucking were coworkers. And I told you, I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You blinked again, startled by the level of professionalism couched in the crassess of his statement. It made sense, you supposed, for a pornstar of Bakugou’s caliber to have put boundaries like that in place. Probably everyone in the world would just be dying for a shot at him.

“Wow,” you said, almost to yourself. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, wondered how it was going to be possible to behave professionally with Bakugou at all going forward. It was probably obvious to him how big your crush on him was, given that he’d known all along he could make you forget you were on camera. Given the way you reacted to him embarrassingly easily.

Except then Bakugou leaned forward, putting his face startlingly close to yours. “Emphasis on were, since this is my last shoot,” he said.

You stared at him, wondering if you were interpreting the implication correctly. There was no way he meant—?

“Uhhhh, meaning what, exactly?” you prompted, heart beating just a little bit quicker despite yourself.

Bakugou’s mouth turned up into a gorgeous smirk, and he ducked his head even closer, voice going softer.

“Meaning you’re going to get dressed and I’m going to take us to get something to eat,” he said, fingers playing at the edge of your robe. “And then you’re going to give me that ride home in your car after all. And we are going to do this all over again.”

Flames erupted across your face, sweeping across your cheeks. And you were up out of the bed before you even realized what you were doing, catching yourself on the bedside table as you stumbled.

Bakugou’s laugh chased out of the set room as you raced towards the wardrobe again. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, this time.

Not when your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. You smothered a smile as you ran down the hallway.

Much like Bakugou had just done to you—it looked like your hopes and dreams were finally lining themselves up and filling themselves in.

[mochie85]

Have Mercy

One Shot Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

Summary: You're a powered being with healing abilities and you try to bring Loki back from the brink of death. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: 1832 Warnings: Fluff, heavy kissing, slapping, mentions of death (close call), injury, a very flirty Loki,

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you all started the ambush. Tall sequoias canopied above blocking the setting sun. The air was thick with smoke and heavy from the fighting. You heard multiple teammates calling for healing, but none was louder than Thor. His troubled voice blasted through the comms, “Medic! We need a healer quickly!” His deep command tore you away from the battle you were in and you fought your way over to him. “Priestess, please! Come quick!”

Through fire and volley, you found Thor kneeling on the ground with Loki in his arms. Lifeless. Steve was circling them, trying to shield the brothers from a barrage of attacks.

You knelt on the ground. Your knees hit soft mud as your eyes scanned Loki’s body. His sharp face was paler than usual. Blue-ish tint had started to stain his lips. And your naïve-self hoped it was just because of the cold seeping from the wet ground. “Thor, I’ll take it from here. Go help Steve. I can’t worry about my life when I have to worry about his!”

Thor nodded to you. But before he laid Loki down, he whispered in his ear, “I know you are stronger than this, brother. But I swear on Yggdrasil if you are pretending, I will not hesitate to cleave Stormbreaker into you.” Thor sniffed and placed him down to the ground.

You nodded your head and patted Thor’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine,” you feigned, as you tried to get a better look at what had happened. You didn’t have the heart to tell Thor that you could feel how thin and fragile Loki’s life string was. A hair, compared to the cord that we all have. Worse, the thick rope that the Asgardian’s life used to be. You didn’t even know if you were skilled enough to weave it stronger.

There was a large gaping hole that tore Loki’s chest plate. His skin had burned and was raw from the impact. You couldn’t see any entry wounds. Nor blood. But the bruising and dent on his chest was not a good sign. A stray missile, perhaps? Maybe jumping in the way to save his brother. They vex each other constantly. But deep down they care for each other like most siblings do.

You straddled his body, holding your two hands out, placing them over his wound. A soft resonance emitted from your palm down to his skin. You kept your hands on him as the pulse of your powers worked their way through his body. You can see tiny mends of his scrapes and scratches. The raw skin around the wound had returned to their usual pallor.  He’s reacting at least. There’s still some life in him- whatever little is left.

You persisted. With every pulse, you can see his wounds healing. Ribs cracking back into place. The blue on his lips retreated ever so slowly. But his lifeline was stubborn. If you could hold out just long enough, his own regenerative powers might kick in.

Grasping at straws, your mind quickly raced with ideas to help speed the process along. You remembered that sometimes, shock was a good way of knocking someone back into the land of the living. “Ugh, don’t get mad at me, okay? I’m only trying to save your life,” you vowed out loud in case he was able to hear you. You quickly pulled your palm back and slapped Loki hard across his cheek.

Small capillaries burst where your hand met his face. Aside from the new hue, Loki had remained the same. Still and quiet. His line fading from your grasp. You panicked at your failed attempt.

You didn’t know what to do anymore. You didn’t know how to tell Thor that you couldn’t save his only brother. Ideas and thoughts ran past your mind all muddled and incoherent. Ways and spells. Teachings and theories you’ve learned on healing and regeneration.

You cupped Loki’s cheek, healing the bruise you had left. Your brows knit together, puzzled as to what to do next. Hopeless in feeling and thought. You didn’t want to look up. You didn’t want to see Thor’s face and have to tell him an awful truth. They had just reunited this past year. It wasn’t fair. And it would be all your fault because you couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Loki. Your heart turned solemn as angry tears threatened to drop from your eyes.

By now the fighting had stopped. You didn’t realize how quiet the world had gotten around you. How still the air was from flying projectiles or weapons. The team gathered loosely. Giving you space to try and save Loki’s life, but the look on their faces betrayed the faith they were trying to offer you.

Your thumb brushed Loki’s cheek, wiping away the mud that speckled his face. He would’ve been appalled if he knew where Thor had left him on the ground. You smirked at the thought as your thumb rested on his chin and traced his lips.

His cold lips opened slightly at your touch, and you were struck with an idea.  You grabbed both sides of his leather collars and brought him to sit up towards you. His slack weight was heavier than you anticipated, and it took your remaining strength to sit him upright. You closed your eyes as your lips crashed into his, honing your powers into that desperate kiss.

You had never done this before. You had never needed to do this before. But you were hoping that your breath of life could pass onto him and carry him through till his own powers could take over. You sucked hard on his upper lip, not wanting to break any contact. Your fingers entwined themselves in his hair, desperate to keep him close to you. “Please. Please. Please,” you whispered into his mouth. Tears fell from your eyes and landed on his cheek. Your arms wrapped around his neck, unwilling to let go. Unwilling to accept the truth.

Still, you continued.

You felt a low rumble from his chest. A hopeful sign that it’s working. You just needed to hold on a little bit longer! You opened your lips for a breath of your own. And when you closed your mouth around his, your power pulsated in between you.

You felt his temperature return first. The warmth in his lips, the heat in his breath. You could feel his lifeline winding itself tighter and stronger.

His mouth returned your kiss. Sluggish and tentative. But they held on to your lips, tightly. His hands embraced your hips so delicately you didn’t even know they were there. You naturally leaned into the kiss more. Your power still pulsing through you. One last intake of breath and you passed it along towards Loki.

His grip tightened around you and he pulled you closer onto his lap. His arms snaked around you, holding your head close to his, unwilling to let you go.  You could hear small groans and heavy panting. But you honestly didn’t know whether it came from you or from Loki.

His tongue touched your lips, asking for entry. Catching your breath you opened your mouth once again and Loki gainfully ran his tongue inside against the roof of your mouth.

You didn’t realize that your powers had finished. With nothing left to heal, your powers subsided. But you were so lost in the kiss that you had forgotten where you were and what you were doing. Slowly, you pulled away. But Loki’s kiss followed you unwilling to release you. You bit his bottom lip as a warning, holding his face in between your hands.

“Darling, what an indecent way to ask me out,” Loki grinned from ear to ear. His voice was rough and garbled. He kept his face close to yours, running his nose against your cheek. “I accept!”

The world came crashing back around you. The time. The place. The situation. The shock froze you in place just staring into Loki’s blue-green eyes. “I always thought you harbored affections for me. But now I am certain,” he taunted.

You slapped him.

You couldn’t think of anything else to do. You felt betrayed somehow. Tricked. Even though you knew that he was genuinely in peril. The fact that he was joking about it even now, irked you.

Loki’s eyes narrowed. His brow furrowed as he slowly turned his head to face you again. His chin jutted out, trying to contain the smirk that was coming forth. “Is that how you like it?”

You tried to push yourself off of him. You’ve had enough of his antics. You were utterly embarrassed at being caught in this situation. Especially with the team around, surely watching.

He caught your wrists as you pushed on his chest, stopping you. “Do it again,” he commanded. His grin was out in full force now. Dazzling you to the last inch of your nerve.

“Ugh, the thanks I get for saving your life!” pushing him down as you stood yourself up. “Next time I’ll just leave you limp in the mud.” You sneered, walking away with your head held high and your face heated and red. From humiliation or from desire, you didn’t know.

“Well, that’s very hard to do when you’re kissing me like that, my angel,” Loki yelled after you. He couldn’t stop smiling as he watched you angry and flustered. All because of him. Oh, I’m in trouble.

“What do I gotta do to get a kiss like that?” Bucky asked teasingly as you stomped passed him.

“Die!” you growled back at him. The words felt mean as they left your mouth. And you regretted saying them instantly. He was only trying to lighten the situation. But you couldn’t help the shame you had inside you.

“Oh, c’mon doll. I was only teasing.” Bucky raised his arms in defeat and followed you back to the quinjet, laughing.

“Loki!” Thor scolded as he held his hand to his brother, helping him up. “I hope that you were not deceiving us just to try and gain favor with the priestess. I know you’ve been seeking her affections.”

“Brother! I am genuinely hurt! Did you not see me lying there at the last inch of my life?” Loki contended, pointing to the ground where he once laid.

Thor rolled his eyes but smirked, clapping Loki on the shoulder. He was glad to have his brother back once again. “She’s very talented that one. And I do not want to see her get hurt, Lo-. Loki are you listening to me.”

Loki was at a loss for words, watching you. “She gave me my life back, brother. I have felt her lips against mine and I’ll be damned if I don’t feel them again soon.” Loki smiled as he swatted away Thor’s hand on him. His eyes solely on you, plotting how to get you to kiss him again.

➡️ When The Ball Drops (Sequel)

A/N: I know it's been awhile. I do plan on finishing my series' soon. Thanks for staying with me. Life has been hard and you guys get me through it.

🏷️ @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @holdmytesseract @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid @cjand10 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @chrisevansmaindish @capswife @dangertoozmanykids101 @shadycloudcollection @annoyingsweetsstranger @alyeskathewave @xxjust-a-kidxx @tallseaweed @liliacdreamer @stevihj +more in the comments

[secretsandwriting]

heyyyy ryyyyy <333

since ur requests are open i thought id go ahead and ask if you're mayhaps open to anything for batmom? i don't have a completely solid idea but maybe smn like batmom has been getting threats or maybe hate or smn from somebody and everyone's reactions and how they get hella protective?

obv no pressure and you definitely do not have to write this

hope you have a great day bb

Heyyyyy, so this grew hands and wrote itself, I hope you enjoy it. It did end up with a lot of backstory.

Earned Position

5.3k words

You knew this would happen. Once your relationship with Bruce got out there would be an influx of love and hate. You also knew that everyone else knew that as well. It was common knowledge than anyone around a celebrity of sorts would experience that. 

Of course you did the normal things, turned off most notifications and only looked through areas online you knew would mostly be safe. You blocked tags and and only followed people you knew or ones who didn’t post about drama. 

When you did stumble onto hate, you moved on. If someone kept sending you nasty messages you blocked them, when they made other accounts to keep sending the same things, you changed your settings so only those you followed could message you. 

It wasn’t something you wanted to deal with but it was something you could handle. Something you started mentally preparing yourself for when Bruce’s attention on you lasted more than 4 dates, even more so when you caught yourself daydreaming about him.

You were not going to let random bitter people on the internet destroy your happiness like they did their own. Your family however, wanted to destroy what was left of your haters' happiness. Something you were trying to curb, but trying to tell a family of vigilantes who considered you the best mom in existence not to destroy your haters was like talking to a brick wall. Over the years, you had gotten used to it. It barely even registered anymore. But there had been a recent influx of the hate and while it didn’t bother you, it bothered the rest of your family. None of them could stand people talking bad about their mom.

While you hadn’t been there while the older ones were young, the second you had introduced yourself to them, you had taken a very important role in their lives. None of them realizing it at first. All of them had gotten used to the random women Bruce brought home that it took a little while for them to realize how important you were. 

Dick wasn’t sure at first. Thinking you were just another girlfriend that wouldn’t last long. So he didn’t really interact with you much. Ignoring your existence when it wasn’t too rude, or at least obviously rude. Until one night when he was staying at the manor and had a nightmare about his parents death. 

Bruce had an open bed policy. As long as there was still room for him, his bed was open. A policy he had started when Dick had gotten old enough he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed to go when he had a nightmare. Bruce had always reminded all his kids, that nightmares don’t go away just because you’re older and that needing comfort wasn’t something they would outgrow. 

The thing was, you were there. Girlfriends didn’t mind when children did it but they never liked it when his adult kids did it. The shaking in his hands and the way he saw them fall in the darkness of every blink told him the only way he was getting any sleep was with someone. 

Hopefully he could just slip into Bruce’s side and leave before you woke up. That was the plan until he found Damian on Bruce’s side and you had been pulled closer to Bruce taking up what was left. You moved a little and Dick took that as his sign to deal with it himself until he heard you whisper his name. He hummed so you knew it was him and not some random stranger standing over Bruce’s side of the bed. 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” You lifted the blanket next to you, “Bruce told me you guys come here when you have nightmares. There's plenty of room over here for you.” Dick hesitated for a second before giving in. He needed sleep anyway. You weren’t when you said there was plenty of room, Dick had most of your half of the bed. Once he had settled on his side, facing away from you, he felt you pull the blanket over his shoulders. 

