#Clinging to the ruins of this broken home

[tojikai]

Sundered 2: EMBERS

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ...+

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, mean!gojo(kinda), babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments, implied pregnancy, mentions of abortion

word count: 5.4k

a/n: it's not sad.

Pining so intensely for something you never had to the point where you physically ache.

Each step that you take away from Satoru’s house feels like a stomp to your already broken heart. Your eyebrows furrowed, feeling the waterlines of your eyes start to get hot and itch. You recalled the noises and laughs that you heard from them while you walked out of their door. 

They have no idea how much you want to get down on your knees and beg them not to take away the only thing you have left. 

Your feet feel heavy with each stride you make toward your car. You could taste blood inside your mouth as you bit your inner lip to channel the pain away from your heart and to your body instead. You found yourself looking for answers on why all of this has to happen to you. As if being replaced by the man you love so easily and having to see how he treats someone else a thousand times better than you were not enough, you also have to witness your own flesh and blood turn away from you. Am I really that far behind that woman?

Is she that much better that even my own child prefers her over me?

You placed your hands on the steering wheel, looking down at your lap as you let the tears fall. You kept glancing over at the gate, hoping that Satoru would come out, running with your baby in his arms. Yet, you don’t want him to see you crying miserably. You swallowed thickly, letting out a large breath in an attempt to get rid of the painfully heavy feeling in your chest.

Driving away was numbing, and all sorts of thoughts ran inside your mind. But above all of them, your eyes were focused on the toy store as it got bigger in your view. You wondered about what you could get your little love to at least make her smile when she comes home. You remembered how your gift to her, her favorite bear that she used to hug as she sleeps ever since she was an infant, was cast aside as she clings to her new ones. 

Is that a foreshadowing of how you’d end up being in her life? It scared you.

Reaching the parking lot of the store, you looked at yourself in the car mirror, noticing your bloodshot eyes. You inhaled and let a big breath out slowly, puffing your cheeks as you assured yourself that it’ll be fine when she comes home later. Your head hurts so much but you can’t afford to care, stepping out of your car and heading to the front door of the store. The first thing you saw was a pregnant, young lady checking baby books. 

She reminded you of yourself when you were still pregnant with Yui; curious about everything, eager to learn, and all was about the baby. You admit that it wasn’t like that at first, given that you were young and had to drop out of college at that time. You were anxious, torn between decisions, and terrified of what life would be like for you from that point in time. During that period, you and Satoru were ignorant but trying hard to figure everything out.

You met Satoru at a nightclub where you worked as a bartender. He was flashy, and women just flock to him as if it was the most natural thing to do around him but that night, his eyes were on you. What with persistent offers of buying you drinks and talking to your manager to let you off early for the night, you ended up in a luxurious hotel suite with him. 

He even wrote his number on the price tag of the fancy lingerie set that he bought you after he ruined the one you were wearing the previous night. He was joking that you’ll never get enough so he’s providing you his contact for next time. You thought that would be the end of it. You didn’t think that it was just fate giving you a helping hand in advance because you’d end up with a child together. 

You consider it a dumb mistake. You know that Plan Bs exist. But with a working student like you who couldn’t even have time to get a proper boyfriend, it slipped your mind. The first thing you did after you got the results was call Satoru. You thanked the heavens that he wasn’t seeing anyone, and that he remembers you. It was a tense meeting, what with you asking if he wants you to abort the fetus. Next thing you know, you two were already dealing with your mood swings. 

“Look, I really want to work this out with you, Y/N. For the baby.” Satoru sighed, slamming the door behind him as he watched you sit on your old couch. You lean your elbows on your knees as you covered your face with your hands, harshly running them down your cheeks to wipe away the big, fat tears that fell from your eyes. There are just so many things going on with your life. 

“I’m only 21, Satoru. I got my whole life ahead of me.” You looked up at his tall figure, frustration was evident in your eyes. You can tell that he was also distressed. His hair was messy, his jaw was clenched tightly, and even if you cannot see behind his tinted glasses, you can tell that he hasn’t been getting enough sleep. The dark half-circles under his eyes and the redness in them show just how exhausted and disquieted he has been in the past few days.

Satoru’s five years older than you. He was born to a rich family of politicians who don't and probably will never need support from him or the other younger generations in their household. He has a stable source of income, he could probably make life investments that could cover your yearly living expenses. He has nothing to worry about, he won’t be dropping anything if he decides to take in another mouth to feed. But you…

You’re basically your mother’s retirement plan and now you got pregnant with a kid of a man you barely know. “Y/N, listen to me.” He got down on his knees in front of you, trying to take your hands off of your face as you sob, struggling to catch your breath. What’s going to happen to you now? You didn’t even get to finish the degree that your mother was working her ass off day and night for.

“You won’t have to worry about anything, you know? I’ll handle everything you need—” He trailed, trying to calm you down as he gently grabbed your forearms. “You don’t understand!” You cut him off, snatching your hands away, aggravated that he’s not thinking about how it could affect everything in your life. “Then, what the fuck do you want to do?!” You flinched as he raised his voice at you, breathing hard as he backed away.

“You think you’re the only one who’s going to be affected by this? You think you’re the only one who’s being robbed of another future! Open your fucking eyes, stop being selfish!” Satoru snapped back, harshly taking his glasses off before throwing it across the room. You started to cry, whimpering as you used the collar of your shirt to wipe your tears away.

“I’m scared, Satoru. I’m just so scared. I can’t even take care of myself, how am I supposed to raise a child…” You broke down, turning your body away from him. There was a long pause, a moment of pure silence, save from your sniffs and Satoru’s ragged breathing. 

You felt the couch dip as he sat down before pulling you to him, letting you cry on his chest.  “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” You would be lying if you said that the back rub, the temple kisses, and his whispers of reassurance didn’t calm you down. Those thoughts were recurring in your head and now that you finally let it all out and got answers from him, you were soothed.

You blinked hard, shaking your head to get out of your trance. You went straight to the dolls section. You can’t believe you just had a flashback of Satoru comforting you in the warmth of his chest. Your mouth started to twitch, wishing that he held you like that earlier when his girlfriend was slapping into your face that they’re gonna give your child siblings. It shouldn’t hurt you, but it still did. You realized that this girl, this woman is gonna have everything you wish you had with Satoru.

You walked past the kiddie pools and trampoline section, stopping when you saw a playpen, almost similar to the one Satoru bought for your little girl but smaller. The size doesn’t really matter though, because you know that you don’t have enough space in your place for something so big, anyway. 

Going closer to check the prices, you bit your lip as your eyebrows bumped together. You were calculating your monthly expenses along with the money for your savings in case of emergency. It’s expensive but you’re determined to cut back just to buy it. You kept your eyes on the tag as you took half a step away from it but your back was met by something, or rather someone behind you.

“It’s not cheap, is it?” A man’s deep voice boomed as you turned around, but your eyes were met by a broad chest. He’s big, you thought. He’s literally blocking your view. It didn’t help that you were short enough to have to look up to see his face. He was also staring at the playpen as he held the pushcart beside him.

“Y-yeah…” You answered, a bit awkward as you found yourself admiring the guy. You admired fathers who are active when it comes to their children. You grew up without a father so, you just found it endearing. You looked away from the man, gritting your teeth as an image of Satoru and his girlfriend shopping for baby things appeared before your eyes for a split second.

“Excuse me, sir. I still have to buy my daughter a gift.” You bowed slightly before turning away. He just nodded his head, too occupied to even look at you. You proceeded to check out the little dolls, hoping that you’d find something that’ll really catch your daughter’s eye. Picking up a dark-haired baby doll with big blue eyes sitting on a stroller, you smiled as you remembered how it has the same eyes as your baby.

You went to pay for the doll, and your heart was filled with joy despite the throbbing pain in your skull and the hot feeling behind your eyes. You reminded yourself not to forget to take your medicine. Thinking about getting sick and having to leave your child for a couple of days with them again makes you anxious, afraid that she’ll never want to go home to you again. 

You hurriedly went home, driving in the midst of the rain. You put the little doll on the chair, ready to surprise your baby girl when she comes back. You had to bear with the time, constantly checking your phone if your little girl and her dad are on the way to you. Your heart swelled at the thought. 

Though, you know that you’ll never be the one he comes home to, it’s still nice to think about. 

—--------------------------------

“She really called me Mama.” Naomi giggled as she kissed his daughter’s cheek. Satoru smiled, watching them play together warms his heart. It made him feel like he was staring at his family even if he knows that his daughter isn’t hers. He pursed his lips, remembering the look in your eyes at what you heard the child say.

He felt conflicted, not knowing how to react to all of it. He doesn’t want to embarrass his girlfriend by correcting her in front of you. But he also felt bad that he just watched you walk out that door on the verge of tears. Satoru had you memorized after all this time, it wasn’t a long time but he used to watch everything you do.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, though.” Satoru sighed, shaking his head as he pushed a bit of Naomi’s hair away from her face. Her expression dropped as she adjusted the toddler in her arms. Satoru pulled her close to his side, hugging her waist as he thought about how to explain it to her without making her feel disheartened.

“I’m worried about how Y/N will feel about it, to be honest. I don’t know but it may worry her.” He kissed the side of her forehead before stepping away as he watches his daughter’s eyes look at them. He knows that she’s still too young but he feared that she’ll get confused by all of this. 

Like why is her father not with her mother, and why is he holding someone else?

He wondered if she’ll grow to hate him for giving up on their family. “Oh, Is that so…I thought we were fine already.” Naomi’s voice was quiet as she bit her lip, making Satoru rethink. “It’s not that, I just think that maybe that’s how she might feel.” Satoru took one of her hands, kissing it before rubbing his thumb on her soft skin. “No, I understand, I got too comfortable. I’m just a girlfriend, I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Satoru doesn’t want to make her feel like this, she’s just really attached to his baby. He knows that Naomi adores kids, they often joke around about it, so he could see why she’s excited about his daughter calling her Mama. Thinking about it now, maybe this shouldn’t be so bad. After all, she’s not gonna be just a girlfriend to him forever, right? Naomi is a great person, and Satoru thinks that it’s not impossible to have a future with her.

“Don’t say that. That’s just my assumption. She’ll tell if it’s not alright, I know. We’re co-parenting so we have to talk about those stuff.” Three squeezes to her hands made Naomi smile sweetly at him, her eyes as kind as the stars. “Yeah, discussions are important. I don’t want her to feel like I’m trying to keep her away from us.” The calmness in her voice comforted Satoru.

—-------------------------------------

After receiving a text from Satoru, you found yourself staring at the mirror, retouching your makeup like it’s gonna make him fall for you. Hopeless. Not long after, the doorbell rang and you dashed to the door. There, Satoru stood with Yui asleep on his shoulders. You took her bags, along with the teddy bear that she was hugging to her chest. Seeing her holding it again made you feel relieved.

“Are you feeling better now?” Satoru inquired, walking past you to put your kid in her little bed. You hummed in response, “She’s full, don’t give her any more milk. Naomi fed her before she fell asleep.” Her again. You thought as the small smile on your face dissipated. You’re just thankful that he didn’t take her with them here.

There was a moment of silence as the two of you watched your daughter sleep peacefully. A sigh escaped Satoru’s lips before he turned to you. He was about to say something, but closed his mouth, thinking. You took a deep breath, pursing your lips as you collected your thoughts. You started to rub your hands together, trying to get rid of the cold feeling on your fingertips.

Your communication issues with Satoru only worsened when he got a girlfriend. Seeing how he is with her made you doubt the importance of your words to him. It’s like if you get stuck in a room together with her and something happens, you’re almost certain that he’d accuse you first. You wouldn’t admit it but you yearn for him. You yearn for the way he acts towards her. You yearn for the things he does for her. 

You yearn for the things he so easily, willingly offer to her; things you had to beg for when you were still together.

“Satoru, I just want to ask…Since when did Yui start to call Naomi Mama?” You looked at the ground, somewhat embarrassed of your question but can’t pinpoint why. It just made you feel…weak and insecure. And you are that. But you can’t let Satoru see it. You don’t want him to feel even more sorry for you. You can see it in his and his girlfriend’s eyes whenever they look at you. They probably pity you and the state you are in. 

Alone. With no one to hold your pieces together but you.

“I don’t really remember. Look, I was going to mention that…” Satoru trailed, looking everywhere but you. He probably noticed your discomfort earlier. “I know it doesn’t seem right to you because she’s just my girlfriend but…” Here’s the “but” again. How come he can always find the good when it comes to her, even when she literally did you so wrong by letting your daughter call her Mama and even acting like one in front of you?

Ever since Satoru got a girlfriend, arguing with him started to feel like fighting in a war without any type of armor in your body. How are supposed to stand strong, when the fact that he’ll always be on her side was your weakness? There were times when you wanted to fight for yourself but you couldn’t bear to because you know that he was shielding her from everything, heedlessly deserting you.

“I didn’t really appreciate it. I mean… I-I just think she’s not in the place to—” You thought the words you chose to describe the situation were too risky when you were cut off by Satoru, taking his glasses off. You can’t read him but he’s looking at you with that apologetic gaze again. His face was filled with contrite and you can’t quite understand why. But like a mouse sensing danger, you wanted to run away.

“I…I’m thinking about proposing to Naomi.” It shouldn’t hurt. You told yourself again. You don’t have the right to feel hurt. This man disrespected you, hurt you, and made you feel so incredibly small yet here you are, wishing you were the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with. “I know she’s just my girlfriend now, but it’s bound to change.” You suddenly just wanted him to leave. “She…she’d like to ask for permission to let our daughter call her Mom. You know she treats Yui like she’s her—” 

“I don’t want to.” You whispered firmly through gritted teeth, cutting Satoru off. You don’t wanna hear it anymore. You can’t go through that again and you can’t let that happen again. “Yui is my daughter, and I don’t want her calling anyone else Mama.” You looked up at him with glassy eyes before turning away to walk out of the room, not wanting to startle the toddler from her slumber. Satoru was instantly on your tail, calling your name.

“She’s my daughter, too. Y/n, what is wrong? I know that you have your limitations and that’s why I’m here to talk about it with you, but why are you acting like this?” He walked closer to you, trying to catch your eyes. “I know it’s not just about this, I know you’ve been having problems with her but give a reason, at least. She’s been nothing but good to our kid. ” It’s getting hard for you to breathe as you tried to process your emotions and his questions.

You proceeded to the kitchen, hurrying to grab yourself a bottle of water before you collapse, but failing terribly when Satoru spoke the next sentence “Y/N, we all have to adjust, don’t be unfair to her, she doesn’t deserve it.” 

“And I do?!” You shouted at him, taking him by surprise and making him take a step back. 

“You think she doesn’t deserve any of that shit but I DO?!” You lamented, shaking your head in pain and disbelief. There were tears streaming down your face and no pattern of breathing can help you control it. You were able to keep it in when he shoved his new girlfriend in your face several months ago, but now it’s taking its toll.

You were about to get the clothes that he bought for your daughter on your way home from work but were met with a woman snuggled up to him on his couch. You hated him for allowing you to see them like that when he knows that you haven’t even processed your split yet because a month before that, he was saying that he could fix his shortcomings for you and his daughter. 

You remember how sick you felt in your stomach when he introduced her, saying that you weren’t supposed to see them like that. It’s revolting; how he thought that you were upset because of what you saw and not because he just went back on his words. Naomi kept her head down, standing in front of you as she muttered an apology before scurrying to Satoru’s room. 

Naomi was his father’s new assistant and unlike you, she got to finish her studies. Despite being classmates in high school, she was three years older than you due to the frequent relocation of her family. Regardless of her tough childhood, she was known to be a smart kid. No wonder his mother approved of her in such a short amount of time. 

You and Satoru were never perfect but it doesn’t mean that you were never happy with each other before. The issues overpowered your interest in each other, making it hard for the two of you to bounce back. You admit that you’ve been negligent of Satoru at a certain point of your relationship but it was only because you got tired of his ways.

He would come home late, making you stay up all night because he failed to reply when you texted him, asking him his whereabouts. He’d be out drinking with friends, and it wasn’t a problem but you just wanted him to at least let you know so wouldn’t be worrying to the point that you can’t even sleep.

His mother was overbearing. You got pregnant by someone’s son in a one-night stand and that’s all she paints you with. You were belittled and told that you can’t even take care of the child properly. Hell, was she so eager for Satoru to leave you and find someone better who achieved something in life.

Consequently, this negligence led to fits of jealousy from Satoru. This drove you to quit the job you used to have after a coworker of yours who only wanted to help became the subject of his suspicions. His mother saw you getting dropped off by your friend while she was babysitting your daughter. 

It was only because your car broke down and you don’t want to bother Satoru at work. You couldn’t really blame him for thinking that way because you know that he’s been feeling invisible to you which wasn’t true. You just don’t know how to deal with it anymore and you started to pull yourself away.

It got to the point where you couldn’t even communicate how you truly feel about him because it was overshadowed by your problems. You were arrogant enough to tell him that someone could treat you right and do much better and now, look at you; standing before him and his girl. Longing for him and eating the words you spitefully told him.

Pining so intensely for something you never had to the point where you physically ache.

The memory was tormenting, heart-rending, and traumatic to you. And now you get to watch them write their happy ending while you are here, left in the dust, drowning in the feelings that will never ever get recognized and will never ever be relevant. 

It hasn’t even been a year, and he’s already planning to marry her. He’s been nothing but better to her, yet, he couldn’t even change his ways for you and your child? Couldn’t he learn to truly love you after everything you endured just to be with him? You know that you have flaws, and chose some wrong steps and paths in your relationship. 

But you can’t bear to lose him like this. You know that you could have fought more for your relationship. He’d always say that you’d work things out. So, why did he stop? How could he stop choosing you so easily?

“How could you give her the world, yet refuse me the tiny bit of what I have left?” 

Your voice was small as you backed away, defeated. Satoru couldn’t move. From everything that has happened that morning, he could tell that you’ve been on edge. To Satoru, the only thing that connects you to him is his daughter. He refuses to believe that after all of that, you can still make it work.

At least, that’s the realization he came about when he met Naomi. She taught him that love isn’t supposed to be strenuous, it isn’t always about fighting. Within his tumultuous relationship with you, she came around and showed him that he’s seen. That his feelings are valid. He came to the conclusion that maybe he just wanted to love you because you have a child together. 

“Tiny bit?” He asked, frustrated that you just won’t let this go easily, irked that you always think you’re the only one having a hard time. If Satoru’s being honest, he’s just tired of it all. He just wants you to understand his point and get it over with. But now you’re crying in front of him and again, he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t even think of the right things to say or the right decisions to make. It’s like it’s all back to square one with you.

“You call it ‘tiny bit’ when I couldn’t even live my life because of you?! I’ve given everything, Y/N! I just want to be at peace with everything and I’m obviously not having it with you!” You couldn’t even breathe through the piercing ache in your chest from the daggers that are coming out of his mouth. Your hand reached over to your chest, grasping your shirt as his every word irreversibly pulverized your already wounded heart.

“I wish I never met you that night and I wish I never had Yui with you. You’re a thorn in my side, Y/N!” By the time he finished screaming at you, you were shaking like a leaf, grabbing a chair beside your table as your wide eyes stared at him in shock. Grief, mortification, and agony were plastered on your face, and only then did Satoru’s words sink into him.

“Y/N, I—” Before he could even form a proper phrase, a loud cry erupted from the other room. Yui. He watched as you quickly wiped away your tears, seeing the emotions mix inside your eyes until they turned into a weeping void with all the tears pooling inside them.

“I…I loved you, Satoru. And I hate that even now that you’re kicking me while I’m down for the sake of someone else, I still love you.” The crack in your voice had Satoru subconsciously moving closer to you, opening his arms to pull you into him but you were quick to flinch away, sniveling.

“Please, just—just go. Do whatever you want, just d-don’t take Yui away. I’m fine with it now, Satoru.” It’s almost as though something in you died when he spoke those words to you. You don’t know if he heard because you couldn’t even hear yourself. You could feel the beat of your heart in your chest and each one of them sends a burning ache to your body. “Just go, please.” You whimpered as you bit your upper lip, looking down on the floor. 

Satoru can’t take his eyes off of your fragile figure as you leaned on the kitchen counter, slowly walking back to your daughter’s room. He remained unmoving until you exited the kitchen area. It was only after a few minutes that he decided to go, not bothering to wipe away the tears that rolled down his face as he listened to your muffled cries behind the closed door.

Each sob was filled with anguish that Satoru knows he’ll never be able to erase.

—------------------------------------------------------

A few weeks later have passed yet Satoru still doesn’t know what to make of himself. He couldn’t focus on anything that he works on. He couldn’t even workout properly, he always ends up getting angry. It was a good thing that both he and Naomi were swarmed with tasks; they didn’t have time to interact any more than what their jobs would allow. If they did, Satoru isn’t sure if he’ll be able to focus on her. She still has time to visit every week, though. During those days, she spends her time with Satoru and sometimes, Yui.

He makes sure to free his time and himself completely when he’s with his daughter so he can give his full attention to her. Satoru picks her up from your house, same schedule as before. Sometimes it’s you, but other times, it was your mother. “All I asked of you was to never break her, Gojo.” were the first words she spoke to him. Satoru can’t look her in the eyes. Your mother was a kind woman, humble and unjudging. And to have her talking to him like that, Satoru was beyond ashamed.

He couldn’t give her a reason, or an answer. All he did was apologize. Like he should. Naomi was unaware of it all and the proposal that Satoru was planning for her was set aside due to all that had happened. He just doesn’t think it’s the right time to plan about it when his relationship with you is strained. Yes, you’re not together anymore but you’re still the mother of his child and he wants to be civil with you, at least.

Yui kept asking for you even when she was with him as if sensing that her Mama was hurting. She’s always carrying the new doll that you bought for her. Satoru once asked her if you cry and she would simply shake her head. He gets nothing out of it, of course, she’s just a kid. But who else could he ask?

Satoru has no idea what you have been doing. He knows that you go to work, but other than that, he’s clueless about the places you go to and why your mother started babysitting his daughter more during the past few days. Satoru thought that maybe you just can’t stand seeing him anymore and is refusing to face him whenever he picks his daughter up. You have every right and reason to despise him, after all.

So, now he stands on the other side of your door, wondering if he’ll get to see your face this time or be welcomed with the frowning face of your mother. He knocked three times, like he always does, adjusting the collar of his shirt. To his surprise, it wasn’t any of the two women he was expecting holding the door open for him. 

“Who are you?” A shirtless man with a muscular build stood before Satoru, a curious yet accusatory gaze scanned him like he was an intruder in his own woman’s home. He leaned on his tattooed arm against the doorframe, blocking the tiny view he has of the inside. It pissed him off, clenching his jaw for a few seconds before speaking.

“Who are you?” Satoru bit back, raising his brows in an attempt to intimidate the guy. He’s only a couple of centimeters taller than the stranger but he’s bigger. It wasn’t a big deal to him until the man opened the door wider. A short, deep chuckle escaped his lips before a smug smirk appeared on his face. 

Tilting his head, the man gave Satoru a clear look at the scratches adorning his nape and the purple and maroon marks on his jaw. It made Satoru’s blood boil, unreasonably so.

“Think you know who I am now?” 

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[awearywritersworld]

the boy spurned as evil and the girl of his youth

sukuna x reader w/c: .6k tags/warnings: angst, i'm afraid. young!sukuna. depictions of blood. ur dad's an asshole. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: please check out the lovely artwork by @demonzaemon that inspired this piece!!! i'm definitely down to write a second part about a reunion, so let me know if that would interest anyone! masterlist read part two here

thinking about sukuna at 10 years of age— he's been abandoned by his family and scorned by his village because of the strange way he looks. he has to steal stale bread during the night to survive. he has to take shelter in the ruins of an abandoned home. he has to bear the harsh elements. he has to do it all alone.

that is, until he meets a curious little girl by the riverside during the spring. he'd found an old, frayed fishing net the day prior, and while he hopes to catch something he can eat for dinner, he catches your attention instead.

and you marvel at him as if he's the most remarkable thing you've ever laid eyes on. you're poking at the harsh lines that mar his skin. you're pulling at his pink hair because you're convinced it's fake. you're counting his arms as if the extra two will eventually disappear.

he doesn't mind though. he's too caught up in the fact that someone's touching him. that he can feel the warmth of your skin against his. he can hardly believe it when you scamper off, calling over your shoulder gleefully, "i'll meet you here again tomorrow!"

after that, everything changes and he finds himself in your company more often than not. you sneak your meals out of the house each day, even though your portions are meager. you bring him a few of your blankets, even though it means you're cold at night. what he appreciates most though? the fact you look at him like he's human.

then, what is simultaneously the best and worst night of his life happens. you fall asleep beside him in the overgrown grass near the river. its early autumn by now and the stars are twinkling in the sky, so your body clings innocently to his, seeking his warmth.

he takes the opportunity to study you in the moonlight. to commit every detail of your face to memory. he considers the fact that you feel safe enough to fall asleep beside him, even when every other person in the world has deemed him evil and sinister.

eventually he's lulled to sleep by your slow and gentle breaths, but not before coming to the decision that he is yours and you are his. and while you're the only thing in the world that the young boy has to his name, he's okay with that.

then, all too soon, he's awoken by yelling and it's not a moment later that you're ripped from his arms by your father. he's screaming about how you've defiled yourself by associating with such a despicable fiend.

"no, he's my friend! he's good!" you wail, your arms stretched toward sukuna in a plea for help. "don't let him take me! please!"

and he tries. he really, really tries. he runs after your father, beating at his back in an attempt to free you, but he's just too small. his body is weak from years of malnourishment. the older man pushes him to the ground with little effort and sukuna's palms slice open upon the sharp stones protruding from the earth.

crimson spills from the wounds, but he can hardly feel it. the ache in his chest is too consuming. too agonizing. it's unfair that such a little body should house so much pain, but that seems to be the story of his relatively short life.

so as he calls out to you, his voice broken and desperate, he knows it's the last time he'll ever see you and he's forced to come to terms with the universe's cruel edict— that he deserves to spend his life alone.

[ervotica]

𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing; azriel x fem!reader

summary; and so i cry the light is white and i see you

when your wings are taken from you in a brutal act of torture, you see no way to ease your grief. your mate is there to guide you back when you need him most.

warnings; hurt/comfort, ANGST, suicidal ideation, sorta suicide attempt, in depth descriptions of injury

The wind stings at your flushed cheeks where you stand at the edge of the rooftop. It's dark, iridescent balls of light expanding at every edge of your vision as you take a step towards the lip of the roof that overhangs from the house. Wetness clings to your eyes, threatening to spill over your itching waterline when you gaze down to the sea of lights below.

You long to feel the whip of the breeze against your face as you rise and dive into the night sky, to scream and yell at the top of your lungs as your wings flap behind you in tandem with your family.

You'll never feel that again.

You've been a shell of yourself since the day your wings were taken. Had them brutally cut from your body, hacksawed until all that remained were jagged stumps in place of gorgeous, thick corded planes of muscle. Naked. Half the person you once were. Your back is a myriad of scars, still healing and bruised, ripples of broken flesh marring your once untouched skin.

You are broken and ugly and miserable.

It took weeks to even walk again, weeks of rehabilitation, physical therapy with Madja. Weeks of sobbing in your mate's arms as he held you upright, of wanting to claw your way out of your own skin and scream and rage until something snaps you out of this living nightmare. Weeks of Azriel having to force you to eat and drink, to get outside in favour of withering away in your bed.

You're teetering on the edge of the building now, swaying in time with the gusts of air that threaten to send you toppling onto the street below.

"My love, what are you doing?" Azriel's voice breaks you out of your haze, but you don't move; you don't make any effort to step away from the edge. One wrong move from either of you and you're dead.

"I miss flying," you croak.

"I know you do." His voice oozes with pity and it sends rage hurting through your veins like the white-hot lick of a flame. You stumble, swatting Azriel's hands away when he surges forward to wrench you back. Your pulse roars in your ears and you lose focus of his speech, each pleading word blending into one another until you don't bother to decipher the words at all.

"Come back to me," he shouts over the ringing in your ears. "Come back to me, mate."

The name seizes your muscles, pours into your soul like molten lava and solidifies, heavy and unforgiving.

"Why?" you whirl around, heels hanging over thin air, nothing to break your impact were you to fall - or throw yourself - from this great height. Azriel's unnaturally still, not moving, not breathing- calculating how long it would take him to dive after you if you were to slip. "Why do you call me that? Why don't you run from me, leave me here now I'm not of use anymore."

He takes one step, and then another. Sweat beads on your brow despite the frigid chill of the night- his scarred fingers outstretched, waiting for you to take them. The golden thread inside your chest pulls taut like a bowstring. He's calling you home.

"You are my mate." he says. "I need you. Come back to me, my love."

"I'm ruined, Az." The words stick in your throat like syrup. "I'm no good to anyone, anymore. All I'll do is burden you." A sob rips through you. "You won't be happy with what I am now. I just want you to be happy."

The confession almost brings him to his knees.

Something snaps inside of him; eery calm replaces terror as he surveys you with narrowed eyes and a tilt of his head.

This is not your Azriel.

This is the feared shadowsinger- who wears a mask of cool wrath, who bows to no one. A calculated facade of composure.

"You are not ruined," he growls. The glacial fury in his voice has your breath catching in your throat, your insides freezing as if his words have wrapped icy fingers around your throat. "You are my mate, and you will step down and come to me. Now."

You find yourself complying without question, moving away on wobbling legs until your limbs give out and you're tripping over your own feet, hurtling towards the ground. As fast as the mask appears, it slips away, pure, unrelenting relief cascading down the bond.

Azriel's already there, hooking his arms beneath your own to shoulder your weight, a hand atop your head to anchor your body to his own even as you shudder and scream and soak his leathers with angry tears.

"I know, my love. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, the words a whisper into your hair as you claw at him, legs buckled and utterly useless. You're settled against thick muscle, tucked under Azriel's chin where he's lowered you both to the ground.

"I'm nothing," you gasp against his chest. "I have no place here anymore. I'm useless."

His hand is an anchor against the back of your neck, grounding when he squeezes the malleable flesh to draw your gaze to his own.

"You are everything."

The welcome pressure on your neck lulls you into drawing a long breath. Azriel deflates, hazel eyes trained on the rise and fall of your heaving chest.

"I am nothing without you," he continues on. "You are my life and my heart. Were you to die, I'd go by your side with a smile. I can't bear the thought of living in a world where you do not exist."

His wings twitch where they're tucked behind him. Your trembling fingers splay against the sharp angle of his jaw.

"I'm sorry," you croak. "I never want to leave you." His knuckles drag across your cheekbones, brushing away the tears that stain your balmy face. "I don't know how to live like this."

His lips press to your temple, brow nestled against the wisps of windswept hair at the crown of your head. He smears a kiss there and ventures lower. One against your jaw, your chin, in the crease of your brows.

And then he slants his lips over your own. Your muscles go soft, ragged breaths evening as he parts your lips with a swipe of his tongue, a hand splayed against the base of your spine as you sag. He brushes your nose with the tip of a scarred finger.

"Come on," he murmurs, urging you to stand. When you do, he tucks you into his chest, arms slung over your shoulders in a crushing embrace. "I will do anything to make this easier for you, my heart. I know it will be difficult, and I know it's scary. But stay with me."

Your arms tighten around his middle.

"Always."

[kiwanopie]

aki threatening to make us housewives………. the way i physically gasped 😭. he’s the worst—one year as your senpai and he’s already decided you’re his.

it’s so vile too bc you want it, want him more than anything. want aki to cream your cute pussy ‘til you’re bloated. wanna hold up chunky lil babies that giggle and pull at their daddy’s topknot :((

the way i immediately opened my docs this ask sent my brain into overdrive

Glutton.

cw: car sex. breeding. dumbification. overstimulation. choking (aki wraps his hand around your neck) creampie. 1.1k

You already know he’ll name it after his little brother.

Or his mom. Whatever her name was? You’ve been chalking up ideas since he put it in your head and now it feels like you can’t remember a thing. Just your hope that if it’s a boy it’ll look like him and if it’s a girl - for her sake - she won’t have her mother’s tendency to misbehave.

You’re nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

You know, you’ve always assumed that Aki was a smart guy. I mean he’s team leader for a reason? He’s level headed in most cases, stalwart when it counts, a little demented but conscious of the things he does, and stubborn. He’d walk on a plate of fire just to prove a point - but it’s not a bad thing to stay true to your own ideals. This is a guy who keeps his promises. Every single one of them.

He’s too ticked off to put two and two together. “It’s like you like pissing me off.”

Aki’s heated breaths burn sear marks into the crook of your throat, just over the open wing of your collar and love notes left by his lips from earlier. Your brain’s too mushy to do anything but pant into the air, blowing thicker tufts of condensation that have already turned his car windows misty.

He’s fucking you like he means to turn your guts around, pistoning into your poor overstimmed cunt like it’s all he’s meant to do. Not even faltering when the acrylics of your nails tear shallow gashes into his button up - If you had the half of mind, you could even say he enjoys it.

Feeling you cling to him so desperately as he grunts in the crook of your shoulder, tighten when he curses at you. Maybe he’s too blissed out. Maybe he’s not as smart as you took him for. But you seem to be taking the repercussions of your misbehavior in stride.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Aki hisses in your ear. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve going over my head after what I told you.”