“Night Dick, sleep well.” For some reason, that was what did it. Once the tears started they didn’t stop. Silent sobs made him shudder and he felt one of your hands gently rubbing his back. “Oh Dick.” There was no pity in your tone and he found himself rolling over and curling into you. Your chin resting on his head while you rubbed his back. 

The next day, he followed you around like a puppy. Your side of the bed became his favorite when he had nightmares and it wasn’t long before he turned to you for general comfort over anything.

Jason met you at his grave. Neither of you exchanged words, but he caught something in your gaze he didn’t quite understand. He also wasn’t sure why you were at his grave either, he didn’t know you when he was younger. 

When he saw the Gotham News post about Bruce and Your 2nd anniversary, it brought more questions than answers. Why were you at his grave alone? Let alone longer than a few seconds. It was an odd way to gain more of Bruce’s affections. 

Every Tuesday you would be there, leaving flowers and talking softly to the stone. Every time you left, you would smile and nod, the look in your eyes he couldn’t figure out was still there. Every time he would strain to heat what you were saying and only be able yo a few words here and there. 

6 months into it, the routine changed. You brought a blanket and Basket with your usual flowers. You did what you normally did with the flowers but instead of talking to the stone you waved him over. When he didn’t move, you stopped what you were doing and looked at him. 

“Jason Todd, I have been keeping your secret for 6 months. Helping me spread this blanket and having lunch won’t change it.” He stared at you while you waited expectantly. Eventually when he could get himself to move, he came over and helped. He sat down where you motioned for him too, all while trying to figure out how you knew.

“Bruce mentioned this used to be your favorite when you were younger so I asked Alfred to teach me how to make it. I hope it's up to your standards.” He looked at the plate of food you handed him. It was almost overflowing with food, all of which reminded him of the good times back at the manor before he died. “Alfred also sent your favorite cookies when he heard I would be eating at your grave.” The bag of cookies was placed next to the basket, within easy reach.

“Why?” Was all Jason managed to choke out around the lump in his throat.

“I decided early on in life, no matter who I was with, I would love their family as my own. My grandfather hated my grandmothers side and it caused a lot of pain in all the generations. I decided I would never do that to another family.” Jason found himself back in control enough to start eating. 

“So when I started dating Bruce and he told me about you, I decided to treat you like you were my own. Even though I had never met you and you were dead. Most of what that meant was keeping your grave clean and always making sure there were fresh flowers. While I did that, I would tell you everything that was going on.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eyes, they may be a different color but they looked too similar. So I did a little digging and found pictures of your biological pictures to place the face shape it matched. I think however you look more like Bruce then either of them.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“As much as I would love to. It’s your choice. You’ve been keeping this to yourself for a reason. If I can help you get to a place to tell them, I would love to. But I won’t say a word until you're ready. However, I would like to keep having lunch with you.” 

A year later, Jason reintroduced himself to the rest of the family a lot calmer than originally planned and was glued to your side anytime he felt overwhelmed that night. Every Tuesday after that, lunch was scheduled.

Tim was nervous when it came to you. He was still living in the manor so he saw you more than the older two. You always seemed nice and respected his privacy but Bruce was always with you so you obviously would. 

It was when he wasn’t around that worried Tim. Bruce attracted golddiggers and they were always mean when Bruce wasn’t there. When you were given a copy of the key, Time braced himself. 

Of course he knew that if he told Bruce anything that happened like that, Bruce would break it off. He had always told them that they came first. But he also knew that Bruce liked you a lot. All the other ones Bruce liked a lot that turned out to be horrible, he broked it off. Tim had seen how it had made him upset and he really hated doing that to him. Maybe he could deal with it for once. 

So when Bruce left for a business trip, Tim was Expecting the worst. What he didn’t expect was for you to knock on his door and ask if you could join him. When he agreed and stepped back so you could come in. He expected you to go to his bed or his desk chair not, the oversized bean bag on the floor.

“I have a question for you but you can’t tell Bruce yet.” Here it comes. “What would a funny way to tell him I know he’s Batman?” Tim wasn’t expecting that one. “I was thinking a lot of batpuns but his paranoia is too bad for that.”

“How did you figure it out?” You walked him through your process and didn’t say anything as he wrote parts of it down. Once you finished explaining the process for Bruce, you explained any way it was modified in figuring out their identities.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Red Robin.” Tim found himself getting excited. 

“You know those notes you leave him in his office?” You nodded. “You should leave those in the Batcave.” You considered it but your thinking was interrupted but Tim shouting. 

“No! One night when we’re all in the cave, you could bring some snacks!” 

“You just want snacks when he’s lecturing you don’t you?”

“Maybe..”

“Alright, but you have to tell the others so they can tell me what snack they want.”

So Tim slowly and carefully went through all his siblings, letting them know you figured it out, Bruce didn’t know, and what the plan is. Every time he relayed a snack to you he’d watch how carefully you’d write it out to make sure you had it correct or look up recipes if you couldn’t find it in stores. 

Two weeks later, Tim was the one who sent the signal in the middle of a lecture everyone was receiving and he got a front row seat to see Bruce’s face when you walked in and handed out snacks before giving him a kiss and telling him to be nice and leaving. 

Any other worries were left in the dust when you helped him win the nerf war for the best seat in the home theater. He thoroughly enjoyed his spot next to you while Bruce swore revenge from the other side of the room.

Damian treated you politely but that was it. His mother was still alive and he didn’t want another one, one was more than enough. Not only that, but you were weird. 

One time when you were over, you found one of his report cards. Immediately you were praising him. He didn’t understand why, he had basically failed one of his classes with an A-. You should be disappointed like his mother would be, not hanging it up on the fridge and telling people not to touch it. Definitely not taking him out for ice cream and calling him so smart. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he walked past it, but he still was. 

When he was practicing his violin and Messed up, you were supposed to tell him to stop failing, that he should be better. Not smiling at him and telling him he’s making good progress. You should be telling him that he should have memorized that piece in a day. He shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he finally does memorize it, it took him 4 days to learn it.

When he was struggling to learn a language, you were supposed to tell him to work harder. He could do better, after all, he already knew so many. Instead you just smiled and recommended a break to refresh his mind. 

When he snapped at you in Arabic, he expected you to be upset since you didn’t know what he said and it was obviously not something nice. Instead you set the rule that if he was going to use Arabic to speak to you when upset, that he had to teach it to you and if what he said wasn’t something you had learned yet, he had to tell you in english. When he told you what it meant, you didn’t even get upset. He definitely shouldn’t be as excited as he was when you actually started learning. 

So many more little things piled up, leaving Damian confused. The differences between how you and his mother treated him was so big he didn’t know how to process it, he liked you and all the little things made him happy in a way he hadn’t really felt. But he still loved his mom, When he had enough of it, he asked you to stop. He still wanted to love his mom. Once again, you did something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh Damian, I’m not trying to replace your mom nor am I trying to make you feel like you can’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Your mom and I show our love in different ways and its ok for you to love or like both of us. You mother loves you and she will always be allowed in your life if thats what you want.” You weren’t supposed to do that, but Damian was really glad you did.

Barbara wasn’t sure how you would react to her. She wasn’t just Bruce’s kid. She had a loving family she went back to every night. Most people weren’t really a fan of that, one of Bruce’s past girlfriends had some strong and hurtful things to say about it. 

When you took her for a day out, she found herself warming up to you but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the new places you had planned to go, didn’t have wheelchair access. Like all the other girlfriends who had done this, she expected you to be annoyed that your plans had to change or you would just leave her outside while you shopped. 

You didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, just looking at what was next on your list and starting the trip there. When Barbara stared a little longer at a new movie that was in theaters, tickets and snacks were bought and you listed to all the lore she told you about before it started.

While it had been a nice day, Barbara wasn’t convinced. One day was easy to fake. Sure she had lots of fun, but Barbara was used to fakes when it came to Bruce’s girlfriends. Of course she wasn’t complaining about you being nice, she just wasn’t sure how long it would last. 

“Did you hear about that boutique?” She looked up from her food to look at her dad. “That new one that you tried to go to with Bruce’s girlfriend? Well there was a report that it didn’t meet the Americans with Disabilities act and the boutique is in trouble. People are speculating they’ll have to close down.”

Later that night, Barbara looked into it. They were in trouble, pretty big trouble from the looks of it. Towards the end of the article she found the name of the person who reported it, she wasn’t sure who she was expecting. Not you for sure but the Name Y/n L/n took her by surprise and filled her chest with feelings she couldn’t describe. 

The boutique ended up closing but a new one opened. Once it was open, you were the first to ask her to go. That weird feeling came back when she wheeled herself up the ramp and through the door you held open for her. Later that night, in the privacy of her room. She decided she liked you. 

Steph seemed like she liked you, she acted like she liked you, she didn’t really like you. Sure you were nice, Bruce loved you, the others were warming up to you, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about you. So she stuck with not actually liking you but pretending to. 

So when she was around you, it was all smiles and jokes. She wasn’t a big fan of it all but she did it because she knew you were important to Bruce and that was enough of a reason for her. She knew Bruce and the others could see through the act but as long as you couldn’t, that was enough. 

When Bruce announced he had to leave for a business trip right before she could hand him the parents visit for one of her AP classes, something the new teacher liked doing. She tucked the paper away. When Tim gave her a questioning look, she shook her head and later swore him to silence. 

Every time she heard someone mention their parents were going, she felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. Every time Tim mentioned bringing it up to you, she swore him into silence again. It wouldn’t be the first time no one showed up for her. She was however thankful you wouldn’t be at the manor as much so she didn’t have to pretend to like you.

When the day arrived, Steph was not having a good day. School dragged on slowly. Slower than normal. When school finally ended, she had to sit in the classroom and watch everyone else that was in her class leave and the parents of her classmates show up while no one was there or coming for her.

Someone sat in the seat next to her, she expected another family member of one of her classmates. Definitely not you. She couldn’t return your smile, too unsure of how you found out, the fact you actually showed up, and how she felt about you being there. You leaned a little closer so that the others in the room wouldn’t easily overhear. 

“I know I’m not your parent and someone you just pretend to like so if you want me to leave I will. But I figured someone was better then no one. Oh, and Tim wanted me to tell you he didn’t spill. Your teacher called the manor because no one had RSVPed for you and I answered it.”

That night, as Steph showed off all her hard work to you, the charade fell. She actually enjoyed her time with you and the boost of pride as you oohed and ahhed over all her projects and listened to her explain all the little details. That night, Steph realized, she didn’t need to keep pretending. She liked you, until she found out you didn’t like her favorite show but a nerf war solved that. 

Cass could tell you were different then the other girlfriends, your body language as you interacted with all of them showed it. However that didn’t mean she knew how to interact with you.

She had learned that she was fairly hard for new people to interact with. She also knew she had trouble interacting with people she wasn’t fighting. So it wasn’t a surprise when it started rocky. 

What was a surprise, was when you found out she was still having trouble reading and writing, you stepped in to help. Well, that wasn’t the surprising part, a lot of girlfriends did that. The surprising part was the amount of patience you had when it was only the two of you. 

When one method didn’t help, you tried another. Never once did you snap at her or call her a name. Everytime you got frustrated you would stop and look at her, say something along the lines of “If I had as much trouble with this as you do, I wouldn’t want to keep trying. You're doing absolutely amazing! I’ll keep looking for other ideas, but for now, lets take a break and get a treat.” 

Cass wasn’t sure why that always made her feel better, but it did. Every treat you brought was something you made just for the tutoring sessions and it always reminded her of what Alfred had told her once. “Something made with love for you will always taste better.”

And when a method that made it a little easier to learn was found, Cass found herself smiling along with your cheers. Bad days where she couldn’t seem to make any progress were always met with the same excitement, cheers, patience, and treats that all the others were. 

Cass still wasn’t sure of what to think of you exactly, but she knew she liked you and that you cared about her.

So when Tim saw the new rise in hate, a sibling meeting was called. They all went through each site, blood boiling as they saw what people were saying about their new parent. Plans were made, declarations of war were ready, and anger fueled all of them. Bruce could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was and as long as it didn’t get out of had, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with it. 

War was declared in an interview by Steph. The lady was asking questions when the topic switched to Bruce, then you. The reporter was clearly trying to subtly find some dirt on you and Steph was not going to stand for it.

“Oh yeah! Y/n! She’s the best!” She put on her best press face. Trying to hide her anger over the hidden intent. She didn’t have to lie or act when talking about you but the change in the lady’s face going to disappointment when she didn’t get anything she wanted was making her look very punchable. 

“She’s always showing up for us and making sure we’re doing ok. If Y/n and Bruce were to break up, I think most of us would go with Y/n.” The way the lady kept trying to get anything really got on her nerves and Steph decided she needed to get out of there before she started using the lady’s face for target practice. You wouldn’t like that.

Cass was the first one to resort to violence. They had asked a thinly veiled question, basically asking if you were a golddigger. So she punched him in the nose and leaned down to flip the camera off. She hated interviews already but that made it so much worse. She hoped you wouldn’t be too upset with her punching the guy though.

Jason, surprisingly enough. Did not get violent… physically. He did however curse one out and threaten him when the reporter implied you were forcing them to say nice things. When the reporter kept pressing Jason broke his mic and told him if he ever heard him talking bad about you again, a broken mic would be the last of his worries. Jason knew you would be disappointed but he had held back, he didn’t shoot the guy like he wanted.

Tim threw his coffee at one reporter because he heard them say you were nothing but a regular person who didn’t deserve any attention. He then took over her segment, threatening the company to air it or he would make sure they went bankrupt. Once he finished his threats, anything he said was praising you name. Telling everyone how amazing you were and how much they all loved you.

Barbara made it a point to bring up everything you did for the community when they tried to throw some shade at you in an interview. She had documents to prove it and hacked their systems to add them into the interview so they couldn’t claim it was fake. She also made sure to run over his foot when she left. 

Dick punched a reporter when they tried to ask him what you were really like behind closed doors. He told them the truth, that you were just as good, kind, patient, and loving behind closed doors as you were out in public. He didn’t throw a punch until the reporter disregarded that as asked again because she couldn’t be that good. Dick knew a lecture would be coming once you saw, but he would rather sit through a lecture then let anyone tarnish your name.

Damian spent 10 minutes cursing and threatening a reporter in Arabic when they asked him if you had ever hurt him. When he was done, he told them in english, that if he ever got asked that question again, he would impale them. He knew you were going to make him sit down and translate everything and the general response you would give but he didn’t care, no one speaks bad about either of his mothers.

Bruce figured out what was going on after Steph’s interview. He saw the ones where they assaulted or threatened the reporters and made sure his lawyers were on standby to keep the kids out of trouble. After all, he had seen more than they had. 

He had watched as you tried to connect with Dick early on, how you worked hard to try and get somewhere. He had woken up before you when Dick had come in that night and heard how you handled it. He had woken up the next morning to find you holding Dick close, like you were trying to protect him from the nightmares. He had seen how you never turned Dick down when he wanted comfort, no matter how serious or silly the matter, and he had heard your excitement when you told him Dick liked you.

Bruce had seen the way you never missed a visit to Jason’s grave, on a visit of his own, he saw how much care you showed the stone marking it as his lost son. While he hadn’t been sure why it was alway the same time on Tuesday, he didn;t mention it. He felt the way you would sob in his arms after each visit, a year after the tradition started, you always said you had promised not to tell and he watched as you kept that promise even if it tore you to pieces. Once the shock and tears wore off for a little bit, he could see the trust that Jason had in you.

He heard the way you questioned if you should have a key to the manor, you didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable in his own home, or how you questioned if you should visit while he was gone. Not wanting to stress Tim out when there was no reason too. He saw the way you and Tim grinned at each other when you brought snacks down for all the kids he was currently lecturing. He head the excitement in your voice as you told him about the tour Tim had given you of the Batcave and the shared laughter as you and Tim worked together to win the nerf war.

Bruce saw how you worked to give Damian the affection he didn’t think he needed. He felt you crying in his arms upset over the fact Damian thought you would be angry because he made a mistake or struggled in a class. He heard you practicing your Arabic as you got ready for bed and he watched as you stress paced over whether or not you said the right thing to him about his mother. 

He saw how angry you had been when you came back from your day out with Barbara. He had heard your call with your lawyer as you tried to figure out what to do. He saw you going through the laws and making a list to make sure your lawyer didn’t miss any. He heard about the movie you didn’t particularly care about and the lore you remembered in case of another because you wanted Barbara to have someone she could tell all of her favorite things too. 

Bruce saw the pictures you had taken from the school night. He heard all the details from you as you praised Steph’s work. He saw the way Steph stopped acting around you and the silly arguments the two of you would get into for fun. He heard the way you would listen to her as she verbally worked out her problems. He saw the way Steph looked for you in a crowd, the way she knew you were there but not where you stood exactly, the thought of you not being there never crossed her. 

He saw the way you stayed up late, researching different ways to teach reading and writing. He heard the patience and kindness and you worked with Cass. He saw the way you always made a treat just for Cass to have after each lesson because you wanted to reward her hard work. He heard the way you cried for Cass when she had a bad day and got frustrated with herself because you knew she was smart and you wanted her to see it too. He heard your celebrations when Cass made any progress, no matter the size. 

Bruce heard, saw, and felt the way you worked hard to have a relationship with his kids. How you had mourned for their losses, celebrated their wins, and felt their pain. He saw the way his kids blossomed under your care, growing to be better and more confident in themselves. The way you cared for them as if they were your own flesh and blood. So when he was asked about his kids behavior, he said as much. 

“Y/n has worked hard to be accepted by them. She’s given so much of her time, effort, patience, and love and never wanted anything in return. She always shows up for them, no matter what the occasion is, big or small, it doesn’t matter. If they want her there, she’ll be there. Everytime they need or want her, she’s there. She never judges them and treats them as if they were her own blood. Of course their upset and lashing out, people are insulting the woman who has cared for them more then most of their biological mothers.”

Later, a clip of you scolding Bruce and all the kids went viral. While you were scolding them over their behavior and making the kids who had reacted with violence or threats write apology letters because asking mean questions does not make it right to respond badly especially when its someone just trying to start drama. Everyone one noticed that there was no actual bite to your tone and no anger when they all refused to stop acting like that. In fact, there was a small soft smile on your face as you shook your head at your family.

[p1psqueaks]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — MISSION GONE WRONG

ZAYNE

You stumble through the sterile white corridors of the hospital, the world around you spinning, and the sharp sting of pain gnawing at your every step. The mission had gone wrong in ways you didn’t even want to think about, but there was no avoiding it now. Blood stains your uniform, and exhaustion weighs heavily on your body as you drag yourself toward the medical wing. Every breath feels shallow, and your chest burns, the aftereffects of near-death lingering like a bad memory.

As you turn the corner, you catch sight of him. Zayne. He's standing by the nurses' station, his back straight and his usual professional composure in place, but his eyes immediately snap to you the moment you appear. The flicker of worry in them is unmistakable.

"What happened?" he asks his voice dropping an octave. His calm, steady demeanor never falters, but you can see the tension in his jaw. “Are you hurt?”

You try to give him a reassuring smile, but it’s weak and fails miserably. “Mission went south. Nothing I can’t handle.”

His eyes scan you from head to toe, quickly noticing the bloodied bandages peeking from under your torn jacket. His brow furrows in response. “You’re not handling this. Come on, we need to get you to a bed, now.”

You swallow, wanting to protest, but you don’t have the energy. Zayne’s hands are gentle but firm as he guides you toward the nearest treatment room, keeping you steady on your feet, as if the sheer presence of him is enough to keep you from collapsing.

He glances at one of the nurses, Yvonne, over his shoulder. "Have Dr. Greyson look over my post-ops for now."

Once inside, Zayne immediately takes charge, his usual calm and methodical self taking over. “Sit down,” he orders, voice soft but commanding. You sink into the bed, too exhausted to argue.

He begins assessing your injuries with a practiced eye, checking your pulse and temperature before gently peeling away the tattered remnants of your uniform. His hands are gentle but quick, his movements sharp, yet there’s an undercurrent of something more—something deeply protective. The quiet intensity of his gaze speaks volumes, and you realize, for the first time, just how much this affects him, seeing you like this.

"What happened out there?" he asks as he begins cleaning a deep gash on your arm. His touch is careful, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the unspoken fear of seeing you so badly hurt.

You take a shaky breath, the memories of the mission flooding back in waves. "They ambushed us... a trap. We weren’t ready. We should have known. I should have known. I couldn't save everyone."

Zayne’s face softens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. "You did what you could. You always do. It’s not your fault, my love."

But the guilt presses on you, suffocating in a way you can’t ignore. "We lost good people, Zayne. People who trusted me. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t—"

"You’re here," he interrupts softly, his voice dropping to a more intimate register. "You made it back. And that matters more than anything."

You look up at him, your heart twisting at the quiet sincerity in his eyes. It’s so rare for him to drop the doctor’s facade, to let down the walls that keep him so emotionally distant from the world. But with you, there’s no hiding it. There’s no barrier between the hunter and the man who cares about you.

"You don’t deserve this," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t want to drag you into this... into my mess."

Zayne pauses, taking a breath before continuing his work, his hands never stopping as he applies a fresh bandage. "You didn’t drag me anywhere, my love," he says, his voice so soft, so sure. "You’re my partner. I’m here because I choose to be. I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you."

His words settle in the room like a blanket, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself soften. You feel the weight of your guilt slip just a little, the sharp edge of fear dulled by his steady presence.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you," you admit, your voice hoarse. "You keep me from falling apart."

Zayne meets your eyes, his expression tender but firm. "I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. We do this together, no matter what."

You let his words sink in, closing your eyes briefly, just allowing yourself to feel his presence, to feel the safety of being here with him. The hospital room, with its harsh lights and sterile smell, suddenly feels a little warmer, a little more like home.

Zayne finishes bandaging your arm and moves to your side, carefully sitting next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours. His hand finds yours, his fingers lacing with yours with such ease, like it’s second nature. You squeeze his hand, the simple gesture grounding you in a way nothing else can.

"I love you, you know," you whisper, the words coming out before you can even stop them. You’ve said them before, but here, now, they feel even more significant—vulnerable, raw.

Zayne’s lips curve up into that small, rare smile you love so much, his eyes softening as he leans in close. “I love you too. Always.”

For a moment, everything fades—the mission, the pain, the guilt—until all that’s left is the quiet rhythm of your breathing and the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your side.

You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the overwhelming weight of everything start to ease. There’s still work to be done, still losses to grieve, but for now, you know you’re not alone.

And with Zayne by your side, you know you’ll heal.

XAVIER

The metallic hiss of the docking bay doors echoed in the vast emptiness of the ship. You had just returned from a mission that should have been a simple recon, a sweep through an abandoned space station. But as the airlock cycled open and the faint glow of the docking bay lights illuminated the vessel, a heavy silence fell over the crew.

You stumbled through the door first, your body battered, clothes torn, and your movements sluggish. You had barely made it back at all, much less in one piece. Your face was smeared with dirt and blood, and your usually sharp eyes were clouded with exhaustion.

Xavier was the first to spot you.

His usual calm, collected demeanor faltered for a split second as he rushed forward, his boots making swift, purposeful strides across the floor. His face tightened with worry, eyes scanning your battered form. He had heard the distress call, had heard the urgency in your voice, but seeing you like this—bleeding, broken—hit him harder than he anticipated.

"Hey," he breathed, his voice tight with concern.

You looked up at the sound of your name, eyes blinking as if you had just woken up from a deep sleep. "Xavier..." you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. The exhaustion in your tone was unmistakable, but there was something else there too—something darker. Something haunted.

Xavier took a step closer, reaching out instinctively to steady you, but you pulled away slightly, as though the contact hurt more than it helped.

"Easy," Xavier murmured, his voice gentle but firm. He hated seeing you like this. He hated the thought of you suffering alone out there in the cold, vast expanse of space. "What happened? We heard the distress call."

You swallowed, trying to push down the nausea that rose in your chest. The mission had gone wrong so fast—an ambush, a trap, enemies from a faction you thought you'd left behind. But none of that seemed to matter now. The only thing that mattered was getting through this, surviving long enough to see the others. To see Xavier.

"I was... outnumbered," you said slowly, words falling heavily. "They weren't supposed to be there. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Xavier. I couldn't..."

"You don’t have to explain," Xavier interrupted, his hand gently gripping your arm, this time making sure you didn’t pull away. "You’re here now. That’s all that matters. You’re safe."

But you could see it in his eyes—he didn’t believe it. Not fully.

You let out a shaky breath, a faint laugh that felt hollow in your chest. "Safe? After what happened out there?"

Xavier said nothing, but his grip tightened, his gaze never leaving yours. The silence between the two of you grew thick, like a storm cloud hanging in the air, heavy with the unspoken words that neither of them seemed ready to say.

Your voice was low but insistent as you looked up at him. "I should’ve... I should’ve called for backup sooner. We could’ve avoided this. I should’ve been better, faster, more prepared..."

"No," Xavier said, his voice low but resolute. "You did what you had to do. And you made it back. That’s what matters now." He leaned in, his forehead touching yours, eyes filled with an intensity that spoke of more than just concern. "Stop blaming yourself. You did everything you could."

The warmth of his breath on your skin, the steady beat of his heart beneath the thin fabric of his uniform, grounded them. You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting the overwhelming flood of emotions that threatened to rise up.

"I’m sorry," you whispered.

Xavier's hand, which had been hovering near your shoulder, finally settled there, steady and unshaking. "You don’t have to apologize to me,. Not for this. I’m just glad you're here."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world outside the ship continued on, the hum of the engine a distant, comforting sound. But in that small space between you, the silence held more than just words—it held everything they couldn’t say aloud.

"I thought I lost you," Xavier finally admitted, his voice raw, his usual composure cracking. His hand gently cupped their cheek, his thumb brushing over the cut there, as if he could somehow erase the pain just by touching them. "For a while, I didn’t think you were going to make it."

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. You had always known Xavier as a strong and capable hunter, someone who could face anything with a cool head and unwavering confidence. But now, as he stood before you, his own walls seemed to crumble, if only slightly.

"I’m here," you murmured, their voice hoarse. "I’m still here."

The corners of Xavier's mouth twitched in a faint, weary smile. "I’m glad."

You both stood there for a while, silent but connected in a way that no words could express. The past was still there, heavy on both of you, but in this moment, all that mattered was the present. Xavier had always been a steady presence in your life—strong, supportive, always there when you needed him most. And now, after everything you had been through, you could finally allow yourself to lean into that strength.

"You should get some rest," Xavier said after a while, his tone softening with a concern that was unmistakable.

You shook their head slowly. "I can’t. Not yet."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "You can’t stay awake forever. Let the others take over for now. You need time to heal."