You croon when he lifts one of your legs and fastens it over his arm to get you at a better angle - a deeper angle. God, his seats are probably ruined.

You already knew you were in trouble when he offered to drive you home. You knew the look in his eyes, and you knew Makima was obviously gonna tell the guy overseeing you that you requested clearance to be contracted with a new devil, especially one so substantial. You even pulled the extra stop of shoeing in a compelling argument. ‘The life of a hunter is short anyway. Why not make it mean something?’

Like getting knocked up by your boss in the back of his Lincoln. “P-…Please forgive me, senpai! I’m- fuck, m’so sorry-“

“You might as well get used to calling me by my first name.” He grunts. “It’d be pretty fucking confusing when we start sharing my last.”

Aki lets out a broken curse when you tighten up again. “God, I can’t believe you. Were you even gonna tell me? Was I just supposed to find out when you…”

He doesn’t even finish the thought. Instead he blows out a puff of air against your pulse that makes you shutter. Lifts his head to look at you more directly and stares at you for a moment. There’s a lot of emotions behind his eyes that you’re not exactly cognizant to decipher. A way the tendons in his jaw tense - that seems less angry and more ‘something else entirely.’ But before you can zero your misty eyes on what exactly that could be, he’s already pressing his lips against yours.

A slow kiss. Not messy and unrestrained like earlier but savory. Sensuous lip smacking all the more sultry when he tilts his head to follow the current of the kiss. His loose hair falls freely over your face, lax from all the tugging you’ve been doing since he started turning your insides to bisque. But a kiss like this is the kind you give when it means something. Goosebump and butterfly inducing - You moan in his mouth and he swallows it heartily.

And then he deepens it.

That earnest passionance becomes lustful and raunchy before you can even realize he’s sucking on your tongue. Deepening his thrusts until you’re feeling him in your stomach and groaning down your throat when your fingers start to dig into his scalp. If you didn’t know any better you’d say Aki was hoping for this kind of outcome just as much as you were. Especially when he starts to angle his thrusts for the spot that has you gushing around him like he likes.

The kiss leaves a gossamer trail of his spit when he pulls back for another look at you. Your pretty doe eyes have gone teary.

“Don’t even worry about your resignation, I fired you as soon as I found out.” Aki grunts. “We’ll figure out the living arrangements later.”

Your eyes roll back when he settles for a firm grip on your throat. “I’ll have to get a bigger car. Oh fuck - And a car seat.”

You babble something that sounds like a cross between “So good!” and “I’m cumming!” but it’s more a jumbled mess of moans and overstimulated whimpers. He’s stopped counting the amount of times your pretty pussy has gone into the process of milking him for all he’s got. But even as he follows you over the edge does he continue to fuck you brainless.

Aki peers down at the mess you’re making on his leather seats. “S-Shit. Quit wasting it. I’m not stopping till I know it’ll take.”

“S’good, senpai! A-Aki-senpai! So good! It’s s’good!”

He pulls your other leg up till you're folded in a mating press, groaning at the difference in angle. “You know - mhph - You’re even cuter when you’re all fucked out like this.”

His dick twitches at the way you start to drool. “Gonna be my pretty wife? Gimme some pretty babies?”

“Sso pretty…!” You slur. “G’nna make you a daddy!”

He gives you a blitzed smile that definitely says he’s as far gone as you are. “Yeah?”

Your mouth gapes as he bends over you, much too deep with your legs hooked over his shoulders and pressing his hips flat against your ass to grind in as thoroughly as possible.

“So stupid…” Aki skims his lips over yours. “You’re stupid if you think I’m done with you after that.”

He hums as he brings you into another kiss, briefly pulling away to murmur drunkenly. “Gimme a pretty family, baby.”

1 reblog = several Hayakawa babies

[bellamybellamyblake]

Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it. 

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster? 

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe. 

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say. 

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

[undercoverpena]

ix. put me to bed

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter nine of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. angst with fluff. dont hate the jo. a love confession, but not to the other. mention of alcohol (a few drinks). one use of the nickname 'bean', no use of y/n

word count: 4.1k

an: the most overwhelming thanks to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this chapter and the next, and giving me the comfort i needed to say goodbye to them.

He doesn’t know where to begin.

For the longest time, he just stands. Eyes sweeping across the effort you had made—the weight of it hitting into him. Contemplating the reason behind it, letting it mist over him, slathering itself onto his clothes, making them cling to his bones.

Drowned. He feels like he’s drowning.

It’s making everything feel tight, uncomfortable. All the while processing this thing he’s squandered. Ruined. Destroyed like he does everything else in his life.

Because you had broken a rule for him.

A declaration that you had encased in a statement, it all bold. He can only imagine from the display (and an array of wick-burnt candles) that it would have been illumed by dancing flames.

That is if he hadn’t overslept. If he had put on an alarm, done something other than close his eyes and hope.

Usually, Frankie doesn’t nap. He barely, and rarely even sleeps. Hasn’t been particularly good at getting a good amount for a while. Too many thoughts which keep him paralysed in the dark, ifs and buts and maybes all circling. The unknown faces of the loved ones that are left behind because he had something to do, achieve, complete.

Even since he’d gotten out, it hadn’t improved. In fact, it had worsened, doubling more so in the time since Colombia—only improving whenever he finds himself next to you. When your soft breaths in, and out, calm him, the scent of your shampoo takes the last bit of stress from him, handing him only a pleasant night's sleep.

He’d wanted to return the favour—give his attention, his time. It’s why he’d closed his eyes to begin with, why he’d thought grabbing an hour would be beneficial.

Now, it’s spoiled everything.

His teeth leave indents on the inside of his mouth, biting further down until it stings. The pads of his fingers tug at his curls as he unsticks his foot from the floor, deciding it was likely best he begin to tidy.

One, in the hope it’ll distract him, pass the time until you return from wherever it is you’ve gone. Two, because it’ll at least provide you with a clean home to return to—no evidence of the night he’d let you down.

It’s only when he’s cleared the table, mid-scraping the food into your bin, does he glance up. Eyes landing on your fridge, finding the Polaroid stuck to it—the one the two of you had taken at some BBQ years ago. Your lips pressed to his cheek, his eyes closed, lines in the corners as he grins something stupid. It always makes him smile when he sees it—had even begged you to let him take it when he began working away.

No. If you take it, you’ll have nothing to come visit me for.

As if that could ever be true.

He remembers when he told you about his license, the stupid drug charge. You had been the first place he thought of going. Rocking up to your door, enveloped in your porch light he stood more mess than man, shaking, trembling, so fearful that his life would go up in flames. But, you were an anchor, a thing which rooted him and didn’t let him float up into the sky. Hand on his back, guiding him in.

Whatever it is, it’ll be okay, Frank. I promise.

You had been right. Like you were about so many things.

Constantly a calming vibe, a thing he instantly feels better around—relaxing and unknotting him, it not mattering what state he presented himself to you in.

Closing his eyes, he runs his thumb over his phone—without even needing to open them, he finds your contact. Suddenly drowned in the dull ringing tone. It sounds out in the tension, vibrating against it, making it more prominent, until it rings to nothing, stuffing it back where he won’t see you and your face illuminated on the background of his phone.

Sinking into your sofa, he feels he should go. Return back to his place, pass all the buildings he’s just torn past, likely hit each red light on the way home (a thing he’s sure he deserves). He should get behind the wheel, tap his thumbs against it as he hopes you’ll ring him, maybe even force him to change lanes and come to you.

He sits instead. Both in the discomfort of his own making and the sorrow of a failed night—letting it sink into him. Pierce in, leave a mark, an invisible tattoo needled in with what he hopes isn’t your tears, sadness and anger. Yet, he suspects it’s all three.

His phone buzzes, heart flipping as he pulls it out of his jean pocket, hoping he sees your name—sees your face lit up on his screen. That happy one, where your eyes are closed and your mouth is open, it snapped a year ago, his shades hanging off the tip of your nose and a streak of jam on your cheek from a doughnut.

It isn’t your name.

Isn’t even a call.

Just one text, from Will.

Come get your girl, Fish.

He drives calmer than when he’d headed over. Only for the fact he doesn’t want to face the judgment when he arrives.

Because Will is nothing but predictable, likely timing him, knowing the exact minute of when he should arrive from either his own place or yours.

Naturally, he’s greeted by him—waiting outside, arms folded.

“Hey. Where is she?”

Frankie is barely confident he’s shut the door of his truck, only hoping it’ll lock as he presses the button, walking across the road to him—coming face-to-face with his friend.

It’s clear there’s judgment there, all heavy—embedded in confusion and disappointment. Both were like old friends sliding in, sketching across the same face he’d been beside in sand dunes and deep in jungles alongside.

“Inside.”

Something tightens, the rope threading through itself further, creating another knot he’ll struggle to undo. “She tell you?”

Will snorts. “No. But she didn’t not tell me either.”

“You out here to defend her or something?”

Narrowing his eyes, Will just stares—letting it simmer for a moment, letting it bubble in tension before he runs his thumb across his bottom lip.

“No,” he eventually says. “If anything, I’m not sure who she’s more pissed at. Apparently, I betrayed her.”

Frankie bites back a smile, dipping his head, hiding it—hopefully.

“Tell me I upset her for the right reason,” Will continues. “Tell me I didn’t make her look at me all crushed for no reason, Fish.”

Scratching the back of his curls, he swallows.

“C’mon man, gimme something here. I’ve had to watch the two of you do this fuckin’ dance for years. Ever since you left Ben’s. I thought, maybe this is it, maybe the two of them will open their eyes.”

Rubbing his arm, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip. Staring just passed him, at the windows of the bar—wondering if you’re there, if you’re further tucked inside, simmering, all hating and fury—

“Fish.”

“What?”

Giving him a pointed look, Will throws his arms out to the side. Wearing a look he’s seen before. One usually there when he’s telling someone off—berating them.

“What do you want me to tell you?” he asks.

Because, he isn’t sure. Not even wholeheartedly confident he knows what to say.

It’s why it was supposed to come out solid, all sharp edges and deep. Instead, it comes out shaky, weak—wrapped in nerves and encased in concerns. Defeat flowing through him, smothering everything else—made worse by the tilting head of his friend.

“You want me to tell you that I’m in love with her? Well, I am. I have been for… fuck—longer than I’ve known. You want me to tell you that I’ve been happier than I have been the last few months getting to enjoy seeing what it would be like to be with her, because I can’t.”

Swallowing, Frankie runs his hand across his face.

“You want me to tell you that I can’t stop thinking about her, that it feels like my heart has been wrenched out and gutted from my fucking chest because I let her down tonight—that she deserves better—“

“Fish…”

“—she does. Someone good, someone like you who makes her laugh, is there at the drop of a phone call, and can provide—“

The ball doesn’t shrink, it just pulses. Filling the space in his throat, constricting, widening in the limited avenue it has until he almost chokes on it.

“—and I can’t. I… I don’t know how to do any of it. Even if being with her feels like everything—like the fucking rain doesn’t make me think of Colombia, doesn’t make me remember the weight of carrying his body. Because—“

It catches and hits the back of his teeth. Attempting to swallow, shove it back. A sting to his eyes as he tries to blink it away.

But it isn’t so easily hidden, removed—or buried. It’s there now, existing, risen to the surface, bobbing up and down on emotions which are too heavy to sink to the bottom of his soul.

“—Because—“

“Y’need to tell her,” Will says, finally cutting through. Hand on his shoulder, grappling him, digging his fingers in. “Believe me.”

Blinking, he breathes. Takes more air in. Trying to settle his nerves, the adrenaline from letting it all out. “What if I lose her?”

“Y’won’t. Do you know why? Because while you’re getting worked up about what you think she deserves, she’s sat wishing she was good enough for you. So, talk to her. Trust me.”

Nodding, he casts his eyes down, hearing the door of the bar open—the loudness escaping out into the otherwise quiet street—as he locks eyes with you. You, who even with anger simmering, take his fucking breath away.

“I don’t like her like that, Fish,” Will whispers. “Never have. But even if I did, it wouldn’t have mattered. She’s always been yours.”

You’re quiet when he opens the door, even more so when you slide in beside him. A part of you knows he'll hate it, the silent treatment.

But, it's either that, or words, all matted together, coming out like a magician's infinite silk handkerchief.

You're sure that's what is simmering in your chest, all eroding, bubbling, all coiled and twisted. At the heart of it is disappointment, followed up by so much more. It prickles in and around the truck, adding in thick layers to the tension—it all being plucked like the chords of a song.

Your stomach swirls, in the opposite way to your head. The few drinks you had mixed with the emotional whiplash you were still recovering from.

Because when you’d seen him, all you had wanted to do was bury your head into his chest. Somehow hold him, rid yourself of the doubts, the worries. The thoughts which had thundered inside of you, were only diluted by the anger you’d been feeling that maybe, just maybe, he’d decided against doing this thing with you.

It isn’t until the engine rumbles, does your stomach make a noise, a grumble. The hunger rising, not as easily ignored as it had been before—when you’d been turning things over. Purposefully choosing to sit in the complex emotions Will tried to urge you to explain.

But how could you?

Especially when you were unsure at what point they began and ended? A love that had woven in and around all of you, threaded itself between bones and became part of muscles.

“How much did you drink?”

Twisting your fingers around the strap of your bag, you swallow. “Two, maybe three.”

You catch his brow arching, lips tightening into a thin line. His profile is all lit up by the lights above dashing past as he heads down the quiet road.

“Someone spilt a drink on me. That's... that's why you can smell it.”

“You okay—I got a hoodie in the back?”

Snorting, you lick your lips. “No. I’m fine. Was just a shot—smells worse than it is.”

Pulling up to a light, you hear him take a deep breath. A sound you shouldn’t be happy to hear, but you are. It settling things, easing the grip around your heart—the one which had tightened when you’d wondered if something had happened, if he had been hurt—

“You really do stink.”

You don’t laugh, just bite it back, letting the lights go green as he drives and drives. Your head wants nothing more than to turn, stare at him—ask him what happened, shout and even cry.

You do none of it.

Just waiting until he pulls up, in that spot his vehicle always finds itself in. The engine cuts, the air around the two of you turning silent.

It’s just you, and him, your dark and quiet street, and the animals who wish for some privacy as they get up to no good.

“I…” he begins, clearing his throat. “I need you to know I didn’t mean to stand you up—I overslept.”

“I know,” you mumble, shaking your phone. “Saw your text.”

Nodding, he chews his cheek, sighing. “I know people let you down, but please... I wouldn’t, I didn’t mean to do that to you. I just—I needed a nap, just… fuck I just wanted to be more alert.”

Biting your bottom lip, you almost pierce it. It stings, throbs, worsening in the seconds that pass as you nod.

Undoing your seatbelt, shifting yourself to the side. Pulse thumping in your ear, beating, getting louder and louder, and then you look at him.

The way his eyes have widened, soft, all worried. His face pinched, his lips in a thin line, but it’s the dark circles under his eyes, the darkened tinge you know wasn’t there the week prior.

Because you’ve mapped him. Know every inch of him now. Somehow able to carve him from clay with how your hands know him, able to spot the way his hand feels in yours from a lineup.

“I just didn’t want to have waited all week to see you, and fall asleep once I was around you.”

Snorting. “I must be good company.”

He whispers your name, more urgently, all quick. “You’re… I feel relaxed around you, that’s all.”

Sighing, the car fills with the sound, as he lets his head roll back onto the headrest. And you can feel him staring at you, getting the feeling he’s unable to take his eyes off of you. As if he’s almost unable to, commanded to.

You hate that you feel the same. That you always feel the same. Your eyes scanning over each angle of his face, an act you’ve done thousands of times, but this time, feels, different.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t sleeping?”

“It’s not that I’m not sleeping. More that I’m just not sleeping as well.”

You almost say same. Spill it. Share it with him.

You’re just fearful of what will come with it. Confessions are so easy when your mind is full of the things you can’t say, mixing with the tiredness that’s come on from worrying, from being nervous, from crying—from keeping a tight lip when Will tried to get you to open up.

At this point, it would be easier to tell him that you dream of waking beside him. Your linens, but in his bedroom—all dark walls that make the day not seem like it's arrived, just so you could steal more time with him.

“How long?”

Smirking, it softens into a smile as the seconds collect. “Since I began spending one night a week curled up against you.”

Eyes dropping, your fingers begin playing with the zip on your bag. Pulse thundering in your head, that little screech starting in your eardrum as you try to keep yourself calm, try not to let yourself get ahead of yourself.

“It’s why…” pinching the bridge of his nose, you let your gaze wander back to him. “I just wanted to see you on more sleep than I’d had since I was up there.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“You want me to turn it off?”

Looking down, you nod. A playful smile begins to grace your lips, feeling him still watching you. You sit in it—all the things unspoken. The fact that hours ago, all you had wanted to do was pour your heart out, tell him, clutch his cheeks—love me, Frankie, please love me.