The words were gentle, but they carried an undeniable weight. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax, to let go of the tension that had been holding you together in the aftermath of the mission. You felt the weight of Xavier's gaze, steady and unwavering, and knew that, no matter what came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

"Okay," you whispered. "I’ll rest."

Xavier gave you one last look, a silent promise hanging between them. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

You didn’t need to say anything more. There was nothing left to say.

The storm had passed. And for now, you were home.

RAFAYEL

The door creaks open on rusted hinges, the metal groaning in a way it didn’t the last time you stepped through it. The studio smells the same—linseed oil, old wood, drying paint, and the faint ozone tang of filtered sunlight through the solar skylights.

But something about it feels emptier.

You stand in the doorway a moment longer than necessary, your gloved hand still braced on the frame like it might be the only thing holding you upright. Your gun dangles from your other hand, cracked but intact.

Your boots leave damp prints on the worn floorboards as you step inside.

"You're back," a voice says from deeper in the room.

Not accusing. Not angry.

Just... frayed.

Rafayel doesn’t move from where he sits, half-hidden behind a leaning canvas. The stool beneath him creaks as he shifts, brushes idle in his fingers. He doesn’t even look at you at first—just stares at the wall, at some invisible point only he can see.

“You’re painting,” you say, your voice rough. You haven’t spoken much in the past forty-eight hours. Not since extraction. Not since you watched someone you couldn't save drift away into the black.

He finally looks up, eyes scanning you like you're part of the composition. Not a subject, not a muse—just someone he’s been trying to remember how to see.

“You weren’t supposed to be gone that long.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t send a message.”

“I couldn’t.”

A silence stretches out between you. It isn’t uncomfortable—it’s the kind of silence where everything lives. Fear. Relief. The ghosts of unspoken thoughts.

You shift, unfastening the collar of your suit. Your shoulders sag the moment the seal breaks. It’s always heavier when you come back. You remember the stars being beautiful once. Now they just feel cold.

“I thought about this place every day,” you say. “It was the only thing that felt real out there.”

Rafayel rises slowly, setting the brush down on the edge of the easel. Paint still clings to his fingers, ultramarine and burnt sienna smeared across his knuckles like bruises.

He crosses the studio to you, stopping just short of touching. His expression is unreadable. Distant, almost. But his eyes—those impossibly expressive, storm-colored eyes—are too full.

“What happened?” he asks quietly.

You hesitate.

“We lost half the team. Comms were knocked out. We drifted... longer than expected. Long enough to think maybe no one was coming.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath since the moment you left. When he steps closer and finally touches you, it’s with a gentleness that makes something in your chest give way. One hand on your cheek. The other rests against your side, feeling the tremor you can’t suppress.

“I didn’t paint for the first week,” Rafayel murmurs. “Every time I picked up a brush, I just... stared at the canvas. I kept thinking, what’s the point of capturing light if I don’t know whether you’re still in it?”

Your breath hitches. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” he interrupts, firm but soft. “Don’t. Not to me.”

He pulls you in slowly, giving you time to pull away. You don’t. Your arms slide around his waist and you press your forehead against his shoulder. The tension doesn’t vanish—it can’t, not yet—but it loosens. Bit by bit.

You stand like that for a long time.

When you finally part, Rafayel brushes a streak of dried blood from your temple with his thumb.

“Let me show you something.”

He leads you to a side alcove where the light is softer. A single canvas stands there, turned away from view. He hesitates for a heartbeat before flipping it around.

It isn’t finished.

Your silhouette is there—sharp and luminous—but your face is only partially rendered. One eye stares back, half-done, ringed with shadows that haven’t been painted in fully. The rest of the canvas is sketchwork, graphite and ghost lines.

“I started this the night before you left,” he says quietly. “But when I didn’t hear from you... I couldn’t keep going. I didn’t know how to draw someone I might never see again.”

Your fingers reach out, brushing the edge of the canvas.

“You don’t have to finish it,” you say.

He looks at you, startled. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not the same person you started painting.” You turn to meet his eyes. “But maybe you could start a new one.”

His lips curve—softly, not quite a smile, but something warmer.

“Stay,” he says. “Just for tonight.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, when you kiss him, you mean it like a promise. Not to the stars. Not to the mission. But to him.

To here.

To home.

SYLUS

The lights in the apartment are dim when you step through the door.

Your body aches. Your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, and your suit—still streaked with dust from the failed mission—feels like a second skin you can’t shed fast enough. The echo of the explosion still rings faintly in your ears, muffled now by the silence of home.

You don’t expect him to be here. Not this late.

You barely make it two steps before you hear movement from the living room.

"You're late," Sylus says, voice calm but edged in something sharper—something tight. "Three hours. Mephisto couldn't locate you."

You turn toward the sound and find him sitting on the couch, long legs stretched out, hair tousled like he’s been running his hands through it all night. His gaze sweeps over you in one quick, calculating motion—assessing. Scanning.

"I'm here now," you say softly, your voice hoarse.

"You’re hurt."

You look down. There’s a cut along your forearm—dried blood, not deep. Another scrape near your collarbone. The mission had gone sideways, fast: an ambush, one of your own turning against you, comms scrambled. You’d barely made it back.

"I’m okay," you say, but even to your own ears, it sounds like a lie.

Sylus is already on his feet. In three steps he’s in front of you, his hands ghosting over your arms before settling on your shoulders. His grip is gentle—but grounding.

"You were off the grid for too long. I thought—"

You lean into him, the rest of the sentence unnecessary. I thought I lost you. You feel it in the way he holds you closer, in the way his forehead drops to rest against yours. He breathes you in like you’re the air he’s been missing.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“You don’t have to be,” he says. “Just… next time, let me come with you.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You know you can't do that."

“Then quit."

He’s only half-joking, and you love him for it.

You pull back enough to look into his eyes. “I didn’t want you to see what happened.”

His expression shifts—more serious, more tender.

“Then tell me,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

So you do.

You tell him about the ambush, the way your mission had been sabotaged, how you’d lost communications and one of your team had turned traitor. You speak in low, halting sentences while Sylus cleans your wounds with steady hands. He doesn’t interrupt, just listens—his silence filled with warmth and quiet fury on your behalf.

When you finish, he doesn’t offer hollow reassurances. He doesn’t say it will never happen again, because you both know the truth: it will. That’s the job. The risk. The cost.

Instead, he says, “I’m proud of you.”

Your eyes sting.

“You made it back,” he continues. “You brought the rest of your team home. And you walked through that door.”

“I almost didn’t,” you admit. “There was a moment when I thought—I didn’t know if I could.”

“You did,” Sylus says, voice low, sure. “You always do.”

You sit together after that, on the couch, the silence between you no longer heavy but healing. His arm curls around you, his fingers tracing slow, absent patterns against your back. You let your head rest on his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed.

“You know,” you murmur, “you should’ve been asleep.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“You always do.”

He kisses the top of your head. “I always will.”

CALEB

You wake hours later, the house quiet, the lights low. The faint scent of chamomile lingers in the air. Caleb’s not beside you, but you hear the low hum of the kettle in the kitchen. The clink of a spoon against ceramic.

He’s always like this — never sleeping when you’re out on a mission, never resting, always waiting for you to come back in one piece. He was always waiting, even when he didn’t show it.

You sit up slowly, stiff and sore in ways you didn’t feel before. The herbal tea calms the knots in your stomach, but there’s an ache deep in your chest, one you can’t ignore.

Caleb appears in the doorway, two steaming cups of tea in his hands. He looks at you with that same unreadable expression, but something’s different now. It’s softer, as if he’s peeling away the layers of control he holds so tightly around everything.

“Chamomile,” he says, his voice steady, though there’s a faint quiver in the way he says it, like he’s holding back something more.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the cup from him, your fingers brushing his. It’s a small thing, but it feels like a spark between you.

He doesn’t sit immediately. Just stands there, his eyes on you — searching, like he’s trying to read the unspoken things in the spaces between your words.

“You were gone for three days longer than planned,” he says, voice low. “No communication. No updates.”

You look down at your hands, your grip tightening on the mug, the weight of his concern pressing down on you. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know,” he replies quickly, too quickly. “But I still thought…”

He stops himself, and the silence stretches between you. It’s thick now, heavy with things neither of you have said.

You glance up at him, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “What did you think?”

He hesitates for a moment longer before answering. “I kept replaying every transmission you ever sent. Listening to the tone of your voice. Trying to figure out if there was something I missed. A clue. A hint. Anything.”

Your heart stutters. You set the cup down, the liquid inside forgotten. “That’s—Caleb, you didn’t have to—”

“I did,” he insists, his eyes fierce now, jaw tight. “Because you’re not just another hunter to me. Not just some mission on a schedule board. You—”

He stops himself again, and the weight of his words lingers in the air, like they’re trapped somewhere between his lungs and his lips.

You whisper, “Say it.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His hand is trembling just slightly when he reaches up, cupping your cheek in his palm. His thumb strokes along your skin, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of you.

“I kept thinking about what I’d do if you didn’t come back,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with it. I don’t think I’d be able to breathe.”

You close your eyes at the rawness in his voice. “I’m here.”

The words break something inside him. He leans forward, just enough that his lips brush against yours — a tentative, barely-there kiss. A question, an offering.

It’s not neat. It’s not perfect. It’s messy and hungry, tasting like relief, like heat, like every unspoken word between you two that’s finally tumbling out.

When you finally break apart, he doesn’t pull back. His forehead rests against yours, breath coming in shallow bursts, and you both stay there, suspended in the moment, unsure of where the next breath might take you.

“You terrify me,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing your skin.

“Because I might get myself killed?” you tease, though there’s a tremor in your voice, too.

“No,” he says, his voice soft, but filled with something more. “Because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. And because I want you so much it hurts.”

Your heart flutters, a distant star shining brightly in the center of your chest. You’re close now, too close to ignore the heat thrumming between you.

You whisper, “I didn’t think I’d make it back.”

He smiles, just barely, the corner of his lips lifting. “I did.”

You reach up, curling your hand around his, pulling him closer until there’s nothing separating you two, until you feel the heat of his skin, the thrum of his heartbeat.

And as he holds you, his arms wrapping around you like gravity itself has shifted, you finally let go of the last vestiges of fear, the mission, the blood, the fire.

You’re here now. Alive. And Caleb is here, too.

That’s enough.

[heliosunny]

Hi, can i request for a Yan Mydei with a vampire readerr?? Like how you do with Phainon, but instead the reader is th one who willingly tried to drain all the blood from him not knowing his noble (?) identity

i hav an idea about him, a human, being half dead in near the vampire's house, so they took him in and tend his wounds only for him to find out that theyre keeping him as a food(?) but soon his men will lookout for him and rescue him only for him to come back to reader?? pleasee, i'm craving more mydei x reader from u

Yandere!Prince Mydei x Vampire!Reader

You hadn't fed in days. The moment the aroma reached you, you moved instinctively, the forest around your manor blurring as you followed the trail.

A man lay slumped against a mossy boulder, his cloak soaked crimson. A sword wound tore through his side, and arrows pierced his thigh and shoulder. Yet even on death’s edge, he clutched a bloodied dagger.

He didn’t even flinch when you knelt beside him.

“…Are you Death?”

You didn’t answer.

His blood smelled divine, so you brought him home.

You licked the blood from his skin to close his wounds, fed sparingly to preserve his strength. But you didn’t know who he was.

If you know anything about the royal family, you’ve heard of Prince Mydei—the second-born son, abandoned and cast aside by his own kin. His elder brother, consumed by envy, could not bear the way the nobles whispered of Mydei’s talents, his striking looks, or the loyalty he inspired. So, in the shadows, the crown prince sent assassins to silence him forever. And you—you wouldn’t be foolish enough to save him.

He survived.

Now, he’s recovering in your manor, watched over by you, his mysterious savior. You think he’s a lost traveler.

But every time you bring him food, every time you touch his skin to check his healing wounds, his eyes follow you with such intensity.

“You saved me... Why?”

“Didn’t want the blood to go to waste.” you said flatly. “You’re a walking feast.”

You started walking toward him, your steps silent on the wooden floor. “I figured I’d patch you up. Let you ripen a little.”

“…Meal?” His brows knit faintly.

You reached the edge of the bed and tilted your head.

His eyes widened. He tensed as your legs straddled his hips, your body sliding over his. “I’m a vampire” you whispered, your breath brushing his throat. “You didn’t figure it out from the whole ‘blood licking’ thing?”

“You—” His voice faltered as your fingers brushed back his hair.

“Don’t worry” you said, “I won’t take too much.”

Then your lips pressed to his neck, and your fangs sank in.

His body jolted beneath you, fingers clutching the sheets. A hundred years of hunger wouldn’t have prepared you for the taste of him.

He tried to speak—maybe to resist, maybe to beg—but his strength was fading fast.

Moments later, he slumped beneath you.

You pulled back, licking the blood from your lips. “Tch… You’re weak” you muttered, brushing his hair away from his dazed face. “That’s no fun.”

You slid off him and leaned back lazily against the pillows, watching his chest rise and fall.

When he woke up, the room was quiet.

He looked around—but you weren’t there.

Only a neatly folded note sat on the table nearby, beside a tray of food.

"Eat. Don’t bleed out again."

That was all.

The days passed in fragments.

You were never home when he awoke. Just more notes. More food. Sometimes an extra bandage, a cloth soaked in herbs. Sometimes silence.

By night, he’d wait for the sound of the door—only to find you passing through like a shadow. You’d glance at him, then head to another room as if he didn’t exist.

He started trying to stay awake longer. He sat on the bed, waiting. But every time, you’d return late, and sleep always claimed him before you came close.

And so, it continued.

Until one evening.

You opened the door to his room just before sunset. He was pretending to be asleep again.

But this time… you stayed to check.

He was healing well. The color had returned to his face.

You turned to leave, but his eyes fluttered open. He didn’t say anything—but there was something burning in them.

The next day, for once, you didn’t disappear.

You stood by the wall, arms folded, watching as he quietly ate the food you left him.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth slowly, then looked up.

“…You’re leaving again?”

“I have things to do.”

His fingers brushed your sleeve, “Wait.”

You stopped.

Glanced back over your shoulder.

“Don’t be too kind” you warned, stepping back toward him with a gleam in your eyes. “People might take advantage of that.”

But he didn’t move when you leaned in.

Didn’t flinch when your hand brushed his neck.

Didn’t even blink when you straddled him again, your fingers tilting his chin up.

“Like me.”

Your fangs sank in without hesitation.

He gasped, but… there was no struggle. His hands gripped your arms. He held you closer.

-----

You smelled the fever before you even stepped into his room. His blood was boiling in his veins, you cursed under your breath.

“That’s what happens when you feed a vampire and let them treat you like a wineskin.”

You soaked a cloth and pressed it to his forehead, fingers brushing his cheek.

“…You better not die on me now.”

Still, even in his fevered sleep, he leaned into your hand.

You left before sunrise, locking the door behind you.

He wouldn’t wake for hours anyway.

You needed medicine, food… and answers.

Because last night, in town, you overheard the whispers.

A prince gone missing. Not just any prince—the second one. The one the crown prince had always seen as a threat. Rumors swirled that it was a staged accident… or an ambush.

That night, under the veil of darkness, you paid the palace a visit.

Not through the front gate, of course.

The crown prince slept alone, golden rings on his fingers, a goblet still full on the bedside table.

He woke to the press of cold fingers on his throat.

And before he could scream—

Later, you pulled back with a disgusted snarl and spat into his sheets.

“Yuck.”

He was unconscious before he even realized what you were.

By the time you returned, it was nearly dawn again.

You opened the door silently, the faint light of your lantern casting golden warmth across the room. Mydei was still resting—sweating less, breathing evenly, his fever finally passed.

You sat beside him and rested the basket of supplies on the floor.

That prince’s blood left a foul taste in your mouth. You needed something real to wash it out.

You climbed back on top of Mydei, easing your weight onto him like you had before.

“…You came back…”

“Mm,” you hummed. “Had to rinse the taste of garbage from my mouth.”

He didn’t understand what that meant.

But he let you drink.

Even now, just barely recovered—he offered himself to you willingly.

And you took it.

--------

You swore humans were something else.

Even after all the times you'd sunk your fangs into him, draining his strength and leaving him dizzy with fever, he still flinched and blushed like some sheltered maiden every time you barged in.

Like this morning.

You pushed open the door without a word—just to check on him—and there he was, mid-change, shirt halfway over his head.

You stared.

He turned crimson.

You rolled your eyes.

“Relax,” you muttered. “Not like I haven’t seen more than that while drinking you dry.”

He didn’t respond. Just yanked his shirt down and sat at the edge of the bed, trying to hide the fact he couldn’t meet your eyes.

That should’ve made your appetite wane, but—if anything—it deepened the hunger.

You tilted your head, watching him. His heartbeat was steady again. But your instincts warned you: he was still recovering. Your “walking blood supply” wasn’t ready for another feast just yet.

Ugh.

But you couldn’t have him dropping dead. Not yet. Not when he’d just started tasting good again.

So you spent the afternoon rummaging through your old tomes—dusty, brittle, half-forgotten until now.

And finally, you found one.

A rare herb. Said to regenerate blood thrice as fast. Strengthen the body. Even make the blood sweeter over time.

Perfect

Without delay, you threw on your cloak and grabbed your satchel.

But just as you stepped toward the door, Mydei called out behind you, voice soft but urgent.

“You’re leaving?”

You paused.

“…Yeah.”

“Where to?”

“Somewhere far. I’ll be back.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You smirked, tugging your cloak tighter. “You’ll slow me down. Besides, I’ve got others to feed on if needed.”

That shut him up.

As the door shut behind you, the air in the house turned heavy.

And Mydei sat back on the bed, “…Others, huh…”

He didn’t believe that. He couldn’t.

But still… Why did it hurt so much to hear?

The journey was brutal.

The herb grew deep within a cursed forest, guarded by illusions and creatures that hated anything living—or undead. You battled through fog that whispered in your ears, creatures that clawed at your cloak, mud that swallowed your boots, and shadows that tried to rip your senses apart.

But you made it.

You clutched the herb in your hand like a trophy.

It was worth it.

You knew what this herb meant: he would recover faster, grow stronger, become yours for longer. And maybe, just maybe… you wouldn’t have to hold back next time you fed.

The thought made your blood stir.

The second you stepped inside your house, the door slammed behind you with a loud click.

Mydei stood there.

You noticed the fine magic thread strung across the floor. The faint shimmer of runes etched on the walls. The scent of crushed herbs—some of yours—burned into a faint ward.

Your brows rose.

“…You little snake.”

“You were gone for three days”

You raised the herb lazily. “Brought you a gift, didn’t I?”

He didn’t even glance at it.

“You lied,” he muttered, “You said you had others to feed on.”

“Jealous, are we?”

“I’m not,” he said. “I just thought I owed you a proper welcome.”

Your grin grew sharp.

“Well,” you said, shrugging off your cloak. “You’ve got my attention now.”

You took a single step forward—

And the trap flared beneath your feet.

Your knees buckled slightly as the energy locked your limbs.

“Sit”

You had to obey.

He stood tall in front of you, finally holding the upper hand—or so he thought.

“I’ll give you what you want” Mydei said, “My blood. But from now on, only under my conditions.”

You watched him. His pride warring with the way his pulse sped up just standing this close to you. You could smell the heat in his blood.

It made your mouth water.

“And what conditions,” you drawled, “does my little hostage offer?”

“No biting unless I allow it,” he said firmly. “No sneaking into my room.”

You snorted. “You think you get to own me now?”

He stepped closer. “I want to. If you’ll let me.”

So you waited until he was close enough.

You leaned in.

He thought you were accepting his terms.

You smirked faintly, the crushed herb still between your cheek and tongue. You whispered against his lips:

“Too slow.”

And kissed him. He gasped.

And you took that moment to shove the bitter herb down his throat with your tongue.

His eyes widened as he instinctively swallowed, choking slightly at the sharp, earthy taste.

You grabbed his wrist and yanked his arm upward—mouth pressing into the soft skin just above his inner elbow. The vein there thrummed like music beneath your lips.

You bit.

Harder than usual.

“You—cheated—” he managed to whisper.

You sucked deep, your hand gripping his waist to keep him from falling.

Then finally, when his legs wobbled and his breathing hitched—you pulled away.

“You’ll thank me,” you said coolly. “That herb’s going to make you stronger than ever. You’ll be able to handle so much more of me.”

“...You're insane” he whispered, half in awe, half in breathless disbelief.

You smiled.

“Maybe.”

Then you pushed him onto the floor.

“I hope you recover fast. Because next time, I’m not going to stop until I’ve had all of you.”

----

You expected that herb to make him recover quicker—he should’ve been bouncing back, your little blood bag practically glowing with vitality by now.

But the bite on his arm was still healing.

The skin was bruised. No signs of the usual quick regeneration. It had been days.

You squinted at it when he wasn’t looking.

Something wasn’t adding up.

“…Can you reach the top shelf?” you asked lazily.

Mydei, ever eager to be helpful, nodded and moved to stand on his toes—stretching upward, fingers brushing the jars of dried herbs.

His back was to you.

A perfect moment.

Quietly, you slipped behind him, eyes locking on the side of his neck.

No.

Too obvious.

Your gaze dropped lower—to the soft skin between his shoulder blades. Covered just barely by the loose hem of his shirt. An untouched spot.

Your lips parted.

And you bit.

“Ah—!” he jolted, hands smacking into the shelf as jars clinked loudly. “W-What the hell?!”

You hummed around the flesh, holding him in place with your grip on his hips. It was a small bite, shallow. You drank just a little. Enough to taste the faint herbal sweetness still lingering in his blood.

“Y-You can’t just bite me out of nowhere—!”

“Shh”. You pressed two fingers to the bite, watching intently.

The skin was already sealing.

Interesting.

“So it’s not the herb…”

“H-Huh?”

You leaned back against the wall, licking your thumb as your mind turned.

“It’s the spot,” you said aloud, more to yourself than to him. “Or maybe the duration.”

He blinked at you, shirt half-fallen down his shoulder, flustered and confused. “What are you—?”

“The longer I suck from the same place…” You stepped forward again, “The more damage it takes. The slower it heals.”

He backed up against the shelf.

“That’s why your arm still looks like a bruised peach.”

“You could’ve just asked me to—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you murmured, dragging your finger across the newly bitten spot. “But this… this opens up options.”

You leaned closer, lips brushing his ear.

“I’ll just have to find fresh spots each time.”

-----

It wasn’t just you who changed.

At first, Mydei had flinched. Shied away. Hid the marks under layers of cloth and half-hearted glares.

But lately…

You noticed the shift.

He no longer yelped when you leaned in. He stopped trying to cover the bites. And sometimes—just sometimes—when your teeth sank into his skin, he’d lean in ever so slightly.

He wanted more of that.

So when you were away one night, he found the old alchemy book tucked behind your things. Inside were potions, ingredients, little scrawled notes in the margins.

And one page caught his eye.

Bloodlust Enhancer.

A simple potion. Nothing too suspicious—just enough to heighten a vampire’s thirst.

He read it again.

And again.

You’d scribbled “dangerous if used frequently” beside it.

He smiled.

And started brewing.

The next evening, you returned to your cozy hideaway.

He greeted you with a smile, already in the kitchen. “You look like hell” he said gently, offering you a mug of warm tea.

You took it with a scoff. “I am hell.”

You sipped.

Bitter.

Spiced.

Sweet.

Your brows twitched, but you brushed it off. A taste like honey and heat hit your tongue, warming your throat as it slid down.

He watched you closely.

And, deliberately, he adjusted his shirt.

It slid lower across his collarbone.

And when he reached for a book, the hem of it rose, revealing the pale skin of his side.

You didn’t even notice you’d stepped closer.

Didn’t realize how badly your body wanted it until your fingers curled in his shirt and you pressed your lips to his skin, just above his ribs.

He gasped, already bracing for the bite.

You didn’t even warn him.

Your eyes rolled shut as a growl built in your throat.

His knees buckled.

He gripped the shelf behind him. His own breath stuttered from the pleasure of it.

He trembled beneath you, fingers twitching against your back.

“…What the hell was that?” You said after regaining your consciousness.

You didn’t see the empty vial hidden beneath the shelf behind him.

-----

It happened one night, after a particularly long feed.

“Make me a vampire.”

You blinked at him, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. “What?”

“I want to be like you.”

You sat back, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re delirious.” You stood, brushing your hair out of your face. “You wouldn’t survive the transition. And even if you did, I’m not interested in making a mini-me.”

He sat up, “Then what am I to you?”

You glanced back at him with a flat stare. “My walking blood supply. You’re cute when you blush, and I like the taste of your blood. That’s all.”

You didn’t stay to see how his expression cracked.

He waited until you left again. For herbs, or ingredients—some errand that gave him just enough time to sneak away.

He didn’t take much. Just his coat and a hidden pendant he’d stuffed away in a drawer weeks ago.

It didn’t take long to find his men. They were still searching the outskirts.

“Your Highness!” one of them gasped, “You’re alive—! The crown prince said—”

“Don’t mention him” Mydei said coolly. “I have no intention of returning to that snake’s court.”

“But—”

“I found someone.” He looked off into the woods, where the path to your hideout lay shrouded in shadows. “Someone I’m staying for.”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances.

“I need you to… hurt them.”

“Not kill, of course. And they’ll come to me.”

Silence followed.

------

The world spun.

Branches clawed at your clothes as you stumbled through the forest, your vision blurring.

Blood seeped down your side.

They came out of nowhere. You didn’t have the strength to fight all of them, not in your current state. You barely escaped with your life.

By the time you reached your door, your knees buckled. You nearly collapsed against the frame—but you dragged yourself inside.

“Mydei—”

He was already running out from the back room.

You didn’t even speak.

You just grabbed him.

Pushed him back, pinning him to the nearest surface. Your hands shook as you shoved his shirt up.

And your fangs sank into the skin just above his hip.

Your nails dug into his sides as your lips sealed over the bite, drawing blood like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

And he felt it.

Something was different this time.

Your fangs hit deeper, and something in him responded.

By the time you finally pulled away, he was pale and shaking, his hands gripping onto your shoulders to stay upright.

“You…” you panted, still leaning into him. “Your blood… feels different.”

“So do you.”

You stared at each other for a moment.

----

You were resting for once—deep in sleep, finally letting your body heal.

Mydei sat nearby, a book open on his lap though his eyes never moved along the lines. His senses were buzzing.

Every crackle of the fire. Every heartbeat from the forest outside.

He could still feel the echo of your fangs in his body, the lingering euphoria bleeding into something else.

He heard it then.

Crunch.

A twig snapped outside.

His head snapped up.

Footsteps—three, maybe four.

He was on his feet before he realized it.

The knock came a second later.

“Your highness?” a voice called. “We heard word from the village—someone saw you. We’re here to bring you back.”

They were here to take him.