Now, you fiddle with any part of your bag you can. Secretly wanting him to kiss you, render you thoughtless—make the night fade, blend into a sea of other ones. Because you’re not sure how to explain to him how often you think of him, how his name comes so easily to rest on your lips when you first wake in the morning when you’re having a bad day, when your hand is sliding under the band of your underwear seeking a little something to unwind.

It’s him. Always him.

Even if you know that a part of you also knows he isn’t yours. He doesn’t owe you anything, it all barely an agreement, barely anything in place which would explain the way you feeling—how crestfallen, shattered and smashed into a thousand pieces.

“Bean…” he whispers.

Forcing your eyes to drag up. “You’ve not called me that in ages.”

Smiling half-heartedly, he snorts.

An old nickname, a thing he called you for no reason, but it stuck. Became a fixture. A thing now replaced with other pet names, other terms of affection. You're not sure which one makes your heart double in size more.

Not now. Not when all you do is feel so much for him.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” you reply. And you do.

Not meeting his eyes, not able to, a part of you worrying what will happen if you do—will you ever be able to look away? Will he see through the facade you’d throw up for him, see all the ways he’s managed to bring old scars to the surface, make you feel at fault, foolish—

Your insides churn.

“Okay.”

Lifting your chin, you slide your hand over to take his, gripping it, not letting go. Because there’s not a thing you wanted more than him, not ever. Not when you’d been sat waiting, with time to tick on, and not now sat, feeling his guilt wash from him in thick, horrid waves.

“I thought you’d had enough of me.”

It’s all you can say, swallowing the rest. That you’d worried you were broken, unsave-able—forever destined to be let down and hurt. A pattern of it stitched into you before him, a sea of bad dates and bad relationships, each leaving a different insecurity nestled within you.

“Never,” he breathes.

You blink, feeling the corners blur as the tears approach—your elbow resting on the door of his truck, teeth nipping at your thumb, biting down harder, more intently, just to stifle them. Stop them from building more, fearful of them falling.

Because it heals a shard inside of you—apply glue to it, knowing it’ll be set in a few hours.

“You coming in?”

“Sure, querida.”

Another part of you calms. It sliding back into its original place inside of you—able to take a breath, a real one. Hearing his footsteps fall behind you, your fingers finding your keys, as your door unlocks with far too much ease with how you’d slammed it earlier tonight.

It’s only when you throw your bag on the hook, passing the jacket he’d left behind, that your mind remembers the evidence at your dining table. The thing you wouldn’t be able to explain, even if you tried. The words are all jumbled now, blasted to the inside of your brain by earlier sobs, anger and now beer.

“I’ve already seen it.”

His voice sounds louder in the quiet of your home and the thudding of your head. Your brain whirring, trying to catch up, to think on your feet—be quick, be witty, do something, say anything.

“Tomorrow?” he adds, cutting you off before words even begin to be thought.

A lump forms in your throat, beginning there, all unable to be swallowed as he runs his hand up and down your arm before he heads into your kitchen. You follow, slowly, more cautious in your steps as you hear the tap, hear him grab a glass—all movements that feel normal, but now feel the very opposite of that.

“Drink this.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Humour me,” he says, nudging the glass into your hand.

It allows you a moment to spot the table—how spotless it is, the only evidence of the night being the candles, the cutlery he hadn’t put away, the rest is gone, vanished.

“Came to find you,” he says, all able to read you—a thing he does with far too much ease.

And it makes you worry, and panic. Because if he can so easily discern this, does he already know? Had it been an element of why he had needed the nap—more energy to end this, the thing the two of you have that has been more than just sex. It has become something so much more.

You had known it. Had been feeling it.

It was evidenced by the fact you had begun to count more than days till you could see him.

“Remember when you cleaned sick of my floor.”

Snorting, he leans against your counter, all legs outstretched, arms folding—even the outline of him handsome, barely needing the light on to see how good he looks. Because that’s just him.

“Vividly,” he says, smirking. “Not repeating that tonight, are you?”

“No. Didn’t drink much.”

“You keep saying that but your eyes are glazed.”

You bite your lip. “I didn’t eat.”

He doesn’t speak but rather makes a noise. Something in the back of his throat, something he buries in a cough, smothering it from existence with a wipe of his face, as you drain the last bit of your glass.

“Good gi…”

Biting your bottom lip, you pause as you offer it to him, staring at him.

It’s likely wrong, not the thing you should do, but you do it anyway. The gap closing, all easy to do (barely more than three steps) as you clutch his cheeks, crashing your lips to his, hoping it says enough—a gesture which speaks a thousand of the words which keep circling, swimming.

Can you hear me love you, Morales?

His lips moving with yours, the tip of his tongue sliding across your bottom lip—warm, eager, likely saying just as many things, but they’re not easy to read, to tell.

Pulling back, you press your forehead against him, fingers working around his neck, twirling a curl or two. Just being. Taking in the way you can feel his heart hammer against yours, the two of them trying to find a rhythm, desperate to match, to fit.

“Should sleep,” he whispers against you, a soft kiss against your skin. “We can… we can talk tomorrow.”

“Stay—“

Nodding, he cups your face with his hands. “I will, baby. I promise. Out here, on the sofa. You… we should talk tomorrow. You’re tired, I’m tired.”

Tears threaten to spill, hanging, all delicate from your lashes as you slowly lift your head, trying to nod. Your throat tightening, clenching.

“Bean, don’t cry. It’s gonna be alright, we’ll sleep and then tomorrow we’ll talk and it’ll be fine.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to smile. “Okay.”

Kissing your forehead, he lingers, your fingers hovering over his waist, desperate to pull him close.

“You’re not leaving me are you?”

Something shifts in his eyes. A moment where they widen and then narrow ever so slightly—like they’re being pinched by his thoughts, things he likes wants to say, spill, let you know and understand.

“No. Never,” he whispers, fingers clutching your chin, thumb drawing a line up and down it. “I’ll tell you how I’m never going to tomorrow. When you’re sober.”

Okay, you think. Biting your lip, casting your eyes down when you hear him say your name.

“If I…” Frankie scratches the back of his head. “You’ve had a drink… I don’t wanna push things, but if you—”

“I want to fall asleep with you,” you cut in.

Okay, you hear.

And it’s different than the one you thought, different than the nervousness in his voice a second ago. It’s different—all of it. You just hope different doesn’t mean wrong.

FINAL CHAPTER ->

[peachdues]

THE SWEET FAR THING — PROLOGUE

Knight!Kyojuro x Princess!Reader AU

A/N: did I say prologue tomorrow? I meant now. I’m on an angst kick y’all, and I can’t be tamed. Plus, I’m very excited about this one. So enjoy the opening scene to The Sweet Far Thing.

Read the first teasers here and here.

The prologue is a flash-forward to later events in the story. The fic will then pick up in the past, and show how the prologue itself comes to be.

CW: MDNI • mentions of violence/murder • vague reference to non-con • Douma (y’all already KNOW) • this fic will contain heavy explicit content

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom that lived on the edge of ruin.

It was once a grand Empire; a shining beacon of light and prosperity. Its citizens had flourished thanks to the kingdom’s unique position between a lush, mountainous range rife with resources to the north and a vast, shining sea to the south, which gave birth to a booming trade industry. At its head sat the royal family which sired generation after generation of benevolent rulers, beloved by all.

But greed and power are vices that even the most noble of kingdoms cannot evade forever, and soon, the spoils of war came for it.

For a while, the kingdom managed; its isolation meant it could ward off enemy invaders, for a time, and the King did his best to assure his citizenry that there was nothing to fear. And because the Royal Family had always been open and honest with its people, there was no reason to doubt him; life continued on without impediment, as though sons and daughters weren’t being recruited in the dark of night to to die in a field fighting a faceless enemy with an army in the tens of thousands.

But beneath the thin veneer of golden prosperity , the kingdom slowly rotted away until only its bones remained. To save it, a sacrificial lamb had been offered to appease the unbeatable and unrelenting enemy at its doorstep; the Kingdom’s beloved Princess.

You.

And now, you were being offered up once more, only this time it was to the gods or whatever it was that awaited you in the afterworld, which surely better than anything you’d endured here, in the land of the living.

At least it was you who was doing the offering; you supposed there had to be some comfort in your own dignity, no matter how little of it remained.

So there, perched atop the thin circle of stone wall that created an outer barrier around the tallest tower of your toppled castle that separated you from the edge of the world, you paused.

The wind howled and swirled around you, slicing clean through the thin linen of your nightgown, whipping its hem sharply against your shins. You should have felt cold; you should have been trembling, clinging desperately to the crumbling stone ledge against which you now stood, body bowed away from the turret as gravity beckoned you to follow it down.

All that separated you from the rocky ravine hundreds of feet below, were your fingers, loosely curled around the tower’s low wall. There was nothing — no one — to stop you, save yourself, and you had no intention of doing so.

The sudden image of heated ochre eyes narrowed accusingly at you and flame-tinged hair flashed through your mind, a searing comet across your impending night.

Kyojuro.

He would be angry, your Knight. Furious that you’d broken your oath to him — to stay alive.

But that was before; before the gilded paint coating your kingdom peeled back to reveal the rust and ruin below. Before your people had been starved and beaten into submission, pillaged by the forces that marched through the rubbled and ruined halls of the once magnificent castle you’d called home, and impaled your father through his heart with his own flagstaff. Before his body had been left to rot on his family’s ancestral throne, as a reminder of the new order.

Before Prince Douma had plucked the crown from the King’s decaying head and plopped it on his own, declaring himself your kingdom’s savior though it had been his Empire which caused its fall.

Before he’d humiliated and violated you again and again in front of your sworn shields — including the knight who’d held your heart since you were children and unaware of the war raging just beyond your doors.

Besides, you’d endured a dozen and a half of your beloved Knight’s broken promises and half-truths; clung to the hopes he’d sown, like summer dew on grass, only for him to break every single one of them and leave you to reap the consequences.

But you? You’d kept your vows; every single one of them, right up until that very moment.

Behind you there was an urgent scrape of metal against stone, a pounding against the tower door that you’d barricaded to keep your wretched husband’s men at bay, at least long enough for you to clamber awkwardly over the stony bannisters surrounding the turret, as you scrambled toward your last chance at freedom.

You closed your eyes.

Just this once, Kyojuro would have to accept your failure. You’d endured far too many of his.

The image of his eyes — pools of amber ore, warm and safe, flashed through your mind.

You smiled; even here, at the end, he was your greatest source of comfort. And it was because you had the solace of his eyes, the memory of his skin, warm against yours, and of his lips, that you found the courage to answer the wind’s sweet howl of your name.

For all of Kyojuro’s failures, you could never find it in your heart to resent him; not when he’d shown you his love, as conditional as it apparently had been, you’d known it all the same.

To know love and to be loved in return; it was enough, no matter how fleeting it had been.

Your lungs expanded, greedily drawing in as much of the icy air of the early morning dawn as possible, knowing that there would be nothing more to come. If you strained hard enough, you swore you could hear a whisper of your name in the wind, in the precise cadence of his voice.

Lungs stretched to capacity, you paused, reveling in the temporary silence as you rose up high on your toes.

And with a soft exhale, you let your hands fall away from the turret’s ledge.

[allysunny]

Congrats on 200. I fell in love with ur Bruce Wayne one-shot and immediately followed u. This is my first request ever so I hope I did fine

11 + 21 Dialogue Prompt and make up scenario prompt with Bruce Wayne

"You're intoxicating, you know that, right?” + "You're a forbidden fruit. And I’m tempted to take a bite.” + Make Up x Bale!Bruce Wayne

Words: 4.9k words

Warnings: Some angst, break ups, infidelity, some suggestive themes but nothing explicit, no use of Y/N not proofread (I'm dead sick), maybe OOC Bruce? If I missed anything, please let me know.

A/N: Hey everyone!!! I'm back with another one of my requests. Nothing much to say about this one, although I had a kind of hard time matching the dialogue prompts with the scenario prompts. I'm not very sure how I feel about this one. I'm extremely sick, I can't even think straight.

I hope you all enjoy it, though! I love Bruce, and loved writing this. He's such a little gremlin omg, the mc is stronger than me honestly.... <3 I hope this lived to your expectations, and I hope I did your request justice!!!!

The first time you and Bruce had fought, things had ended awkwardly.

There were no sparks, no big make-up kiss, no passionate make-up sex.

You’d gone your separate ways, too scared of what you might say to each other to even be in the same room. You’d hurried to your shared bedroom, closing the door, and crawling under your thousands of blankets. Bruce, on his hand, didn’t want to upset you any further, so he took one of the guest rooms and had to make do without the warmth of your touch.

On the morning after, he’d sheepishly knocked on your door, and allowed him to crawl back into your bed. He was shy and afraid, and so were you, but you loved him and let him cling to your body. None of you said a word, just held each other silently and tried to go about with your days later. It was weird – you walked on eggshells and barely spoke, and you wished to never fight with him ever again.

The second time, you didn’t let him crawl into your bed the following morning. But you’d allowed him to lean into you the following night while you watched a movie in the couch. You’d gone longer without speaking.

The third time, you were far too tired. Neither you spoke for a few days. In fact, you refused to even look at him. The ice was too thin to be broken.

It was getting harder and harder to do this. Staying with Bruce, that is.

So, this time, you weren't patient enough to stick around. You grabbed your car keys and drove to a friend's house to spend the night.

You were familiar with fighting with Bruce. Exasperation and exhaustion while you tried to fight for your relationship weren't foreign.

But just because they weren't foreign, it didn't mean you should be used to them.

You loved Bruce. Really did, more than anything in your life. You were sure he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your days with. Kind, caring, with a sense of humour that matched yours perfectly. It also helped he was handsome to boot. The perfect catch, and your perfect match, in more levels than one.

UT you just couldn't help wanting to bang your head against a wall whenever you two fought. The motives were always the same. Bruce had gotten home super late, barely acknowledged you, and locked himself in his study. You'd only gotten a glimpse of him when he joined you in bed at around 4 in the morning. This was no way of living, you'd told him. He was ruining his sleep schedule, his health, his mind, his body, and his relationship with you.

But according to him, he just had to do it.

It wasn't until you were roughly one year into your relationship that he revealed his secret.

It all made sense then, clearly. The late nights, the missed dates, the exhaustion, the eyebags. It clicked instantly.

Of course, your first thought was to beg him to stop. What else were you supposed to do? Watch as he killed himself night after night, coming home with all sorts of weird bruises, tired out of his mind, pushing himself further and further until he crashed and burned? NO. You loved him far too much for that.

Still, you stayed. Through thick and thin, you'd promised. The two of you weren't married, and after he revealed to you that he was Batman, you weren't even sure if marriage was even an option (On his side, of course. You'd still have married him in a heartbeat), but you would always love him as if you were.

He, of course, did not relent. Why would he? Being Batman was his duty. It's what he had to do. Gotham needed him, and he wasn't going to simply abandon it. You got it. Kind of. He was a dutiful man, of course. But this godforsaken city had done absolutely nothing for him. Gotham did not deserve him. And Bruce was worthy of more. Much more.

You tried to make it work after his confession. For a while, you'd wait for him until he came home, patched him up once or twice, lull him back to sleep, running your hands through his hair and softly singing lullabies to him. It felt weird. It was domestic in a weird way. You felt like it was your own little secret, you, and your little vigilante boyfriend. For a while, you felt like the strong loving woman your sweet hero would come home to at the end of the day. For a while, you felt like his home, and it reminded of your superhero movies and comic books you enjoyed engaging with from time to time.

But it got boring really quick.

The lack of attention from Bruce became unbearable, the lack of his love even more so. The Mansion, instead of your once fairytale castle, was now suffocating, its pretty and adorned walls feeling too claustrophobic.

The little secret you'd loved at first, was threatening to consume you whole.

So, you did the only rational thing.

You broke him with him.

You loved Bruce, that much was true. But you were not going to silently suffer while he got closer and closer to death each morning, nor could you stay there to watch. It broke your heart, yes. But it also had to be done.

You packed your things and promptly left. You were planning to tell Bruce a few nights before, but thanks to his job and his, well, other job, he hadn't been home, which gave you even the more reason to do it. You hugged Alfred tightly,  got your things and left.

Bruce of course, was shocked. He only found out about two days later, when he finally came downstairs for breakfast at a regular time, and didn't find you curled up on the couch. Upon asking Alfred, he was given the small handwritten note you'd left for him, the one he hadn't even seen.

After that, he'd called you countless times, but you never replied. You knew that if you answered your phone and listened to Bruce's voice once, everything would go down the drain and you'd forgive him. And that just couldn't do.

So you moved on with your life – or tried to.