He opened the door slowly. The men looked relieved at first, two stepping forward.

“Your highness, we feared the worst—”

He grabbed the first one by the throat.

The second man barely had time to draw his blade before Mydei was on him, sucked his blood dry.

Their blood filled his mouth— but it tastes like nothing.

The third man turned to run. Mydei caught him before he made it ten feet from the door.

It was over within minutes.

He stood alone outside your home, blood staining his hands, the corpses of loyal men crumpled around him.

He wiped the corner of his lips with the back of his hand, and when he stepped back inside, closing the door quietly, he looked toward your sleeping form.

No one could ever take him from you—not when he’d rather die than leave your side.

[notsodelirious]

everyone seems to think jason is this big bad dom who's kinky and teasing and all that shit

NO??? PLEASE??????

let me tell you, jason as big as he is, he's just as soft and WILL melt the moment your fingers graze him ANYWHERE

bro starts whimpering even at the mere THOUGHT you touching his dick, but would never bring it up cause he's scared you'll reject him and be disgusted

so he puts on his mask, kisses you, teases a bit, and then backs off as if nothing happened

but the moment you do initiate anything with him? he's gone, left, away

he can't help but pour all his love into you, it's almost emotional

he's so touch deprived and needy for any kind of positive attention and affirmation that he has to will himself to not cry when you look at him with so much love in your eyes, much less when you want to show him just how much you love him

AND GOD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE KISS THAT MANS SCARS

HE MIGHT ACTUALLY START CRYING

he has always been so ashamed of them, so scared you'll run off the moment you see him, all of him (especially about the autopsy scar)

so the moment you stay instead? the moment you stare at him with adoration and litter him with kisses, saying how beautiful he looks? IM SORRY, HES GONE

him and the puddle on the floor? same thing

yearning is this mans first language and I stand by it

I've been seeing so much of dom Jay so please let my boy be soft😭

(tim, on the other hand, is exactly what people think jason is, mans a little snarky piece of shit everywhere and always, and i love him as he is)

(also sorry for the rant, got carried away a bit 😅)

absolutely no worries about the rant Anon, I love your way of thinking <3 sorry this took so long but I hope this answers your prompt

Look at me — Jason Todd

synopsis — you love Jason, even if he doesn’t believe you’ll love every part of him

notes — NSFW MDNI pretty please, also so long and so not edited, so apologies (edit — has been proofread, somewhat, but still not edited)

tags — established relationship, mentions of canon death, mild blood and injury, smut as mentioned above, 2.5k words, no use of y/n, gn!reader, Jason calls the reader “baby” and “babe”

The first time you see his scars, it’s completely unintentional. You run cold so you’re constantly turning the heat up in your apartment, far beyond what Jason thinks is reasonable. He complains, but you can’t help but note he’s a big guy, ‘obviously he’s not going to feel as cold as you do’.

His complaints continue, even after you’ve settled down to watch a movie, moaning about how ‘it’s so damn hot in here, it feels like a sauna’, and then proceeds to pull his hoodie off. You didn’t mean to stare as he tugs the offending piece of clothing over his head, but his shirt rids up just the slightest bit. Just enough to reveal a gnarled pink scar across his hip bone and a sharp, clean but raised scar right down his lower abdomen.

You’ve always assumed he has scars—he’s a vigilante; you’ve seen him come home limping more times than you’ve seen him get a full 8 hours of sleep.

Besides, it isn’t as if you’ve never seen any scars on him. He exists in t-shirt and the skin there is littered with scars of all shapes and sizes, from gunshot wounds to knives to mosquito bites. You’ve treated the occasional surface wound on his face or leg from time to time. You had seen his skin and he’s shown himself to you.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring.

This is different.

Only as the realisation that you’ve never seen him shirtless dawns on you, that you start to consider why that is.

You almost reach out to brush your fingers against the raised skin but he manages to dislodge himself from his jumper before then.

He tosses it onto the floor, kicks it out of the way just enough so neither of you will trip on it. He pauses briefly when he notices you, your stare. You tug his shirt down before he can even consider the movement himself, covering the sliver of skin that had been exposed to you.

You sit, in complete silence. You aren’t waiting for anything, you simply have nothing to say as you continue to watch the movie. A shaky hand reaches for yours and you can’t help the warmth in your heart when you feel his lips rest against the back of your hand.

The second time, you don’t even see anything at all. Another movie, a little less attention paid to it, as Jason kisses on you, your cheeks, neck, lips. You laugh softly as you let him, gently running your fingers through his hair, smiling at him as he comes up for air.

“What are you smiling like that for?”

“I just happen to have the prettiest boyfriend.”

You almost miss how his cheeks flush softly in the dark room and you laugh a little louder, pulling him down for a kiss as you straddle his lap. You let your hands roam, feeling his broad shoulders, arms and back as he dissolves beneath your touch, like sugar in warm water. You smile against his lips as he sinks into the sofa, soft panting a little too frantic for the slow-paced make-out session.

“Is somebody flustered?” you joke kindly as you tilt your head to lean against his cheek, hands on his hips and tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Don’t know what to do with yourself?”

“Please…”

You pull back just enough to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his eyes practically crossing all to look up at you, and watch your face.

“Please?” you repeat softly, as your fingertips brush against his lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense and twitch at the featherlight touch. “What are you asking for, baby?”

Your fingers creep higher, following the raised bumps and lines you can feel on his skin, under his shirt. He shivers, a soft moan slipping past his lips as you reach his pecs. You lay your palms flat against them, taking great joy in squeezing them gently and making Jason’s heart pound faster beneath your hand.

“Enjoying yourself?” you said, sly as you kiss his jaw, down his neck to press your lips to his pulsing jugular.

“I- please, I-“ You can’t help the breathy laugh as you move downwards, leaving tender, open mouth kisses along his throat, sucking his skin here and there, revelling in the soft moans and whimpers that slip from the back of his throat. Almost instinctually, his hips buck against yours—you hum, amused, before grinding back against him, feeling him tremble beneath your ministrations.

“I-“

Your hands continue to feel under his shirt, around his ribs, down his waist, down his sternum-

“Stop.”

You freeze, pull back and look at him.

“Jay?”

“I just-“ he swallows as he looks at himself, then at you, as if debating whether or not he should finish the thought and explain. Eventually, he just wordlessly shakes his head, pulling your hands out from beneath his shirt, “No.”

“Okay,” you kiss his cheek before sliding off his lap to settle beside him. You don’t understand what’s wrong, and as curious as you are, it’s not like you’re going to push him for an answer.

Jason is many things: loyal, kind, loving, a dickhead—but emotionally vulnerable and open is not part of that list. Pushing him to do or say anything leads to a quick dismissal at best. And an outburst at worst.

Jason would come to you in his own time.

That time happened to be a week later.

It’s a long night, he forgets himself. He climbs in through your window, tries to be as quiet as possible. But tonight, he forgets himself, shuts the window behind himself just a little too hard and the frame rattles softly. He doesn’t notice you stir or the soft mumble as you roll onto your side, too focused on trying to shed his leather jacket. Through bleary eyes, you can just about see him move about the room, hearing him curse silently.

The bathroom door closes before the lights flick on. Cupboards open and close, more cursing. You slip out of bed, recoiling a little at the cold floorboards beneath your feet, and pad towards the bathroom, knocking softly before pushing the door open.

“Jay?-“

“Shit-“

You freeze at the sight of each other. His bloody shirt is on the floor, staining a couple of your white tiles a vibrant red. Medical supplies are strewn across the counter, medical gauze packs ripped open and a suture needle halfway set up.

And Jason was…

A large gash spanned from his ribs to his hips—at least from what you could from beneath the bloodied towel he was holding his wound.

“Jesus, don’t you knock-“

“What happened?” you ask instead, rushing forward to help him staunch the bleeding. He groans as you apply pressure but doesn’t push you away, letting you come up close to him. You chance a peek beneath the make shift compress, trying to not pull a face as you convince yourself it’s not as bad as it looks.

“I’ll stitch you up,” you say softly as you look around the bathroom—the suture kit that he had already pulled out isn’t sterile anymore, you’ll have to take out a new one… “Go lie down, I’ll…” You trail off as you look up at him, meet his distant gaze as he stares down at you, almost unseeing. “Jay?”

He blinks and the afterimage of fear you saw flicker across his face is gone, face falling back into something more impassive.

“Lie down,” he mumbles, “Yeah… yeah, sure.”

He slips away from you, most likely a little dazed from the bloodloss. You’re itching to know how he got to that point, who could have gotten close enough to slice him like that but you shelve all those questions for later and begin to prep from wound care instead to go make sure your boyfriend doesn’t bleed.

You return to him minutes later, with an unopened first aids kit and clean hands and kneel beside him, from where he was sat on the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to…”

“Horizontal, babe,” you say softly as you nudge him. He settles as you flip open the kit and start cleaning his wound, apologising quietly for every wince and sharp breath.

Stitching him up is simple enough—his pain tolerance terrifies you but you don’t utter a word, just make sure to get the job done as swiftly and painlessly as possible.

You cut the last stitch, roll off your gloves, dump the whole thing on the bedside table—unsanitary and dangerous but your hands are trembling a little too much and your nerves a little too frayed from worry to truly care.

“Okay,” you swallow as you press a piece of clean gauze against his fresh stitches, “Sit up, lemme bandage you up.” Jason complies as best he can, muscles flexing under his skin as he sits up for you and you shuffle closer to wrap clean bandages around his midriff. You try to solely pay attention to the task at hand but now that nobody is in danger of bleeding out, you can’t help but let your eyes wonder across his bare torso. They trace the scars that litter his chest, linger on the large Y, carved from beneath his collarbones, joining at his sternum before disappearing beneath my bandaging.

“Sorry,” he says in a small voice. You tuck the end of the wrap into itself before you look up at him. He doesn’t look back, expression almost sheepish as if he were embarrassed. “I’ll put a shirt on-“

“Don’t.” You climb up onto the bed, straddling his thighs as you cup his face, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Don’t say that…”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“You told me you didn’t finish the ice cream last week.”

Your laugh rings clear in the still bedroom as you lean forward to kiss him.

“Well I’m not lying now,” you whisper against his lips. The kiss is slow, tender, as you both pour your souls into each other. “You scared me shitless.”

“Sorry-“

Your fingertips graze along the large scar on his chest.

“I’d ask you not to do it again but you probably will, won’t you?” He nods as he follows your hand, breathing deepening ever so slightly as you feel him. “Guess I’ll just have to enjoy you while I have you here.”

“Babe…”

“Shh,” you push him down carefully, avoiding his injury. “Just let me take care of you.”

His sighs are soft as he follows your lead, letting himself be pushed and pulled around. You kiss him, in a way only a devotee can worship their deity, lavishing him and devouring him.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

You move down his body, from his jaw to his neck. Your tongue runs along the straight scar there—you wonder what happened. You always wonder. But some stories were better kept for quieter nights.

Your lips and tongue brush along his skin, tracing every jagged scar you come across.

“Babe…” he moans breathily as he squirms ever so slightly beneath you, resisting the urge to buck his hips against your body.

“Is there something you’d like, handsome?” You smile as you thumb his nipples, your glee only growing as he whimpers, arching his back into your touch. You pinch them, tug them, make him squirm and pant harder. “You’re so needy, aren’t you?”

“Baby, please-“

You leave hickeys on his chest, following the large scar down between his pecs.

“So desperate.”

“Babe-“

You bite his pec, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make him keen and buck his hips against yours, making you groan in turn. He grinds his covered hard-on against your crotch, seeking any friction he can.

“You need it, don’t you?”

His nodding is furtive and eager and your heart sores while your hand creeps downwards, following down his happy trail and dipping past his waistband.

“What do we say when we want something?”

“Please,” he whimpers as he looks up at you, adoration and desperation pooling in his deep green eyes. Tears brim along his waterline when you finally wrap your hand around his cock, warm and heavy against your palm. “Please. Please, please, baby, please-“

You tug him out of his underwear before you slowly start to pump, running your thumb along the head of his cock, teasing his leaking slit with the pad of your thumb.

“Such a polite boy,” you purr just as you sink lowered, kissing the scar on his hip before nuzzling your cheek against his cock. “Stay still for me, okay baby?”

You don’t give him any more warning before you’re sinking down on him, taking him into your mouth, wrapping your hand around what you can’t reach. You hollow your cheeks as you pull back up, bobbing your head on his dick as he moans and whimpers above you.

“Baby, baby, fuck-“

You hum in response, vibrations running through him making him shudder. His fingers tangle in your hair as suck his dick, gripping you like he’s unsure whether he wants you to stay or go.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, babe-“

You look up at him from beneath teary eyelashes, blinking up at him as if you aren’t choking on his dick. You pull away, making him whine in protest but you don’t cave, continuing to jerk him off.

“You wanna cum, handsome?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I’m- please.”

You lick the precum pearling from his tip before you swallow him down again, grinning at the soft wail and tightening grip. You feel more than hear the moment he tumbles over edge, thick cum shooting down your throat. You swallow before you can choke, but tears gather in your eyes, leaving you sputtering and coughing slightly when you come up for air.

“Good?” you ask softly as you wipe your face. He mumbles unintelligibly as he nods, strong arms finding your shoulders to drag you closer.

He mumbles something about returning the favour later, but you just laugh quietly as you pull him against you, resting his head against your shoulder, so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say as you run a hand through his hair. Only to pause as you bring a hand up to your mouth, pulling a hair out of your mouth.

Jason freezes before chuckling softly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind hair in my food,” you quip back cheekily, which only makes him blush.

“Jesus.”

You kiss the crown of his head as you snicker.

“Go to sleep, handsome.” You run your hands along his back, tracing idle patterns against his skin, on his collarbones and shoulders.

“They’re from my autopsy,” he mumbles softly as he tucks himself against you. “From when I died…”

You hum, but don’t speak.

Afraid that maybe you’ll uncover the dread blooming in your gut.

You’ll ask later, is what you tell yourself as you watch Jason yawn, and promptly slip in a heavy, restful slumber.

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

(holy shit was this a doozy to write; I usually never write 2k words in less than 48 hours but I hope your enjoyed <3)

[imnotaacat]

I Can Not Do It Without You.

husband!Anthony x fem reader wife.

— Summary: You have been married to Anthony for a year, and you are about to give birth to your first baby. However, after overhearing a conversation between his younger brothers, Benedict and Colin, it makes you doubt whether your marriage is prosperous and honest, which leads to an early and complicated birth.

— Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, fluff at the end, no use of Y/n, mentions of deception. (I think that's all)

A/n: English is not my native language, sorry if something is written wrong, I hope everything can be understood. :)

“It’s funny that she thinks Anthony is still in love with her.” You heard Colin’s voice behind the door, followed by Benedict’s laughter.

That was enough for you to ask the footman accompanying you to prepare the carriage, you would return home. Since a few weeks ago you suspected that Anthony was cheating on you, the last few weeks he began to go out more often with his younger brothers, and of course, there was nothing wrong with it, but it happened every night and he always returned at dawn. And you, who were about to give birth, only wanted to feel protected, cared for by him, but you felt the opposite, he simply left, leaving you completely alone.

“My dear, won’t you stay for dinner with us?” Someone asked behind you, it was your mother-in-law, Violet. “Oh, I really appreciate it, you must excuse me, but I would like to have dinner with my husband.” Violet smiled. “Don’t worry dear, it’s okay, give him my regards.” You nodded and walked to your carriage, the footman helped you get in.

Once home, you entered and began to climb the stairs, as fast as your belly allowed you.

“Honey, you're back, I was waiting for you for dinner.” Your beloved husband's voice said with his beautiful smile at the bottom of the stairs. Something inside your chest stirred. You smiled.

“Oh dear husband, I apologize, but I've already had dinner with your mother and brothers.” You said, he smiled, he loved the way you got along with his family, he couldn't have chosen a better wife. I apologize for not accompanying you, but I feel very tired. — He nodded again.

“Don't worry, rest, I'll be with you in a few moments.” You nodded. You finished climbing the stairs that led to the room you shared, you asked your maid for some help to undress. Once you were ready, you got into the sheets of your bed, but you couldn't even close your eyes. Thirty minutes later you heard your husband's footsteps coming up the stairs, you settled down with your back to the door and closed your eyes pretending to be asleep. You listened to his footsteps and movements around the room, a few minutes later you felt the mattress sink and then the warmth of his body, he placed his hand on your belly, kissed your temple, and got ready to sleep.

About an hour later, he was finally fast asleep, you got out of your bed and left the room making as little noise as possible, you went down the stairs and headed towards his study, you placed the candle you were carrying on his desk and you got ready to look for something, something that would help you, something that would give you a clue about something. And as the saying goes, “Curiosity killed the cat.” In one of the drawers of his desk, you found several newspapers. As you skimmed through them you noticed something. They all had an ad for an opera concert and all of them had one name repeated: “Sienna Rosso.” You didn’t know whether to be happy for having found what you were looking for or to cry for what you had found. The second to last ad was dated two days ago, the last time Anthony had gone out, and the last ad was dated two days from now. You put everything back the way it was, closed the door to the study, and headed back to your room. To your relief, Anthony was still fast asleep.

“Good morning,” you said, announcing your entrance to the dining room. Anthony smiled. “Good morning, dear. Did you rest?” He asked. You nodded, at that moment the maids came in with their breakfast trays, so they began to eat, leaving a comfortable silence in between. — You know… yesterday I saw an announcement, about an opera concert— You spoke breaking the silence and lifting your face to look at him, he already did. — I heard that the girl is very good, I think her name is Sienna… yes Sienna Rosso— Anthony coughed. — And well, I would like to find out for myself, and why not with my dear husband? The concert is in two days, so, could we go? — You asked with a nice smile, Anthony quickly nodded.

“Sure, why not, I have a little work, but I will do it in these two days, so we can go out.” You nodded with a smile.

During those days when the long-awaited night arrived, Anthony, no matter how much he wanted to concentrate on his work, couldn't do it. The only thing he had in mind was your request, but rather, the way you asked for it, your look when you asked him, during their first year of marriage, he had noticed that whenever you asked him for something there was a special sparkle in your eyes, however, that morning he couldn't see it, instead there was something else, your gaze had something dark in it.

When the agreed time and day arrived, you went down the stairs while he went up, you were wearing a Bridgerton blue dress, white gloves, and a pretty pearl necklace, he praised how pretty you looked, he asked you for a moment so he could get ready and go out with you.

Once at the theater, you asked to sit up front, and he accepted without arguing anything, minutes later the concert started, and boy was the girl good, she was wonderful, out of the corner of your eye you noticed that throughout the act Anthony looked at the stage a couple of times, most of the time he saw you, the floor and the ceiling, and of course, anyone would say it was romantic, but you knew it was guilt.

Once the concert was over you told Anthony that you needed to go to the bathroom, he nodded and joined another group of men who greeted him happily.

“Miss Sienna, someone is waiting for you in your dressing room.” A voice said behind the girl as she walked off the stage, she smiled and thanked him with a nod. Finally, Anthony had returned. However, he froze when he saw a female silhouette in his dressing room, you were with your back to her. You were looking at each of her outfits with a smile, and from time to time you touched the fabrics with your hands what caught her attention the most was your belly, you could give birth at any moment, even now.

“Were you hoping to see the Viscount?” You asked still with your back turned, you only heard a low “Excuse me?” before turning to look at her. — I asked if you were hoping to see Anthony. — You asked again, Sienna was surprised that you called him by his name, but it was logical, you were his wife. Seeing that she had no answer you sighed and spoke again. — I know he has come to see you frequently, so I wanted to meet the woman who fucks my husband. — You said with a forced smile on your lips. Sienna smiled back, she didn't expect the Viscount's wife to be like this, she imagined a silly girl, but no, you were different, you were direct. At that moment something occurred to her, something that would make Anthony come back to her again.

“Yeah well, Anthony comes here often, he even comes with his brothers.” He said with a smile. You just nodded, but anger was growing inside you, how could she call him by his first name? — You know, it's nice that he comes to see me at my concerts but to attend with his wife... it's very bold.” She said with a smile.

“Sienna... I was the one who suggested he come, he came simply because I asked him to accompany me, if he had wanted... or rather... been able to, he would have stayed in his studio.” You saw how Sienna's face fell.

Seriously Anthony had stopped loving her? Just like that? After you two got married he paid you one last visit, where he made it clear that you would never have another meeting. In exchange for various favors, she was able to arrange for several Lords and Dukes to meet Anthony at the theater or places where she would perform. She knew that once they were alone, Anthony would come back to her. Her surprise came when he didn't even look at her, or even notice her presence, and she was accompanied by her brothers. Every time she passed by his place, she heard how wonderful his wife was and how much he was in love with her.

“Listen to me-“ She began to speak, calling you by your name, but you interrupted her.

“For you, I am Lady Bridgerton,” you said. Anthony heard it and went to the place where your voice came from. He noticed that you hadn't returned from the bathroom, so he decided to make sure everything was okay. He followed your voice, down that path that he had walked so many times a few years ago. — You can fuck Anthony as many times as you want, it's fine, but listen to me, I'll be the only one that Anthony will present as his wife, I'll be the one who will have his children, his heir, my children will carry his blood, my children and I will be the ones who will wait for him at night to have dinner, I'll be the one who will see him walking arm in arm through the parks, while you... you will simply meet him at night, when everyone is already home, you will stay in the dark, hiding, making sure that no one can see you. — Sienna was definitely speechless, after hearing everything you had said, you were right, he would never leave you for her. Anthony, who had heard everything while walking towards you, was proud to hear what you had said, you didn't even raise your voice, much less attack her to leave her speechless.

“Whatever you say Anthony loves me-“ Once again she was interrupted, this time by Anthony's voice.

“For you, I am Lord Bridgerton, I will never allow you to call me by my name again, our relationship ended a long time ago, Miss Rosso, and that day I made it very clear to you that I would never return to you again.” You smiled at the look on Sienna’s face in front of your husband’s back. — If you will excuse us, the Viscountess and I must retire, good night, Miss Rosso. — He said, giving you his arm so that you could walk with him, and said goodbye to the friends who were still there.

Anthony helped you get into the carriage and once inside silence reigned between you, you were sitting face to face, so Anthony could see how your eyes began to get brighter and tears began to appear in your eyes. He felt guilty, guilty because he was the reason for those tears.

“Honey I-” He started to speak but you interrupted him. “I don’t want to hear anything Anthony.” He nodded. Once at home he helped you get out of the carriage and both of you climbed the stairs that led to his room.

“Marie, please tidy my room, I’ll be staying there tonight.” Your maid nodded and took from both of your rooms the things she would use at that moment and the next day to get ready, you heard a sigh from Anthony, and then his footsteps moving away towards the master bedroom, so you did the same, but in the opposite direction, before reaching your room you felt a pang in your lower belly, you grabbed the wall, Anthony turned and walked towards you when he heard your moan. “I’m fine” You told him when you heard his strides towards you, he stopped and nodded, but as far as he could see after you closed the door, he noticed that you were holding on to the wall as you walked.

Anthony wanted to talk to you, he wanted to tell you that it was all a misunderstanding, his affair with Sienna had ended a long time ago, even long before the two of you got married. Unable to fall asleep, he went down to his study and made himself a drink, then sat down at his desk hoping to be able to concentrate a little and even distract himself from what was going on with his work. He didn't even notice when he fell asleep at his desk.

“Mr. Bridgerton! Mr. Bridgerton please wake up.” When he opened his eyes he felt disoriented. “Mr. Bridgerton” The woman made a small bow. “Lady Bridgerton has gone into labor, but she is in very bad shape,” the maid said just as she heard a scream coming from the upper part of the house. — We have already sent for your mother, the Duke, and the Duchess, the young lady asked for it, and the doctor and the midwife are already with the lady. — The girl spoke as she followed Anthony up the stairs, another scream came from your room, with long strides he arrived at your room, and he saw you there, screaming and writhing in pain, and then he was nineteen again, panic began to bloom in him.

“Lord Bridgerton, the baby is not in position, I need to know what to do, save the baby, or save your wife.” Another scream from you was heard. “I told you to save my son.” You screamed with difficulty. — The decision must be made by the lord. — The doctor spoke. And one more scream was heard.

“Save them both,” Anthony spoke. “Sir, we will try, but-” Anthony interrupted him. “I told you to save my wife and my son,” Anthony screamed. — Yes sir, we will do our best.” And once again the doctor entered your room. Tears began to sting his eyes, just at that moment the doors of his house opened, it was Simon, his mother, and his brothers.

“Simon, Colin, and Benedict stay with Anthony, Daphne comes with me” Violet said as everyone went up the stairs. “Everything will be okay dear, I promise,” Violet said before entering your room with Daphne. The screams were getting louder, and his brothers didn't know what to do, or how to comfort him, Simon was already a father, of course, but none of Daphne's births had been like that, they didn't know what to do.

“Anthony, everything will be okay, your wife is a strong woman” Benedict spoke. There was silence. “It's my fault.” Anthony spoke. “She found out about Sienna, she noticed that I was leaving at night and she thinks I've cheated on her.”

“But it’s not like that, you ended your relationship with that woman, we have been with you so that you could avoid this.” Colin spoke, and Anthony nodded. “And I thank you, I should have told you what was going on” Anthony said, his head down. “I don’t know how you found out, but two days ago she asked me to go to the concert tonight, she had an argument with Sienna, and then when we got back home, she asked to have her bedroom fixed, she complained of pain, I should have insisted that she sleep in our bedroom, I should have stayed awake to take care of her.” Anthony spoke. Your screams still hadn’t stopped, they could hear the voices of the midwife, her mother, and Daphne asking you to push.

Anthony looked at his watch, it was almost five in the morning, and the fear he felt was from another world, he didn’t know what was going on in there, he only heard your screams. The four men were desperate, they knew there were only two options. Finally, the cry of a baby, their baby was heard behind the door, the four men looked at each other, then looked at the door, Daphne came out with the baby in her arms wrapped in a blanket. “He’s a cute little boy” she said with a smile, putting the baby in Anthony’s arms, he smiled. “Daphne, how is she?” Simon asked, Daphne just lowered her head.

“Daphne, how is my wife?” Anthony asked. “She is not well Anthony, she lost a lot of blood, she has a high fever, and the doctor does not know if she will survive.” Anthony sighed, he was happy for the birth of his son of course, but at the same time the love of his life was between life and death, he could not do it without her.

“My lady, stay with me, do not close your eyes.” the voices of the maids were heard, alarming everyone who was outside. “She cannot die” Anthony said finally letting the tears come out, hugging his little son.

It had been a week since you had given birth, and the fever and bleeding had stopped, however, you were still weak, you still had no strength, and you spent your time in your room. Violet and Daphne had asked to stay home with you, to help you and Anthony.