You got a promotion at your job, a fancy business dedicated to pharmaceuticals, got a sweet place of your own, a pretty loft with a lovely view of the river, and even got a boyfriend.

He wasn't Bruce, that's for sure. He was shorter, smaller, thinner, not as funny and to be honest, kind of annoying sometimes. He had some habits that drove you nuts, and you could swear sometimes his eyes lingered far too long on the women that walked down the street hand in hand with their boyfriends, and spoke about football players way too much. But he was sweet and brought you flowers and never disrespected you, so you chalked it up to being too nitpicky and swallowed it down, allowing Matt to spoil you and take care of you the best he could.

You'd get glimpses of Bruce's life here and there, plastered all over magazine covers. His latest affairs consisted of gorgeous actresses, a rising pop star, and a model you particularly remember disliking because she made you feel insecure. When you saw her picture with Bruce in some scandal column, you bit through your cheek and thought to yourself what a petty man he was.

No matter.

You were doing great. Your life was just beginning. You had new work opportunities, a nice boyfriend, and weren’t going to let anyone, let alone him, stop you.

It was easier said than done.

The first time you had ran into Bruce after your breakup, you nearly screamed. He'd walked into your company's building, claiming something about a partnership and a donation. Your boss thanked him profusely, a deep flush taking over her cheeks, but he couldn't care less, eyes boring into you with an intensity you were familiar with. He asked to speak to you, and you'd tried shooing him away, but your boss felt it was "incredibly rude to deny just a small request of Mr. Wayne", she practically locked you both inside your office.

"This is a nice place," he'd said, looking around at the room you'd decorated with a few personal belongings. "Nice view. Got it with the promotion?"

"Yes. Not that it's any of your business, actually." Had been your reply. You'd crossed your arms over your chest and scowled. How dare he show up just after everything he'd done to you?

"Actually, in case you didn't hear your boss over there, it'll be my business alright. We're becoming partners, and I believe we'll have to work closely together." You had not missed the smirk that accompanied it and fought hard not to let your face show just how strong his hold still was over you. While you tried to distract yourself from his presence, you hadn't realised just how close he'd gotten.

"Pft. It's not me you'll be working with," you'd said, trying to keep calm. His beautiful brown eyes were searching for yours, and you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of backing down.

"Something I consider a great pity," he had sighed, taking one step towards you. "Look, I'm really sorry – "

"We don't have to do this."

"What?"

"This. Apologies. We don't have to. You did what you had to do, or what you thought you had to do, and so did I. I've moved on, Bruce. Let's just keep it in the past." You'd said, looking away. Bruce had eyed the way you bit your bottom lip, desperately wishing it was him tugging on it.

"It doesn't change how sorry I am, how – "

"How you moved on super quick, not afraid to date literally every model in the book," you 'd chuckled sarcastically. Sorry my ass.

"You know why I did that. I have an image to maintain," Bruce had taken another step towards you, and he placed his hands on your waist, testing the waters. When you did not walk away from his grip, he pressed closer to you. "There's not a single day that goes by that I don't miss you. Desperately."

You could have let him fool you, with his pretty words and even prettier face. But you'd just realised how fantastic your life could become without him (even if, deep down, your heart still yearned for the man before you). So, you gathered all your courage and pushed him away, quickly moving towards the door and opening it.

"Have a good day, Mr. Wayne."

He did not question you and left your office promptly, allowing you to sink back in your chair and release a sigh so deep, you were sure everyone in the building had heard it.

Your other encounters with Bruce, had been more intense.

Now partners, you had to interact with him almost weekly, and every time, he managed to find some excuse to get his hands on you.

You had something in your hair, or some dust in your jacket, or he simply had to walk past and needed to gently cup your waist or place his hands on the small of your back to guide you. At first you thought it was annoying, but quickly began to eagerly await each meeting where you knew Bruce would be present. You'd started to tease him, bending over sometimes to catch whatever had slipped from your grasp – pencils, pens, books, binders – pretended to trip just to have a reason to hold tight onto his arms, gave him flirty smiles whenever he was presenting anything, causing him to stutter and fumble over his words.

He'd caught onto this little game of yours, and it became your little secret.

You didn't like what this entailed – your last secret had ended badly for the two of you. Besides, you had a boyfriend. A very nice one, who was oblivious to your little "adventures" with Bruce at work. Sure, they didn't go past him getting his hands on you or you on him. You never kissed him again; it wasn't like that. But it wasn't fair for Matt if you kept going with whatever this was between your ex.

So, one day, when Bruce arrived for a meeting, you'd pushed him aside after and spoke briefly.

"Look, I don’t' know what this is between us," you started, "But it has to end. I – I have a boyfriend. And it's wrong to do this to him."

You didn't miss the way Bruce's eyes narrowed when you uttered the word "boyfriend". Nevertheless, you continued.

"And it's not fair for either of us as well. We're not together anymore, Bruce. We're not in a relationship. I'm sorry if I led you to believe there was anything else going on here. It was wrong of me – all of this was. But I'm putting an end to this. From now on, we're to only speak to each other in a professional setting. I don't want anything to do with you outside of work. Ever again. I have a life of my own, you know. And you're not in it. Goodbye, Bruce."

You walked away, leaving him to soak your words.

That same day, you got home earlier and snuggled up with Matt on the couch. He'd brought you flowers and cooked dinner, telling you all about how he "could sense you weren't doing well". You smiled. Yeah. You'd be perfectly happy with him. He was a great catch, and you were lucky to snag a guy like him. After dinner, you helped him load the dishwasher and pulled him through the couch, where you picked a movie that was abandoned halfway, the sound of the TV being muffled by your little sighs and whimpers of pleasure under your boyfriend.

Images of Bruce's face tried to sneak into your thoughts as Matt kissed a trail down your neck (was it just you, or was it almost robotic the way he did it?), and you fought against them. He'd abandoned you. He'd chosen Batman, his mask, his other identity, over you. And you deserved better. Matt was better. You shook your head and pulled him up, crashing his lips into yours (Was he simply not into it? Not in the mood?) until you were out of breath and light-headed, and Bruce Wayne could no longer disturb your mind.

You still had no idea how anyone had convinced you to do this.

Not that you minded the get up, the pretty dress, the cute hairstyle, the heels. You looked and felt like a Princess. But such getups should be saved for date nights or other romantic activities. Never a charity ball in which you, along with other equally excited coworkers of yours represent the company.

You really did not want to be here. You could've dolled up to go somewhere with Matt and that would have been fine, but it was a Friday night and the last thing you wanted was to socialise with a bunch of Gotham snobs whose only reasoning for donating money was to appear charitable than to be charitable.

You sighed and took a sip from your drink, some sweet cocktail you'd fetched at the bar, earning a quizzical look from Matt.

"Having fun over there?" He asked. He looked rather dashing with his blonde hair all slicked back, and his stormy eyes looking at you with amusement.

"Another one, and I'll gut you open," you muttered. You were tired of the fake smiles, of the polite small talk, of having to pretend you actually sucked up to everyone in the grand ballroom.

"I don't know, you look like you might fight right in," Matt joked, which had you nearly choke on your drink.

"I need to down a few more of these to try and make myself believe I could ever fit in."

Matt chuckled and the two of you spoke for a while. He looked very handsome in his dark blue tux, and he was all yours for a few minutes, until he spotted someone "he simply had to meet". Some big shot economist he'd read about in a paper. Personally, you'd never really realised Matt was big on economy, but you let it slide. At least one of you was having fun.

Hours went by. Mark was nowhere to be seen. You were leaning against a wall, in one of the far ends of the room, completely alone and bored out of your mind, when you heard his voice.

"You look lovely," Bruce said, glancing over your figure, eyes lingering on your hips and how your dress snugly hugged them.

You stood up straight and did your best to look away and appear uninterested.

Bruce sighed

"Are you really not going to talk to me?" He asked, to which you sighed. No one could see you –you were far from the bustling crowd, from the noise. And that somehow had your knees weak.

"There's nothing to talk about, Bruce," you said.

"Yes, there is. I want to apologise – "

"I told you; we really don't have to do this – "

"Yes, we do." Bruce reached out to you, his hand carefully resting on your waist. You finally looked at him, and your gaze softened. Of course, he looked as handsome as always, hair carefully styled, doing a beautiful black suit. Then, your eyes landed on his tie. It was a lovely shade of burgundy – perfectly matching your dress. Did he know that was the colour you'd be wearing? Had he done it on purpose?

"Please. Just let me explain." He murmured, and you couldn't help but relent. You always did when he gave you that sweet look and spoke to you in that voice. You nodded.

"I'm sorry. For everything," he started, stepping back a bit to give you some space. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel trapped. "You should know that I never wanted to hurt you. It's just... I know how you feel about Gotham. I know you think it's done for, and that I shouldn't waste my time on it. But... I believe in Gotham. I truly do. I've seen what its people can do, what they're capable of. And they're good. They're trying. I have hope for this city. And I can't just stand back and watch it fall. Not when I could've done something to prevent it."

"And I couldn't just stand there and watched as you nearly killed yourself every night for a city that doesn't deserve you," you replied, looking up to meet his gaze.

"I know. I'm sorry I put you through so much pain."

He leaned in closer, and you unconsciously followed, chest pressing against his. Bruce tucked a rebel strand of hair behind your ear, and his fingers travelled down your neck and shoulders. You sighed, having missed his touch far too much. Bruce always touched you gently. Sure, he’d pulled and tugged and been rough with you sometimes, when you both needed, or you asked him nicely. But you always liked it when he was gentle with you, taking his time and treating you like a precious treasure.

“It breaks my heart to know you were suffering so much because of me. I’m sorry. I know I’m selfish to want it all. The city, you, Batman.” He spoke, hands running up and down your neck and collarbone.

“I only ever wanted you. But I guess that was too much to ask.” You replied.

“It wasn’t. I was yours. I am.”

“You’re not. I have to share you with the city, don’t I?”

“My heart was always with you.”

“But you weren’t. And that was enough for me to leave.”

You’d completely forgotten where you were. And it’s not like anyone else even minded you – old men were already going on drunk rambles, and women were flirting with men who weren’t their husbands. No one seemed to be paying attention to the two idiots nearly hidden away in the darkness. Probably some clingy couple, most of them thought.

Bruce sighed and dropped his head to your neck. You should have wanted to push him away, tell him that he couldn’t. Tell him that you had a boyfriend, and you couldn’t have your heart broken by him again. But instead, the only thing that left your lips was a soft whisper of his name, something short of a plea.

He brushed his lips across the column of your neck, and you tilted it back, granting him a better access. As he started pressing kisses against your soft skin, you heard him whisper.

“You’re intoxicating, you know that, right?”

You sucked in a breath and your hand came up to tangle itself in his neatly styled hair.

Looking over his shoulder, your eyes scanned the party. Men and women dressed in formal attires, dancing, chatting away, drinking. Suddenly, your eyes fell on Matt, who was excitedly talking with an older man. Something inside you (was it your conscience?) churned and you shook your head.

“Bruce, we shouldn’t – “ you were interrupted when he latched his lips onto that one sweet spot just below your ear, the one that made you go weak in the knees, and gasped loudly. “M-Matt – my boyfriend – we can’t – “

“Oh? And why is that?” Bruce asked, soothing over the spot with his tongue, hands expertly tugging on your hips.

“I’m – I’m taken, Bruce, I can’t do this… It’s wrong…”

You weren’t even sure if you’d believe your own voice.

“Ah. I see. You’re taken. It’s wrong.” Bruce got up and part of you wanted to pull him closer once again, mind screaming “Why did you stop?” over and over again. But your whole face heat up when he placed his thumb under your chin, tilting your head up and looking straight into your eyes.

“You’re a forbidden fruit,”he muttered, “And I’m tempted to take a bite.”

You looked up at him in surprise. You were sure he could hear just how loud and fast your heart was beating, betraying you.

“May I’?” Bruce asked politely.

Should he?

He’d hurt you. Very much.

But he’d also apologized.

Yeah, but he’d left you alone countless times.

He was saving Gotham. What a good person Bruce Wayne was.

He chose his city over you. Repeatedly.

He’s choosing you right now.

How long is that going to last?

Forever. Because you’re sure that no matter what, you’d love him forever.

“Yes,” you whispered back, and it was only a matter of seconds before his lips crashed onto yours. Bruce pressed you close against him, allowing himself the pleasure of letting his mouth explore yours. Your tongues fought for dominance, and you let out a soft moan that he deliciously drank up. His hands tugged at your waist, and you wanted him closer, closer, closer.

You cupped his jaw with your hands and kissed him fervently, doing your best to keep up. One of his hands tilted your head even higher and Bruce was able to kiss you deeper. You held onto his jaw, his hair, his head, his suit. You needed him closer, needed to breathe him until his whole existence consumed you, until you knew nothing but the feel of his lips on yours and his love in your heart.

Bruce pulled away for air, and he rested his forehead against yours, catching his breath.

“I missed you,” he mumbled.

“I missed you too.”

“I promise things will be different,” he nodded, hands still caressing your cheek. “Things have… they’ve been good. Gotham is getting better. It doesn’t need me as much. And as much as I want to do my best to keep it safe, I’ve come to realise that I should let it heal on its own sometimes.”

“You really mean that?” you asked, looking up at him. Bruce kissed your forehead and nodded once more.

“I do. Please, forgive me. I promise things will change. I will change. I was miserable after you left.”

You let out a soft snort.

“So miserable you had to date a bunch of actresses and models.”

“I had an image to upkeep. I didn’t like any of them. They weren’t you. Couldn’t come close to you, really. I didn’t even kiss them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Thought I’d be betraying you if I did.”

You nodded and allowed yourself to melt in his embrace. It felt nice. It felt like home.

“So? Am I forgiven?”

You thought about it.

Bruce seemed to have changed. Sure, he could be lying. All of these could be empty promises, simply a scheme to get back in your pants. But you somehow didn’t believe that. That wasn’t the Bruce you knew. The Bruce you knew was kind and caring and true. He was always true when it came to you.

That’s why it was so easy to believe him.

“I… There’s Matt…” you mumbled, looking over his shoulder again, spotting your boyfriend who had suspiciously gotten closer to an older woman with a sparkly silver dress and her husband.

“Do you love him?”

“What?”

“Do you love him? Because if you do and you don’t want to be with me, I’ll walk away. Look me in my eyes and tell me you love Mark – “

“Matt.”

“Whatever. Tell me you want him, and I’ll leave you alone. Your happiness is my priority.”

You liked Matt. He was sweet. Very caring towards you, a great friend.

But he would never be Bruce.

You shook your head, and turned to face Bruce again, dropping a soft kiss on his lips.

“There is only one man in the world that I love.”

“Is there?”

“Mhm. His name is Bruce Wayne. And he’s forgiven.”

Bruce sighed a sigh of relief, and took your face in his hands, bringing you for a sweet kiss, which you returned.

You’d missed him so much.

“Hey, are we still on for dinner Thursday night?” Bruce asked you, walking into the living room of his mansion, carefully buttoning his white shirt.

“Can we switch it to Friday?” You replied, looking up from the show you’d just paused.

“Sure, I haven’t made the reservations yet anyway. Any particular reason?”

“Matt is coming to Gotham, and he’s asked me out for coffee. I’ll finally get to meet John!”

It had been a few months since that fatidic night at the charity gala.

Later that week, you’d sat down with Matt and ended things. You explained to him how you were still in love with your ex, and that you couldn’t possibly hurt him any further, that he deserved better.

On his end, Matt just sighed and hugged you, confiding in you that he was actually questioning his sexuality. He’d really liked dating you, but had felt like his feelings simply weren’t enough, and that he was actually into guys. Suddenly, it all made sense, and you kicked yourself mentally for not realising sooner.

Nevertheless, you smiled and congratulated him. You were proud of him for admitting such an important thing to himself, and you two agreed to remain friends.

Lately, he’d been telling you all about his new boyfriend, John, whom he wanted you to meet as soon as possible.

“I really think he’s the one!” he’d told you over the phone, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“If that’s the case, mind if I switch patrol to Thursday then?” Bruce sat next to you, handing you his tie, which you promptly began to tie around his neck.

“Sure. You didn’t really go last week, did you? Better check on your city this one then. Can’t leave it unsupervised for long.” You smiled, hands swiftly tugging and pulling and tying a near perfect knot.

“Can’t leave you unsupervised for long,” he mumbled, and you pulled him by the tie to kiss him. He groaned and you took it as an opportunity to run your hands over his clothed chest. Just as he was about to reach around your waist and pull you closer, you moved away from him, earning a very sad look from your puppy – I mean, from your boyfriend.

“You’re going to be late to the meeting.”

“They can start without me. I’ll be quick.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

You offered him a smile and planted a quick kiss on his cheek, before turning to the TV.

“Good luck with those investors. I’ll see you later?”

“Absolutely.” Bruce replied, kissing your forehead, and standing up.