“Anthony dear,” Violet spoke entering her son's bedroom, Anthony was playing with Edmund, they had agreed to name him in honor of his father if they had a boy. “You should talk to your wife, I don't know what's wrong Anthony, but it's like she's rejecting her son.” Violet paused. — The only moment she is with him is when she breastfeeds her son, that's not good, you're doing an excellent job as a father, but this baby also needs his mother. — Anthony nodded, left his little one in the bassinet next to his bed, and called a maid to keep an eye on the baby. Leaving with his mother he went to your room, opened the door, and could see you, after a long time, you were looking out the window with your back to him, you had your hair down, a silk robe, you looked very beautiful.

“Love…” Anthony said. There was a pause, he expected you to say something or at least turn to look at him, but it wasn't like that, you continued looking at the window. “Since we met I noticed your desire to be a mother… But now that we have our son, you… you reject him.” Anthony doubted if he was using the right words, he didn't want to be hard on you, so you lowered your gaze to your lap. “What's wrong? You know you can tell me anything.” There was a long silence for his liking, or rather, for the moment you were in.

“I don't want him to get used to me.” You spoke and finally turning to look at him, Anthony looked at you confused. “I’m dying Anthony, just look at me.” And yes, you looked a little haggard, you had lost a little weight, but nothing that a little food couldn’t fix. “Besides…” You paused. “I’m scared Anthony, I’m scared of being just like my mother.” You finally burst into tears, Anthony was a little surprised, you had known each other for a little over a year and a half, and he had never seen you cry like this, or rather he had never seen you cry, it was a little difficult for you to show your emotions one hundred percent. Because of how you grew up, your parents never showed any kind of love between them, nor to you or your siblings, you and your siblings were raised for society, with no laughter or exaggerated emotions, just enough, if you wanted to cry or express your emotions you had to be completely alone, no one could see you like this or they would call you exaggerated. Anthony took a few steps to be closer to you and wrapped you in his arms. “You’re not dying, sweetheart… you’re not a bad mother either… Do you think I don’t notice how you play with Gregory or Hyacinth? Or how do you interact with Augui?” Anthony spoke, you smiled remembering how good it felt to play or spend time with them. Anthony pulled you away from his chest so you could look into each other’s eyes, he cupped your face in his hands, and with his thumbs, he wiped your tears away. “You’re nothing like your mother… but if you keep acting that way… rejecting your son, you’ll be just like her.” You nodded and hugged him again, he also hugged you back, and kissed the top of your head, both of you stayed in that position for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry.” You said, separating from the hug. — Not just for this… also for what happened a few days ago at the theater, I shouldn’t have acted that way. — Anthony shook his head.

“The one who should apologize is me.” He said take your hands. — I wasn’t honest with you, I should have told you what was going on because I went out every night… somehow that woman made all the business be handled in those places, I asked Colin and Benedict to accompany me, just to avoid this, but I should have told you too. — You noticed the sincerity in his words and the regret in his eyes.

“You should have told me, of course, but I acted recklessly, I should have talked to you before, can you imagine the scandal it would have been if someone else had heard? Can you imagine if it had been Wistledown?” Anthony laughed.

“But I must admit, you acted better than I would have acted if I had been in your place.” They both laughed. “But you know… I’m a little curious to know how you knew?” Anthony asked.

“Well… I heard your brothers saying it was funny that she thought you were still in love… and well, you know what happened.” Anthony laughed. “Instead of helping me, they sink my head into the mud.” There was a silence between you. “It’s nice to be with you again,” Anthony said. — But I think you should meet someone… Give me a moment. — Anthony left the room, and a few seconds later he entered the room again, but this time with the baby in his arms, you smiled when you saw him, the tender image of your husband with your baby would be an image that would stay in your mind and heart for a lifetime.

Anthony walked over to you, pulling you close and helping you carry your baby. You finally allowed yourself to see your baby's face, you knew it was too soon to say it, but he was a lot like Anthony.

“Hey baby, you look so cute today.” You said the little baby let out a small laugh. Both you and Anthony smiled at it. You definitely scolded yourself for depriving yourself of this thing you had always wanted.

Anthony guided you to the bed so you could get some rest, despite everything, he knew you were still a little weak, Anthony placed himself right next to you so you could lean on him, and you stayed like that, he held you close, while you held your little baby close.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me” — Anthony said while smiling at you.

You two definitely, unexpectedly changed each other's lives. You both knew that nothing and no one could separate you or hurt you after this day.

I would also like you to give advice or recommendations. I hope it's not too long or boring. I would appreciate your comments. 💗

[fireinmoonshot]

nightmares | joaquín torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: Ever since the accident at Celestial Island, Joaquín has been having nightmares. He's been trying to keep them a secret from you until one night when you wake up to an empty bed. Warnings: Mentions of nightmares involving death and injuries as well as mental health issues/seeing a therapist and PTSD. Word Count: 2.1k A/N: I had this idea when I saw the film again yesterday and just had to write it. It's a little angsty and more serious than my other Joaquin fics but it still has sweet moments in there. Enjoy! 💗

Joaquin pours himself a glass of water as he stands in the kitchen. He takes a sip of it and sets it down on the bench before leaning on the bench and taking a long, deep breath. The kitchen is pitch black apart from the light of the moon through the window and completely silent except for the ticking of the clock on the wall above the dining table.

He uses the ticks of the clock to help steady his breathing.

Nightmares aren’t uncommon for Joaquin, especially after he’d almost died during the fight at Celestial Island six months ago. Even though he didn’t have any memories after he’d been hit up to when he woke up in the hospital, his mind always tried to fill in the gaps when he was sleeping, but it always added things that hadn’t happened. This was the second time this week that he’d been awoken by a nightmare where he’d actually died.

Not wanting to disturb your sleeping form beside him, he’d gotten out of bed as carefully as possible and come into the kitchen to calm himself down from it. Most nights he had trouble sleeping, but not every night was a nightmare kind of night, and he’s still trying to keep the fact that he has them from you. You don’t need to worry about him more than you already do. 

His head snaps up as he hears one of the floorboards in the hallway creak and his heart drops into his stomach as he sees you, still half asleep, appear in the doorway to the kitchen. You’ve put on a robe to warm yourself up – the house often got cold in the middle of the night in the colder months of the year. Joaquin hadn’t bothered to even put on a shirt when he got up, needing the cold to help him snap out of his nightmare.

“Baby, what are you doing?” You ask, voice thick with sleep.

He softens immediately at the sound of your voice. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” 

You shake your head and start to walk over to him. “No, I just woke up naturally and I noticed that you weren’t in bed so I came looking for you. What are you doing in here? It’s freezing and you barely have any clothes on.”

Joaquin snorts. “I’m wearing boxers, angel.”

“Yeah, my point exactly,” you say before letting out a yawn.

He smiles to himself and wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. It’s an attempt to comfort himself, remind himself that he’s alive and you’re here with him, and also an apology that he’d gotten you up and out of bed. If he’d stayed in bed or been quicker going back, you would still be fast asleep and not in the kitchen at 3am.

“Got myself a personal heater now so I’m fine,” he grins, running his hands up and down your back. Your arms are wrapped around him too, and you’re trying to ignore how cold he feels standing here in the middle of the kitchen.

“You’re also avoiding my question,” you say, pulling back from the hug just enough so you can look him in the eyes. You’re a little more awake now, especially now that you can see Joaquin purposely avoiding answering you. “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Just needed a drink of water. Y’know that 3am feeling when you wake up and your throat is as dry as a desert?”

“Why didn’t you just drink from the glass you put on your nightstand before you went to bed?” You question, eyebrows raised. You can see what he’s doing – trying to move the conversation along so you don’t worry and go back to bed.

Joaquin pauses. Shit. He had put a glass of water on his nightstand before he’d gone to bed but he’d completely forgotten about it in the post nightmare haze and the hurry to get out of bed and wake himself up. 

“I guess I forgot about it,” he chuckles – not a lie.

You sigh and step away from him, already missing his arms around you. They fall to his sides and he frowns as he watches you move away from him. Clearly, you didn’t trust a single word he said right now. He wasn’t as good of an actor as he thought.

“I wasn’t going to mention anything about this until you felt comfortable enough to bring it up to me, Joaquin,” you start, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back against the kitchen island. “But I know you’re having nightmares. I wake up nearly every time you have them because you’re whimpering in your sleep. Most times, you just fall back asleep so I don’t worry about them too much, but nights like tonight…”

Joaquin’s stomach drops. You knew? All this time… and you thought the reason he never told you about them was because he wasn’t comfortable enough to tell you? It feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “How long have you known?”

You shrug. “I don’t remember exactly, but maybe a month? I thought at first that maybe they weren’t bad enough for you to warrant telling me, but the longer you had them without waking me up or telling me about them the next morning made me feel differently.”

Joaquin sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I never told you because I didn’t want you to worry about me more than you already do, angel,” he explains. “I know you went through hell when I was in the hospital. I know that they had to restart my heart and I almost died in there. You’ve done enough worrying for ten lifetimes on my behalf.”

Just the look on your face is enough for Joaquin to take the few steps separating the two of you and wrap his arms around you again. It’s only a quick hug, though, because you pull away again so you can look at him when you’re talking. 

“Joaquin, I signed up to worry about you for the rest of my life when I started dating you, and even more so when you asked me to marry you last year,” you say, holding your hand up as if to remind him of your engagement by showing the ring on your finger. “Yeah, I did go through hell when you were in the hospital. I cried more than I think I’ve ever cried in my whole life, more than I probably ever will again, but if that whole experience is causing you to have nightmares, don’t you think I’m pretty well equipped to help you through them? I sat beside you in that hospital bed for weeks. I was there for every moment of your recovery.”

He reaches up and takes your hand, entwining your fingers with his. He didn’t even have to tell you that it was that accident that was causing the nightmares. You just instinctively knew already. And you were right – you had been there beside him for every second that the Doctors allowed. Half of them he didn’t even know about since he’d been unconscious, but he had no doubts that you were there.

“Tonight,” he begins, “I dreamt that I died after the accident. The doctors weren’t able to save me and I died on the operating table. The other night, I dreamt that I didn’t even make it out of the water. I was falling and then I hit the water and I was sinking. Drowning. No one came to rescue me and they just let me die.”

His voice cracks a little as he speaks. Hearing the words out loud strikes a chord he hadn’t expected. It’s different to just seeing the nightmares in his head and thinking about them. 

Your heart hurts as you listen to him and you squeeze his hand tightly. Your other hand rests on his waist and you swipe your thumb up and down over his skin in another attempt to reassure him that you’re here. Those things didn’t happen. The doctors saved him and he’s still alive. He might be scarred both physically and mentally, but he survived.

“Are the nightmares all like that?” You ask softly.

He nods. “They’re always some kind of variation of that. I don’t always die in them. Because I can’t remember everything that happened, my brain just tries to fill in the gaps, I guess. Obviously, I can’t tell if any of it is true or not or if my head is making it all up.”

You reach up with the hand that was on his waist to cup his cheek gently, bringing his eyes back to you. He’d been staring down at the kitchen island behind you without even realising it. “Maybe we can work on getting through these nightmares together, then,” you offer. “I wasn’t there for everything, but when you got to the hospital I was. We could talk to Sam, see if he could talk you through everything that happened between the accident happening and you arriving at the hospital. We were both there when you were in surgery so we can offer different perspectives of that.”

“I don’t really want Sam to know about these nightmares, angel…”

“We don’t have to tell him,” you shake your head. “We can just say that you’re want to know what happened back then. That you’re trying to piece together some of your memories. I know he’d do that for you, Joaquin.”

Joaquin nods. “Yeah, he would,” he says. “So, you think that maybe if I learn about everything that happened between the accident and when I woke up, maybe there wouldn’t be any parts of it for my brain to try and fill cause I know everything that happened?”

“Yeah, basically. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

He looks at you for a moment and then nods. Your words make sense and at this point, he’s willing to give anything a go to try and get rid of the nightmares. He realises, then, that he definitely should’ve told you about all of this long ago. He wouldn’t have had to suffer from them alone for all this time if he had. 

You squeeze his hand again. “And maybe… you should talk to a professional too.”

Joaquin laughs a little. He’d seen that coming. In fact, he’d been told that he should see someone about possible PTSD not long after he’d woken up in the hospital but he figured it wasn’t going to be necessary. It wasn’t the first time he’d been injured while working. Sure, it was the most serious injury so far, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Especially since he had you by his side for his recovery and an invitation to become an Avenger by Sam. He hates that he’s a little too proud to accept help sometimes.

“I think you might be right about that, angel,” he admits, smiling a little. “Thank you for getting out of bed and forcing me to talk about all this. I only wish this hadn’t happened in the middle of the night when you need to get up to go to work in the morning.” 

“Yeah, can you try and have a nightmare at 3pm next time instead of 3am? That’d work better for my schedule,” you joke, flashing him a grin. “But, if you’re up for it, I would very much like to try and get some more sleep, and I’d love to have you sleeping beside me if you think you can fall back asleep again.” 

Joaquin doesn’t reply, just starts leading you back towards your bedroom, still holding your hand. Once you’re back in your bedroom – a room much darker than the kitchen due to the curtains being drawn – Joaquin pulls the robe off of your shoulders and hangs it back up on the back of your bedroom door. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then?” You ask, looking up at him even though he’s barely visible.

Joaquin leans down and presses his lips to yours in a quick kiss. “Can I be the little spoon?” He murmurs against your lips after he pulls away. “Might make me sleep better, y’know, feeling comforted and protected and all that.”

You huff out a laugh. “I’ll allow us to change things up just this once, baby,” you reply. “Now, hurry up and get back into bed cause you’re freezing and there’s no way I’m cuddling you until you’re at least a little bit warmer.”