You smiled.

Things had been normal, good.

Bruce was right. Gotham was getting better. It didn’t need him as much. Daily patrols turned into weekly ones, which turned into monthly ones. Crime rates were going down, and people were no longer afraid to walk the streets at night, all thanks to Batman.

Bruce was home nearly every night, helping you around in the kitchen, taking you on fun dinner dates, or just spending a nice quiet evening curled up in the couch with you in his arms.

It was nice, it was domestic. It was perfect.

And most importantly, you didn’t fight anymore. You didn’t cry over his absence, didn’t lament yourself over how lonely you felt without him, over how much he was neglecting you.

Because he didn’t do it – he didn’t abandon you for Batman or patrols or whatever.

Not anymore.

And he promised to never again.

A/N: And that's it!!! Please do tell me how you feel about the ending. Was it too rushed? I didn't want it to be too long, because usually, when my fics become really long, they start feeling like a burden instead of something I like doing. I don't know if any other writers in here can relate, hahaha!

Poor Matt!!! Y'all I had no idea what I was going to do with him, because when I started writing it, he was such a good boyfriend. He was straight and deadass the best boyfriend in the world and it would've made zero sense for the mc to leave him when he was such a green flag. So I had to change things up a bit. I tried not to be stereotypical or offensive, and used my own experience with my friends who were also struggling with the same thing, so I hope I did not offend anyone. That wasn't what I intended at all.

Okay, that's all!

I'm sick off my mind, I can barely stand, I have a super high fever, and I think I'm gonna collapse on the floor. Totally worth it though. I hope you guys enjoyed this.

Have a great day!!!! <3

[posh--bee]

Ein Kompliment || König

pairing → König x Reader

summary → König comes home from deployment to find you singing and dancing to a German song in your kitchen—completely surprised by how well you speak his language.

warnings → none, just tooth-rotting fluff, no descriptions or pronouns used for reader, no y/n used

author’s note → This is just a self-indulgent domestic little oneshot because I felt nostalgic for some German music from when I was younger :) The title means “a compliment” and it’s also the name of the song. You can listen to it here. Also, I have literally no clue about CoD and never played one of the games for even a second, but this man still managed to steal my heart.

word count → 2.1k

König could hear the music blaring even through the closed front door of your home, the muffled sound of electric guitars, drums, and the singer’s voice greeting him when he put the spare key you had trusted him with early on in your relationship in the lock and turned it. 

The door opened and the music became even louder, clearly originating from the little radio you had in your kitchen, and a smile formed on König’s face when your cheerful voice joined the singer. From the sound of it, König guessed that you were in the kitchen as well and he carefully placed his bag next to your shoe rack, not wanting to give his presence away just yet. He had intentionally told you he wouldn’t come back home to you for another week just so he could surprise you. The lie had left a foul aftertaste when he had told you and the disappointment in your voice had nearly broken his heart, but in the end it would be worth it, he had told himself, seeing your face light up in delight when you spotted him and jumping into his arms, clinging to him and covering his whole face in the sweetest kisses, the sound of your joined laughter filling your home. 

König couldn’t wait to finally see you again, the weeks and months without you by his side were nothing short but torture for him, but he forced himself to take slow and silent steps towards your kitchen, not wanting to ruin the surprise so close before its grand reveal. Despite his size and mass his heavy combat boots made almost no sound against the wooden floor of your hallway, and he was confident that with the help of your music playing you wouldn’t notice him until he stood directly behind you and wrapped his strong arms around your smaller frame, probably giving you the fright of your life before you recognized your gentle giant, scolding him with giggles and kisses for scaring you like this.

König couldn’t shake the smile that pulled on his lips at the thought of it, but a sudden realization made him stop dead in his tracks, just outside of the open door of your kitchen. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t noticed it sooner but the song that had been playing since he had arrived wasn’t in English—it was in German. 

And you were singing to it.

König’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion and he stayed still while listening to the sounds coming from your kitchen, wanting to make sure that all the blows to the head he had received during missions didn’t manifest as him suddenly hearing something that wasn’t actually real.

After a few more moments of concentrated listening, he came to the conclusion that he didn’t suffer from an auditory hallucination and that you were indeed singing along to a German song even though you had claimed to not speak his language. Your pronunciation was a little bit off, that much was true, but you more than made up for it with your enthusiasm while singing along to the lyrics and König wondered with a frown why you had never told him how well you spoke German. Needing to investigate this surprising discovery further, he peered into the kitchen, dimly remembering having heard the song playing on the radio from time to time over the years, the first time probably even before he had joined the German Armed Forces. 

The sight König was met with left him breathless in the best way possible, a warm feeling spreading in his chest while he watched you dance to the music in the middle of your kitchen, singing into a clean whisk with your back towards him, completely oblivious to his presence. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, couldn’t move a muscle or find his voice to let you know he was home, just watching you with pure adoration in his eyes, his heart almost bursting with all the emotions he was feeling at this moment. 

You were still dressed in your pajamas, your feet sliding along the tiled floor with your movements because of the fuzzy socks you were wearing, stumbling over some longer words in the lyrics of the song but continuing to sing all the same. The bright and clear morning light shining through the kitchen windows illuminated the room almost magically and created a halo around your head, and König swore if he had a ring with him right now, he wouldn’t have wasted any more time and go down one knee, asking you to spend the rest of your life with him—even though he hadn’t had the guts yet to tell you that he loved you.

Just when the second verse of the song came to an end you suddenly spun around and spotted him, freezing for a few seconds to process that your boyfriend was home already and standing in your kitchen before your eyes lit up and the smile on your face became blinding. König opened his mouth in an attempt to greet you, to tell you how happy he was to be back and how much he had missed you, but his voice was still lost, not being prepared to be caught by you, his grand reveal now ruined. 

You however weren’t deterred by this surprising turn of events at all, you were nothing short of ecstatic to see him again and König couldn’t help the big smile on his lips, readying himself to catch you when you jumped into his arms like you always did. But it seemed you had other plans and instead of your usual greeting you lifted the whisk back to your mouth with a twinkle in your beautiful eyes, pointing at him with your other hand. König lifted an eyebrow in confusion, wanting to ask what you were doing but you preempted him, joining the song still playing on the radio again, singing the refrain to him, your eyes never leaving his.

Ich wollte dir nur mal eben sagen

I just wanted to tell you

Dass du das Größte für mich bist

That you are the greatest thing to me

Und sichergeh’n, ob du denn dasselbe für mich fühlst

And to make sure you feel the same way about me

Für mich fühlst

About me

Your little performance left him speechless for the second time that day, still dumbfounded by how well you spoke German, not to mention that the meaning of the words you were singing to him pulled at his heartstrings. You were always vocal about your feelings for him, never hesitating to tell him just how much he meant to you, but hearing you sing something like this to him in his own language made him absolutely weak in the knees. 

And of course this was when you decided to run to your boyfriend and jump into his arms after all, completely catching him off guard and for a moment he struggled to hold you up which was something that had never happened before. But once you had your arms securely wrapped around his neck and your legs around his waist, he held you with ease and was promptly rewarded for it with a beaming smile and a kiss on his cheek.

“I missed you so much,” you sighed and pressed your forehead to his, overcome by a wave of emotions at his early return home. The weeks and months without him were always lonely, your bed feeling cold and empty without your personal heater holding you close at night and refusing to let you go, your whole house not feeling complete without your boyfriend lounging on your couch or sitting at the table and doodling in his sketchbook, quietly humming to himself. 

“I missed you too,” he murmured against your lips before kissing you deeply, blindly walking you both towards the kitchen counter and gently setting you down on it, only breaking the kiss when you ran out of breath. You smiled up at him and put the whisk down beside you in favor of cupping König’s face with both hands, your thumbs caressing his skin, running along the prominent scar on his lips and the slight stubble along his jaw.

His eyes fell closed as he leaned into your touch, his body relaxing against yours but still cautious not to put too much of his weight on you, feeling truly at home now that you were in his arms again. But there was still a question on his mind that he couldn’t shake off, so he quickly reached for the radio that was playing a new song by now and turned it down before asking, “When did you learn to speak German so well?”

The smile on your lips became bashful and it was one of the few times in your relationship that you had to avert your gaze from him, usually König was the one struggling with maintaining eye contact even after being with you for some time already.

“I started learning it when we got together. I used some apps and stuff and started to listen to German songs as well, that really helped. I wanted to surprise you one day when I’d more confident with speaking it,” you admitted in a small but proud voice, delighted that he thought you were good at his language already despite being caught before you considered yourself the same way.

König stared down at you while his mind struggled to process your words, wondering if you had made it your personal mission to render him speechless as often as possible today because so far you had been doing a fantastic job at that. He hid his face in the crook of your neck when you looked up at him again, too overwhelmed to from any kind of verbal response to your explanation, his heart beating violently against his ribcage. He hadn’t thought it was possible to fall even deeper in love with you but here you were, proving him wrong again and again, now by secretly learning German just for him.

With a sympathetic chuckle you allowed him the time he needed to collect himself, wordlessly rubbing up and down his back with one hand while gently running your fingers through his hair with the other one, making him hum in appreciation.

You smiled up at your gentle giant when he untangled himself from you again and took one of your hands in his much larger ones, calloused fingers nervously playing with yours, a blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks and all the way to the tips of his ears. You quirked your eyebrow at him, wanting to ask him if he was okay when he locked eyes with you, a resolute look on his face that made you understand just how important his next words would be to him.

You sat up straighter, your heart beating faster and a pleasant and warm feeling settling in your stomach at being in the center of his undivided attention, at having him look at you like you were the most important thing in the whole universe. 

And to him you were just that which is why he couldn’t let any more time pass without him telling you just how much you meant to him, making sure you knew that he felt the same way about you. 

König’s voice faltered slightly when he began to speak but he was determined to finally express the true depths of his feelings for you, his fingers tightening around yours, the feeling of your warm skin against his grounding and calming him, encouraging him to carry on.

“You are, without a doubt, the greatest thing that has ever happened to me and you make me the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. A-and what I’m trying to say with that is that I love you. I love you so much.”

Hearing his words and the sincerity in them made your heart skip several beats and you felt tears of pure joy welling up in your eyes, unable to say anything in response. König constantly showed his love for you in other ways and you had never doubted his feelings for you even once since the beginning of your relationship, but hearing him say it out loud touched you deeply, making you the happiest you had ever been in your life.

You gave him a teary smile and before König could even think about apologizing for making you cry you pressed your lips to his, pouring all of your emotions into the kiss, making him gasp quietly at the intensity of it. You chuckled affectionately at the displeased look on his face when you pulled back all too soon, but you just shook your head, lovingly gazing up at him before softly saying,

“Ich liebe dich auch.”

You loved him too.

[writinginthetwilight]

Knock, knock.

Neighbour! Eddie Munson x Neighbour! Reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone. AFAB reader. Stress. Strong language. Nightmares. Sleep paralysis. Horror-esk/creepy vibes.. Hopefully. See Masterlist for full list of warnings.

Authors note. Thank you for all the love on the first part of this fic. This story is feeding my creepy brain and I'm truly loving it, all my love to @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing for writing the original prompt that birthed this weird little world I'm making and them all being so supportive of it.

6. You move into a new apartment and soon discover that you share a wall with a very noisy neighbor. Loud laughter, talking, and music are a constant companion. When you decide to go over and knock on their door to confront them in person, you find that the apartment is unoccupied and has been for months.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Love you bye.

Part 2: Whispers from a shadow in the walls.

The building was too quiet.

The rain tapping lazily at your window and the muted hush of early morning traffic on the wet street below did little to distract you from it.

There's something tangible to the silence, one that can only be felt at this time of day, like your consciousness is disturbing it.

Headphones are quickly vetoed, the lack of awareness in your surroundings they created leaving you skittish in the still unfamiliar space.

So you work softly around the unpacked boxes, slowly searching your way through them until you find your old squat plastic CD player, adorned in peeling band stickers and Sharpie drawings. It's a relic from your youth.

A sigh of relief leaves you when it hums to life, filling the space with the low murmurs of a local early morning show, the silence crawling away to the recesses of where it came.

You lean against the kitchen cabinets, linoleum floor cold against your bare feet as you breathe for what feels like the first time since you woke.

You'd ripped yourself from a dream that left you drenched in sweat like you were purging a fever and eyeing the closed bathroom door like it was the gate to hell.

Footsteps had rung out from it, whispers reverberating out through a gap that crept open just enough to see through from where you were trapped in bed. Shadows morphed into faceless entities that watched you. Unable to look away, neither did they.

So when you had checked the time after falling out of bed to turn on the light and it showed 5 am, you had decided that the risk of falling back into that far outweighed the extra few hours of sleep.

There was little to do with your life in boxes, the disarray making you itch.

The stains on the walls for the most part had been superficial, easily removed with dish soap and rags, but it was made increasingly obvious the more you scrubbed at your bedroom walls, green fibres clinging to it and ruining another scrub pad, that the ‘no previous smokers’ on the lease was another lie.

So you cleaned.

The walls were more solid, so were the bathrooms, obviously part of what was once the original layout, they hold the telltale sticky yellow nicotine stains that had once crawled up your late grandmother's living room walls.

You take another picture to send off to the lease agency as daylight starts to creep in through the broken blinds. Another bargaining chip in your case against the ‘neutral paint colours only’. The tin of dark blue calls to you from the corner.

Soon my love.

Once the sun's fully risen you make the most of the limited gas left in your rental, badly navigating unfamiliar streets for necessities before rushing home to let the removal men ferry the last of your belongings up.

Items that had laid in storage since the day you bought them dust-covered and unloved now in a place where you could enjoy them, the green couch that sat still covered in plastic because it was too garish, the bed frame stuffed back in its packaging because it creaked too much. Your black desk showed too much dust.

Tvs, lamps, rugs and bookshelves.

Were all unneeded in a house which was never really yours.

But it didn't matter, it was all here now.

You're knee deep in baffling instructions surrounded by screws and wooden slats when you hear it. The distinct sound of somebody in the next room.

You arm yourself with one of the bed slats and creep through ready to try and disarm the intruder when you're met with an empty space.

The clear sound of footsteps and muffled voices rounds you, making you turn in place before they recede into nothing and all is quiet again.

You pad forward, makeshift weapon still raised and round the kitchen quickly only to see half unpacked boxes of utensils.

You allow yourself to sag a little, silently scolding yourself at what you were expecting to do with a plank of wood when music comes from behind you making you jerk backwards, the wooden slat flies from your grasp crashing into a pile of boxes.

You rush pointlessly towards them in an attempt to stop them falling and the music pauses as they crash to the floor loudly. You eye the room as you crouch to scoop up your belongings but just as you relax it's flaring up again.

It sounds tinny, far away and you rise cautiously like you might startle it out of existence, eyes trailing to where the music might emanate but it seems to travel unnaturally from no one source.

It gets clearer as you approach the far wall and when you press your ear against it you can hear humming which turns to the mimicking sounds of a guitar solo in time with the music. The voice gets closer before it rings out behind you, distant like before and it mingles with the sound of music and footsteps.

It's disorienting and your eyes trail around before they're drawn up to the scar. You quickly climb the back of the couch precariously balancing as you stretch up to it fingertips grazing the rough edges.

Found it. The sound trails through what you assume must be a space between the floors and you wonder if he has a scar like yours on his side too.

You camber down and make your way to your room. The sounds are still audible but muted and you thank whatever residential overlord that they didn't knock down the walls in here too.

You had lived in dorms, shared houses with noisy flatmates and a house that creaked because it had ‘character’.

You push in your headphones, deciding that you don't want to be that neighbour who nags on the first day.

Bleary eyes open as light casts over you, the couch below is soft if not still a little musty from the dust that made its way under its plastic wrap.

You will get used to it.

You don't remember falling asleep, you only sat down for a second, but the early morning must have caught up with you. The music has stopped and you let yourself bathe in the silence for a moment staring at the scar on the ceiling above.

Disorientation sets in, time is a mystery, and you shift to retrieve your phone which digs into your side from where it's slipped out of your pocket. The lifeless black screen stares back at you and you let it drop to your chest as you stretch out.

You double take a glance to the room as soon as you turn, sitting quickly to take it in.

The space is filled much more than seems possible, your furniture fused at odd angles with items you don't recognise, posters and pictures overlapping, like a bad AI generation where nothing quite looks right.

Light catches everything from angles with no source and it sprawls to the wall in front of you dancing over the plaster like its fabric caught in a breeze.

A sense of panic rises in you, the hair on your neck standing on end and you slowly turn to look behind you, scrambling to a stand at the sight of the darkness that shrouds the opposing side of the room, barely a yard from where you had been sleeping.

It seems to hum as you take a tentative step forward.

You have no doubt that if you were to step into it, it would swallow you, there's no gradualness to it, just a cliff edge into nothing. Your ears catch the only sound that echoes unnaturally around you and it drags you away from the abyss.

A drip.

You follow it, dodging items until you find your kitchen where black liquid is pooling on your countertops, spreading with every moment and soaking into the carpet beneath. You look up to the scar above it which weeps down feeding the puddle slowly.

This isn't real. You just need to wake up.

You try to peer out the windows but it seems the abyss lies there too, matte black with no reflection.

Your bedroom is oddly unchanged as you squeeze past a bookshelf that has become one with a suitcase. Everything as you left it. Your hand hovers over the handle of the bathroom door but you think better of it.

Whatever is in there can stay there.

The wall of light still flutters and you press your hand to it, it's plient and gives a little against your touch and you go to step through.

“Hello?”

The voice sounds solid and real and your drawn forward.

The sensation of rushing to the surface of water overcomes you, blood pounding in your ears and you wake eyes wide and gasping, a small yelp leaving you as you crash to the floor below you.

There's ringing in your ears but everything is exactly as it should be.

No abyss.

No lights.

No amorphys drip.

No disembodied voices.

A curse comes from the other side of the wall, then mumbles echo from above you.

The rest of the week passes quickly, your new neighbour's presence hadn't gotten under your skin all that much, granted you'd never had a neighbour that sounded like they were living in your fucking apartment but it was fine.

Well almost none.

Fine.

Fine.

Ear plugs, headphones and you assumed his odd work schedule meant moments of peace came relatively often.

The apartment got painted.

Dinners were made.

Nightmares were kept to a minimum, it probably wasn't safe the amount of string lights that now adorned your bathroom but all in all, you got settled.

Carved out a space for yourself.

But then you started work.

The first night you come home late, overwhelmed by paperwork and HR ‘welcoming packages’ that were basically instruction manuals on how many ways they could fire you.

You collapsed with exhaustion face down into your comforter, body spent with the anxiety of first impressions and grappling with the ins and outs of office life. Wriggling out of rigid clothes that had suffocated you all day, you prayed for an interrupted sleep.

Only to be woken a few hours later at 3 am as loud laughter came from behind your bedroom wall as your new neighbour spoke loudly and animated on the phone for almost an hour.

It set the tone for the rest of the week.

You weren't an asshole, you weren't, but even without the thin walls and gaping peephole that left you involuntarily privy to the musing of another human being's life.

Music was constant but there was also the TV or singing, at the top of his lungs, talking to himself, always moving footsteps back and forth, back and forth, belonging crashing to the floor, cursing when said items fall.

He was just fucking loud, and Friday was the day that it broke you.

The day was a cluster fuck from the go, you forgot your lunch, got your period at work, forgot the password to your laptop and got locked out, had an unannounced team building afternoon and by the end of it, you just wanted to crawl into sweats, eat chips and drown your sorrows in cheap wine.

It all started surprisingly well, there wasn't the usual screech of guitar and one man karaoke show rattling your walls when you came in.

It only lasted an hour before you heard him come in, just enough time to relax and it wasn't just him, it was a group of them.

You deflate at the sound of their laughter and hate yourself for it, because who gets angry at the sound of laughter? You plug your headphones in but before long the laughter gets loud, dispersed with yelling, cheers and heckling audible over the sound that's being directly fed into your ears.

You're trying to keep a lid on it, but even moving to the bedroom, a sanctuary where the world is usually a little more your own doesn't seem to work as the sound travels in from outside the door.

And why should you have to hide yourself away? This was your home too and if you wanted to watch TV without headphones plugged into your Xbox pad then why was that an issue?

But you don't need to make a scene.

You make it to 11pm.

When the sound of them leaving is only followed by the start of his music you snap.

In all your crumpled band shirt and sweatpant glory you match out hammering on his door.

There's no music and you start to fidget when he doesn't answer, eyes searching the empty hallway, you assume he's got the message without you cursing him out.

But you're barely in the door when it starts again.

You rip the drawer of your desk open hastily scrawling a polite shut the fuck up note through gritted teeth.

Shoved it under the door, another knock that goes unanswered.

The musics gone.

It doesn't start up again and you crawl into bed smugly for the first uninterrupted night's sleep you've had in a week.

When you wake a note sits halfway sticking out under the door.

Hey sorry!

Didn't mean to be loud.

If we could keep this between us that would be cool.

I'll keep it down.

Eddie. No 5.

You instantly regret the email to the landlord asking about a way to close up the gaps in the ceiling due to being able to hear no 5’s entire life.

You stress about it all day, a good night's rest and a day sat vegetating in front of the TV making the whole ordeal feel like it got blown way out of proportion. By the time your phone lights up with a reply, you've come up with a way to cover your tracks so you don't get the poor guy evicted.

But it doesn't really matter.

Because the landlord's reply makes you run cold.

Nobody lives there

Next.

[sprout-fics]

I’m a day early for Thursday Thots just pretend you saw this tomorrow

But…… I feel like König is the type of man who eats 🐱 purely for his own enjoyment. Man gets greedy about it, will lie there and go at it until he’s done— he’s obsessed with the noises you make during it, gets high off of the feeling of your thighs squishing his head; he moans whenever your legs tense up or shake, because he knows you’re enjoying it.

Whelp I'm drunk and also stupid so

“Another one, Liebling.” He mutters, and you shudder at the promise in his voice, tuck your face into the meat of your bicep in an attempt to hide your face, your glassy eyes and parted lips. Your arms are tugged above you, restrained with his belt. He’d warned you, told you if you didn’t stop squirming he’d had to find a way to restrain you. Now the leather digs into your wrists as you pull at it, let your warm breath spill against your skin. 

He’s been at it for hours.

He had been the one to suggest it. He’d leaned down towards you as the ramp to the plane had descended downwards, revealing home and spilling light inwards. 

“I want to know what you taste like, Leibling.”

You’d been more than enthusiastic at the thought, at the idea of seeing König without his hood, his eyes catching yours from the apex of your thighs. Yet you hadn’t expected this, for him to strip you bare, lay you down and then descend on you like a man starved. You had wondered if he’d stop at the first orgasm, certain he’d stop at two, and now on five König was still going, drunk on your cunt. 

Your juices slick across his bare chin, and his teeth seem sharp somehow as he smiles, tongue pressed against your clit. Feral. Untamable. A beast. 

Kingslayer.

“I-I can’t.” You try, and he hums a low note at that, concerned and almost pleading. Your think your face must be on fire, limb spent and trembling even as a hand settles, splays across your stomach. 

“Can’t?” He queries. “Or won’t?”

You can’t contain a little cry at that, tears threatening your eyes as your voice clings to the back of your throat. He’s not done yet. You don’t think he ever will be. Not when it’s you. 

“I want to.” You try, and your voice is a reedy, whiny note in your throat, cracked and broken. “I…just don’t know if I can.”

“You can.” He tells you, and the response is instantaneous. The hand -bare, no glove, strokes up along your thigh, reaching up to gently paw at the swell of your breast. “I know you can. I want to feel it.”

That’s all the warning you get before he descends again, forcing his tongue inside your still fluttering hole even as you keen, arch off the bed. You’re drawn too tight, oversensitive and clinging on with the bare grip of your nails. Yet König is relentless, settling between your thighs even as you squirm, even as your legs close around him. It’s like he’s an addict, and he’s high off the taste of you, as you gush over his waiting tongue and lips. 

“K-König.” You try, but he doesn’t heed you. He’s absorbed, absolved in you, in the pulsing, wet heat of you against his mouth. You think if you let him he might spend the rest of his life there, nestled in the apex of your thighs. 

He hums, and the sound reverberates through you like a low, rolling vibration, one that has a cry cracked on your lips, pleading and wanting, needing him, all of him. Forever and ever until he’s had his fill of you, until your cries and whimpers fill the hollow inside him. 

“Almost there.” He gasps against the soft flesh of your thigh, teeth nipping there as a reminder to keep you present, focused, only on him. 

He’s going to drag you there by force if you don’t go willingly, tip you over the edge into his waiting arms, catching the gasping, needing cry that escapes your lips. Even if you don’t think you can, he will. It’s a fact, an undeniability. As certain as the sun sets in the west, he’ll make you climax once more, as many times as it takes before he’s done, before he’s ruined you into nothingness. 

When he fastens his lips around your clit, when he sucks, you know it’s him. It will only ever be him. 

[natimiles]

It’s alright (Roger x reader)

Summary: Walking in the cold rain without finding a single carriage, your frustrations got the better of you. That was when you heard a familiar voice calling out to you and saw Roger striding in your direction.

Words: 1212

Tags: established relationship; fluffy.

Notes: and with this I seal my destiny as a Roger’s lover. It turned out to be a mini series. I divided it into chapters that can be read separately. This is part 1. To read more, check out my masterlist or Freya’s masterlist for her event.

For @judejazza Follower Event: An Invitation To Crown — prompt: rain kisses

Congrats on your 300 followers! 🤍🤍 

“Great,” you sighed audibly, the frustration evident in your voice as you made no attempt to conceal it.

You had spent the entire day in town running errands. Once finished, you decided to treat yourself by stopping at your favorite bakery to pick up some goodies to take back to the castle and share with everyone. As you completed your purchase of the baguettes, the beautiful sunset sky suddenly turned gray, and rain began to fall.

However, you hadn’t fretted; you had your umbrella with you.

With a confident smile, a pack of baguettes in one hand, and the umbrella in the other, you had stepped out of the bakery to head back to the castle. However, you hadn’t taken into account the strong wind. Despite your efforts to maintain a tight grip on everything and quicken your pace, the wind intensified. And before you could react, your umbrella had turned inside out.

You shrieked and ran under a canopy in an attempt to protect yourself, but without your umbrella and under the pouring rain, it took only two seconds for you to be completely soaked.

“Fucking great,” you sighed again, running your hand through your wet hair to pull it away from your face. At least you saved the baguettes. You hugged them tight while running, so they should be... “Oh, come on!”

Opening the bakery package, you saw the damp mess inside, and your mood dropped to zero in a heartbeat. Your clothes were already uncomfortably clinging to you, your hair kept falling in your face, and the rain didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. For a second, you thought about sitting on the floor and crying out your frustration, but it wouldn’t be helpful. Plus, it might lead everyone to worry that you were taking too long to return to the castle, prompting them to arrange a search party for you.

No, you would fight through this.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before opening them again. You could walk all the way back home if needed. You’d have to walk a part of the way anyway, but it was harder in this rain. The best thing would be to find a carriage to take you halfway there. With a string of curses leaving your lips, you dashed to the nearest trash can to throw away the ruined baguettes, then began to walk around, searching for a carriage.

To be fair, you tried really hard not to start crying. But after a few minutes of walking in the cold rain without finding a single carriage, your frustrations got the better of you. The streets were emptying with every passing minute, people running to seek shelter, leaving you practically alone.

Rubbing your eyes, which began to well up with tears, you kept walking, now considering if it wouldn’t be better to run back under the canopy and wait for the rain to pass. On the other hand, you were already soaked from head to toe, and the rain wasn’t so intense anymore, so you could probably make your way back home on foot. Then again, it was a very long walk, and you were already so tired…

That was when you heard a familiar voice calling for you. Whipping your head around, you saw Roger striding in your direction. By the looks of his clothes, he didn’t have an umbrella either — or maybe his umbrella had also broken.

“What are you doing here?” you asked when he stopped in front of you.

“I finished some business when I thought I heard you cursing the whole world about the rain,” he chuckled. “Came to check. What are you doing standing in the middle of the rain? Trying to catch a cold?”

“Oh, well…” You averted your gaze.

“Hey, are you okay?” He took your chin in his finger and lifted your face so he could take a better look at you. Your eyes were red; he knew you had been crying, and he frowned. It wasn’t much fun when the reason for your tears wasn’t him.

“My umbrella broke,” you started with a shaky voice. “The baguettes I bought got wet and ruined. I decided to run in the rain to find a carriage to go back home, but…” Your voice cracked, and Roger gently took a strand of hair stuck to your face, tucking it behind your ear. “But the rain was heavy, and I regretted stepping out from under the canopy after my first step, but I also didn’t want to give up. And then…” you sniffled, your quivering lips and choked voice squeezing his heart. “Then I heard you calling me, and… And now we’re standing in the middle of this rain, and I’m really, really cold—”

He interrupted you with a soft kiss on the lips, and you lost your train of thought, blinking at him.

 “It’s alright, lil’ lady,” he spoke with his face still close to yours. “I’ll take you home, and you’ll be fine.” 

Roger stepped back and tilted his head slightly to the side, trying to discern the various sounds around in an attempt to pick up the sound of a carriage. It would be unlikely to find one in this rain, but he had to take you back home and to a warm place before you caught a cold — if you hadn’t already.

“Ah! Got it. C’mon.”

He grabbed your hand and turned around to walk in the direction of the carriage, but he stopped when he felt you squeezing his hand and making no attempt to move from your spot. His confused expression lasted for a second when he noticed your heartbeat increasing and the redness on your cheeks.

With that unnerving smirk plastering his face, he turned fully back to face you. You didn’t say anything, just let go of his hand to timidly hook your fingers on the lapels of his vest, looking at him with that wanting gaze, a slight pout forming on your lips. He looped one arm around your waist and gently brushed his hand across your face to remove the wet hair sticking to it.

He kissed you again, and this time passed his tongue along the seam of your lips to deepen it. You promptly accepted it, sliding one of your hands to his shoulder and squeezing him. His lips were incredibly warm against yours, his tongue caressing yours in a sensual dance that only he could perform. His hand held you firmly by the neck, his fingers entwining in the strands of your hair, lightly fisting it.

The rain was still falling, but for a moment, it was as if you couldn’t feel anything but his warmth. It already felt like being back home.

When you two pulled away from the kiss, out of breath and with heat in your eyes, he smiled again — the soft one, dedicated only to you, and you returned it.

“Let’s go home, lil’ lady,” he said as he grabbed your hand again and started walking, and this time you followed suit.

“Alright,” you muttered under your breath, feeling incredibly calmer now.

“We’ll finish this when we get there.”

And just like that, your calmness vanished. You couldn’t wait to arrive at the castle.

Masterlists

[lila-lou]

✨Needy✨

Summary: Jensen finally comes home after weeks of filming and shows you how much he missed you.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Language, smut, pregnant reader

Word Count: 2477

A/N: No hate towards anybody. It's just fiction.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

"How do you feel?".

You were currently laying on your large sofa in the living room, your head resting on your left hand while your right hand caressed your belly.

“I’m fine Jay, really”, you smiled at your boyfriend, who was walking over to you with a beer and an orange juice. He looked beyond tired and exhausted. Not surprising considering he only landed four hours ago.

Austin wasn't known for large snowfalls in the winter, so this exceptional situation had led to complications with flights. Jensen's already long flight landed over three hours late, which didn't help his mood. When he saw his pregnant fiancée curled up on the sofa with a broken rib, he was more than pissed. Jensen had only endured the last few weeks on set because he was clinging to the thought that he would soon be able to hold you in his arms again. You and your unborn baby. You've been calling each other every night for the past two weeks to pass the wait, but not once have you mentioned your broken rib.

“Here you go”, Jensen tried to say as nicely as he could while handing you the orange juice, but all the words that came out of his mouth were mumbled. He actually knew that he shouldn't ruin the evening with a bad mood, but the last few weeks had taken a toll on him and his nerves were frayed. Not only was everything going haywire on set, but he also missed you. You were five months pregnant and he felt like he had already missed everything.

You gratefully accepted the glass and took a long sip before setting it aside. Jensen stared blankly at the television, which was playing a horror movie.

“Hey”, you sighed, taking his free hand in yours. “I just didn’t want to burden you unnecessarily. You were always so worried about me and the Baby and with all the stress on set, I thought you wouldn't have to worry about more. I went to the doctor and it’s not that bad”, you tried to explain yourself, but Jensen just rolled his eyes.

“(y/n), you are carrying our child! Do you really think there is something more important at the moment than you and your well-being?”, he replied, still slightly irritated. Of course Jensen was worried and you loved him more than anything for that, but sometimes he could be really overprotective.

“If I promise you, that I won't withhold anything from you anymore, can we please end the evening somewhat peacefully? You didn’t even kiss me when you came in”, you murmur towards the end. Jensen took a long sip of beer and sighed in resignation. Of course he knew he was acting like an ass and that you absolutely didn't deserve that, but he was just worried and stressed.

"You're right. I'm sorry. It's just... the last few weeks have been really stressful and... I feel like I've already missed so much with the little worm", Jensen admitted a little desperately before gently pulling you into his arms. “Besides, I missed you terribly”, he kissed your head lightly.

“Jay… I’m only five months pregnant. We still have four long and wonderful months ahead of us before things get tricky with you being away. You haven't missed anything yet. Except maybe my morning sickness and trust me, you should be glad you weren't there". You tried your best to lighten the mood a little, even if it really wasn't easy. Slowly but surely you could feel him relax. “I hope so”, he murmured before pulling your face to his and finally placing his lips on yours.

“Now tell me about the shoot”, you whispered against his lips with a big grin. While Jensen started talking about his new colleagues and the set, you made yourself comfortable in his arms and pulled the blanket a little higher.

Almost a year ago you moved in with Jensen. You previously had a pretty stressful long-distance relationship. While you were completing your studies in Seattle, Jensen was mostly in Toronto filming “The Boys”. In his free time, he often took the opportunity to spend time with his three children in Austin. Since he was always on the plane, jumping from appointment to appointment, you were usually the one who visited him. It quickly became clear that Jensen wasn't leaving Austin to move in with you, so you had no choice but to leave Seattle.

Luckily you already liked Austin and settled in very quickly.

Jensen had no plans to have any more children, and you hadn't thought about children either. But after your delayed and somewhat escalated housewarming party, contraception wasn't particularly emphasized.

The moment you finally told Jensen about the pregnancy was probably the worst moment of your life. You were so afraid to tell him that it took you forever to say the words without them being swallowed up by your sobs.

Of course, Jensen was anything but enthusiastic, after all, he already had three wonderful children and after his divorce from Danneel, he was happy to take things a little slower with you. However, it didn't take long for him to come to terms with the idea of becoming a father for the fourth time. He still had bad days every now and then where he worried it would all be too much, but overall, he did very well. And now he couldn't wait to finally hold the little munchkin in his arms.

While Jensen told you about his time on set, now in more detail than on the phone, his hand, somewhat distracted, stroked your small baby bump.

“Are you coming to the doctor’s appointment tomorrow? My doctor said we might be able to tell the gender”. Jensen continued to hold you tightly in his arms, your legs crossed over his lap and your head resting lightly on his biceps as he looked down at you.

“Of course, I’ll come”, he kissed your nose. “It’s just the three of us for the next two weeks”. His gaze moved from your eyes down to your belly.

“Is it kicking yet?”, Jensen’s eyes sparkled slightly. You'd think that after three kids he would already know it all, but unfortunately, he was on set for most of his ex-wife's two pregnancies and so wasn't as involved as he would have liked.

“Well, I definitely feel the movements, but they are hardly real kicks. In about 6 weeks you should be able to feel the kicks”, you told him as you watched his hand move in light circles over your belly.

After a while Jensen looked up again. “Being pregnant suits you”, he grinned at you, making you roll your eyes with a chuckle.

“You know how to make a woman blush”, you replied, playfully hitting his chest.

Jensen leaned down to you and pressed his lips lightly to the spot under your ear.

“I know damn well how to make a woman come too”, he whispered harshly to you.

You couldn't help but press your thighs together as a shiver ran down your spine. Despite the fact that you had been together for so long, Jensen still had a strong effect on you. "You think so?", You breathed as he started kissing your neck.

You giggled, your breath hitching slightly. You did not receive an immediate response. Instead, Jensen pulled you onto his lap in one quick movement. As you straddled his legs, he grabbed your ass somewhat roughly with both hands and pushed you closer to him. His lips slid down your neck, leaving wet kisses behind.

“It’s been far too long, sweetheart,” he murmured deeply, his breath hot against your soft skin.

While he kept one hand flat on your lower back, he slipped his other hand into your sweatpants before leaning in to kiss you.

“Actually, I imagined our reunion a little differently”, you whispered against his slightly parted lips, which only lightly touched yours. “With fancy and hot underwear, you know?”.

Jensen couldn't help but laugh lightly, but he stopped with a deep moan when he felt how wet you already were. “Shit baby, I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping”, he grinned slightly arrogant. If you weren't so incredibly turned on, you probably would have rolled your eyes. Jensen gently rubbed his fingertips over your soaked clit, making you moan immediately.

“Jensen”, you whined as he continued to tease your clit.

Your eyes were barely open, but you knew Jensen was grinning to himself. You could feel it on your lips.

“Pleaaaase,” you grabbed his thighs and leaned back further so he could get a perfect angle, despite your little baby bump.

“I´ve got you”, he grinned, slipping his middle finger inside you. A soft gasp escaped you as Jensen curled his finger and hit your sweet spot. As he added a second finger, you dug your nails into his skin. “Fuck”, you let out a throaty moan.

“You’re even tighter than usual, baby. I guess I really left you alone for too long”. Your eyes were closed as you were completely absorbed in the feeling your fiancé was giving you.

“Ugh… you did”, you agreed as your eyes met.

With a jerk he pushed your upper body closer to his again and pulled his fingers out of you. No matter how much he loved teasing you, it had been far too long since the last time he could truly feel you.

His arms wrapped tightly around you as he pressed his lips to yours again. “Shit, I missed you so much”, Jensen murmured against your lips, making your heart beat faster.

“I missed you too”, you answered barely audible.

Within seconds, Jensen laid you on your back, tugging your sweatpants and panties off your legs before kneeling on the sofa in front of you, looking at you expectantly. “Touch yourself”, he ordered before you watched as he deftly unbuckled his belt. He loved watching you, almost as much as you loved watching him.

Even though you did this a thousand times, you couldn't stop the blush from rising on your face.

Nevertheless, your fingers found their way to your wet heat as if by themselves. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you felt your own wetness. You carefully dip a finger inside yourself, making you breath heavily. By now Jensen already had his throbbing erection in his hand.

“Just like this Babygirl”, he groaned, switching his gaze between your heated face and your spread legs. Your head fell back into the soft couch cushions as you adjusted to the feeling of your finger sliding through your wet folds. Jensen tried everything to hold onto himself and watch you longer, but the desire to bury himself inside you overwhelmed him.

“Fuck it”, he muttered, freeing himself from his jeans and boxers before leaning over you and pressing his lips greedily to yours. You could already feel his hardness against your pussy when Jensen broke the kiss to take off your shirt. “Fuck, they’ve gotten huge”, he whispered as he massaged your left breast over your bra. You couldn't help but grin when you saw his lustful look. “Do you want to keep talking and teasing or finally start fucking me, Ackles?”, you challenged him, your hands sliding under his shirt and tugging at the hem impatiently.

“So needy”, he grinned down at you, pulling his shirt over his head so you could immediately run your hands over his strong chest and broad shoulders before pulling him closer to you by his biceps.

“I’m going to fuck your tight pussy so good”, he groaned, hovering over you again as he took his cock in his hand and lined himself up with your wet folds.

You shuddered as he pushed himself into you until he bottomed out, stretching you almost painfully and letting out the deepest moan you've ever heard.

"Shit honey, you´re okay?", he chuckled, but actually looked a little worried. It took a few seconds until you found your breath and therefore your voice again. "Yeah... I just... almost forgot how big you are", you admitted.

“Well, after tonight you won’t forget it in a hurry”, he winked at you with a grin.

With that, he withdrew completely and spread your wetness with his tip, sliding it between your glistening folds. Jensen's gaze was literally glued between your legs and you could see in his eyes how much that turned him on. “Jay…please,” you begged, wiggling your hips, trying so hard to get him back in. He responded instantly to your requests and pushed his swollen cock into you again, making you moan loudly. As he thrusted into you harder than he had since you were pregnant, he firmly grabbed your hips and pushed them up from the soft fabric of the couch to thrust into you from a better angle. He hit your sweet spot over and over again, which had got you close within a few minutes. “Jay… I’m…”, your hands grip his wrist as you arch your back desperately. "I know, baby. Just a few more minutes", he moaned, watching your breast bounce in your bra with every hard thrust he gave you. Your lips met again, taking the breath away from both of you. You could feel his hot breath in your mouth again and again as he tried to suppress his moans. “You’re so fucking tight, baby”, he groaned against your swollen lips.

By now you were just mumbling pleas and desperately wanted him to allow you to come.

“Cum for me (y/n)”, his lips trailed down your neck, sucking on your delicate skin. Those few words were all you needed to squeeze his cock even tighter. With loud moans and closed eyes, you finally came.

“Fuck baby”, his voice cracked as he felt you clenching around him.

Seconds later, you could feel him spilling his cum inside you as his head fell back down on your shoulder. His deep moan against your collarbone sends shivers down your spine, creating even more sparks in your stomach as you live out the rest of your orgasm.

It took you both quite a while to catch your breath, still overwhelmed by the feeling.

Jensen held his position a little longer. When you finally felt your heart stop racing, you let out a quiet chuckle, brought on by your thoughts, which you immediately said out loud. “I’m not on the pill”, you whispered, stroking strands of his soft hair while his face was still buried in the croock of your neck.

"Well, I can't knock you up any more than I already did, can I?", he grinned and slowly raised his head.

“I guess not”, you grin, pulling his face to yours and kissing him gently.

“I really missed you”, he whispered as your eyes met.

-

Part2

[usercee]

note : i had a dream about this last night and my brain’s gone. melted into the pavement. drooling probably. mingyu pls pick up the phone the kids miss u

content : consensual somno, oral (fem receiving), advocate for the pussy gyu

thinking about….. mingyu coming home late, exhaustion heavy in his bones as the weight from the gruesome day still settles on his broad shoulders. dropping his briefcase by the door and chucking his shoes off without a care in the world. hair tousled every way from running his hands through it from stress.

thinking about….. mingyu who loosens his tie with one hand and groans at the ache in his arms, mindlessly searching for you. your warmth, your smile, your touch. drawn to you like a mindless month to flame.

thinking about….. mingyu who finds you sleeping in your shared bed, the covers pushed to the side. the moonlight halos around your head, bathing you in an almost fairy like glow, and his breath hitches in his throat as he allows his gaze to lower.

the moonlight dips in between your bare thighs cheekily, almost inviting—and the barest sliver of your panties peek out from under the large shirt you’re wearing. his shirt. you bury your face into the pillow you cling to even in sleep—his pillow—and sigh quietly, peaceful.

he doesn’t realize he’s hard until you shift again and his shirt rides up on your skin.

thinking about mingyu gently running a large hand over the expanse of your thigh, mouth watering just at the sight. a brief conversation comes to mind, with limits and above all, your consent, and the image of your excitement brought to mind makes him sink his teeth into his lower lip.

both hands move to spread your legs open, and he pauses as your expression scrunches up before smoothing out. still responsive towards him, even in slumber.

thinking about mingyu who hooks a finger along the hem of your panties and them down, having to stifle a groan as they go up and over your legs easily. his shirt rides up onto your stomach, and with a quick glance up to your face, he lowers himself to your cunt.

the first mumble of your name nearly makes him cum untouched. it’s soft, tinged with sleep and wonder, and when he looks up, your chest still rises and falls with sleep. he muffles a barely quiet moan when he notices your hardened nipples pressing against his shirt, unconsciously rutting against the mattress.

the rings on his hands glint in tandem with the watch around his wrist, forgotten as soon as the taste of you reached his lips. it’s filthy, the way he looses himself between your thighs, arousal pooling on his tongue and down his chin to stain the sheets.

your first whimper makes him groan softly, legs shifting as your breathing starts to pick up. chest rising and falling as your brows scrunch. his name falls from your lips again, cracking from pleasure, and he can’t even spare the faintest lick of embarrassment when your eyes finally peek open.

“baby,” you gasp, and his answering moan sends a shiver down your spine.

slowly, a hand reaches for his hair to tug, fingers still weak from sleep, but he understands and squeezes your thigh. he hoists your legs up onto his shoulders, pulling away only to breathe in deeply once, and buries himself in between your legs again.

the only word you can muster is please, a broken mantra laced with whimpers that grow in volume the faster he chases after your release. he wants it, wants you to cum on his face, wants you to ruin him and his dress shirt. he pleads for it, desperate and loud, and your walls squeeze around his tongue at the sound.

“gyu,” you moan, trying to sitting up on shaking arms. he tugs your trembling thighs closer, insistent on making you cum, and you wail as the coil in your tummy wounds itself tighter with each suck on your clit. “close— ‘m close, please—”

he looks almost drunk, brows furrowed, and the vibrations from his moans making you cry out again. the sounds between your legs would make you embarrassed in your fully conscious state, but it only spurs you own now, hips bucking into his mouth sporadically.

“gonna—gonna cum, fuck!”

your thighs squeeze around his head suddenly, shaking through the force of your orgasm, and you pull his hair to ground yourself from the dizzying feeling. tears prick at the corner of your eyes, and your eyes flutter shut as uneven breaths push past your lips.

thinking about mingyu who moans at the taste of you coats his tongue, straining almost uncomfortably against his pants, and eagerly laps up all that you give him. he whines when you begin to push his head away, flinching at the overstimulation.

when he finally relents, the lower half on his face is drenched, the look in his eye hazy from lack of air. you watch as he licks his lips, arms still wrapped around your thighs, and you shiver at the sight.

“good?” he asks, sluggish in pronunciation but still understandable.

“good,” you sigh softly, and bring him up to share a kiss. he moves up to deepen the kiss, moaning openly into your mouth, and you both hiss at the brush of his …. problem against your sensitive folds.

he ducks his head into your neck and whimpers, panting softly, and his muffled thank yous slur together as you make quick work of his pants. his arms tense around your head when you free him, finally, and he looks up for permission.

“please,” he mutters against your lips. his eyes flutter from the arousal, hips shifting. “please— wanna fuck you. wanna make you feel good, wanna—”

your hands cup his face at his desperation, heart softening at tortured look on his face. “shhh,” you mumble, and he whines in response, deep from the back of his throat. you reach down and wrap a hand around his cock, rubbing the head against your pussy, and wipe his tears away when he finally sinks into you with curses slipping past his lips.

“make me feel good, baby.”

[sky-kiss]

Omgggg you know how in the house of hope scene, there's the option to try to plead Raphael for no more bloodshed and then to say nothing? Imagine if Tav and co won, but Tav doesn't give the killing blow to Raphael. She truly doesn't want to kill him or for this to happen. Raphael meanwhile feels even more humiliated and hurt because he did really felt betrayed but damn it he can't do anything and why is she looking at him like that. Are those tears??

I just don't want the stupid man to be left alone and eaten by his dad 😭

A/N: Ok, so he's still like...alone. But he's not dead? Baby-steps. Woops. Uh. Maybe they meet up after.

________

He’s dying. 

A surreal thought. His flesh is bruised and broken. Whatever power Mephistopheles loaned him has long since been withdrawn; his father is howling in triumph, the sound not unlike the blizzards whistling across Cania’s frozen wastes. It is the death of sanity, and the cost of his ambitions made manifest. Raphael attempts to pull himself to his knees, wings twitching and broken behind him. The right hangs limply, bones broken. There is pain, worse than any he has endured before. 

It is the indignity that cuts worse. 

The cambion lifts his head, lips curling back in a sneer. His pet lingers, an actress who has forgotten her lines and stage directions. Her erstwhile companions shift behind her, glancing between the devil and their mistress. The killing blow should come, but she hesitates. 

The damned little thing dares to sound hurt. “I didn’t want this. Raphael, we needn’t have…” she takes a step forward, weapon dropping. “It shouldn’t have come to bloodshed.” 

“A little late for that, no? My home, a ruin. My kingdom…” he snarls against the pain, digging his fingers into his palm. His vision blurs near the edges. Father calls him home. Calls him to the feast, howling. He will be like Magadon, consumed. But who will come to barter for his soul? No one, he thinks. “Every eventuality planned for, all but this.” 

Tav crouches in front of him. The tears in her eyes baffle him, leaving slick tracks in the dust and grime. She touches his cheek. “Baldur’s Gate must be saved.” 

“What did I offer you if not the means?” Fading, falling. Raphael presses his right hand to his belly, willing the bleeding to stop. “A fair deal, honestly made, and this is how I am rewarded.” 

Her touch is comparatively cool. Something grounding in the encroaching darkness. “I know.” 

“You know,” he sneers. “How eloquent.” 

Tav smiles. She takes a small vial from her bag and uncorks it. The hateful little creature dares to press it to his lips as one might a child. The devil glares but drinks. The worst of his hurts begin to pull together. “I didn’t want this. I won’t kill you.” She helps him finish the bottle and then stands. She motions to the portal. “Come on. We have an invasion to prevent.” 

She intends to leave him shamed and broken. He will be a pariah among the courts. His Father will know. The cambion clings to the last vestiges of his fury, “Insolent child, I will find you. The horrors of the Hells and the Abyss will seem pleasurable compared to the agony I will visit upon you.” 

“If that’s what you want. You know where to find me.” She squeezes his shoulder as she passes. For all the heavens and hells, the only emotion flitting across Tav’s face is hurt. “Goodbye, Raphael.” 

[graveroom]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ you were alone,

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ left out in the cold ✦✧

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ clinging to the ruin

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ of your broken home ✿月