#joe goldberg fic

[yoongis-black-grilfriend]

Crazy in Love

Summary: You enjoy taking care of a child with your boyfriend, Joe. Since he already had a son, you thought it best to wait to have one of your own. But Joe has other plans…

Warnings: This one is dark loves (beware). Hiding of birth control (and switching them out), Stalking, Jelousy, Forced Breeding, Bondage (handcuffs), Overstimulation, Pentrative Sex, Somnophila, Creampie, Descriptive Sex, and probably some more enjoy!

Y/n, my dear y/n, why must you attract attention everywhere you go? Why must you be so fucking beautiful? I watch as you walk around the Halloween store looking for a costume, and I've noticed that his eyes have been on you since you entered.

Who, you might ask? The clerk. The guy that is supposed to be doing his job instead of eyefucking with my son in your hands. You would think a baby would keep these assholes away, but they don’t. If anything, they make them worse. He must think you're a single mother in need of a man to fuck her because she hasn't been touched in so long.

He's wrong though. John, which I learned from reading his name tag, is so fucking wrong. He is still at his desk, yet it appears he is ready to make a move on you, my love. I walk over in my hat and glasses, feigning an interest in something.

“Hey man, do you know where I can find the masks?” He looks annoyed because he was just a moment away from tapping you on your shoulder and trying to take you away from me, and that is not going to happen. He looks annoyed, but I do not give one single damn.

I see you have found a costume. It's unfortunate that I was occupied with John over here and couldn't see it, but it's okay. I love surprises. You're now making your way home, and that's all that matters. John gives up once he sees you walking out of the store and rolls his eyes, pointing to the back of the store.

Now it is time for me to hurry home. With a smile, I make John's day even worse. “On second thought I think I might go to another store thank you buddy.” And he is off stomping back to his counter. Exiting the store, I enter my car and make my way home, back to you and henry.

The moment I walk through our door, I see you setting Henry in his highchair, getting him ready for lunch. I appreciate and adore you more and more every day because of the way you treat him like your own. As soon as you saw I was in the kitchen, you broke into a wide smile and instantly made my day.

“How was the Halloween store?” Even though I already know the answer, I still want to hear your gentle voice. “It was good, baby. I got us all costumes for your friend's costume party, we're going as the Flinstones.” You said, putting your soft lips in a kiss. I favor the moment as you slip your tongue in my mouth.

The kiss was about to turn into a make-out session until Henry started to babble when he finally spotted me. You break the kiss to look at him with the most perfect timing because your alarm for birth control goes off. You hurry off by giving me a peck on my cheek.

You are such a silly girl. Rushing off to go take your birth control. It’s a shame you don’t know that I have been swapping them out with pills that help you get pregnant. It's all a part of our future and I'm doing this for us.

I have already arranged for this to happen tonight so you can enjoy your last day of not being pregnant because this is definitely going to happen. Henry is almost through eating when you return to the kitchen and seat down next to me.

You pick up where you left off and start to eat the food that you prepared for Henry and yourself. I just can't help but notice how beautiful and breathtaking you look when you put the spoon to your lips, taking a bite out of your creation. The moan you let out when you taste it does something to me, something feral.

With each bite I watch as you lick your lips before they curve around the spoon. And it’s helpless for me to not imagine how they would feel against mine, so impossibly smooth. How velvety your tongue would feel licking up and down my- I am suddenly pulled from my thoughts as you stand to pick up a spoon henry dropped onto the floor. But just as quickly, I go back to them as I watch you bend down. I have to hold myself back from just taking you right there.

You return back to your meal. Once you've finished eating and clearing your dishes, you notice that Henry was done with his food as well. By this time, it was about 5 pm, which meant that Henery needed to be put down for a nap soon. I lift out of my chair, ready to clean him off, but you're always one step ahead of me. You order me to sit down before you take Henry to wash him off to lay him down.

You come back in about 10 minutes with a sheepish smile on your face. “He has been active all day, but I'm going to lay down a little bit. Do you want to come?” you asked me. How could I say no to a face like that? I nodded my head signally that I’ll take a nap with you as we made our way into our shared bedroom. You go to your dresser and I notice how you put on some shorts without any panties.

After you climb into bed and wait for me to join you, I take my shirt off and get into bed next to you, wrap my arms around you, bury your head in my chest, and immediately fall to sleep with light snores escaping your lips. I admire you while you sleep. How could I possibly not? I notice the way your chest rises and down. I can feel your nipples through the thin material of your shirt on my chest. I definitely can't help but notice your leg wrapped around mine. Every now and then you rub yourself against my leg and I feel myself harden under my sweatpants.

I let you sleep for at least an hour before I decide to make my move. I reach over and unlock my drawer, revealing two sets of handcuffs. I slowly push you to lay on your back. I take hold of your wrist and attach one pair to chain your wrist to the headboard before doing the same with the other. Grabbing a condom, I make sure to make as many holes I can with a tack before I turn my attention back to you.

Using my fingertips, I run them over your body as you still lay dead asleep. I pull your shorts to the side and pull my shorts off. I wrap my hands around my cock and fist it a couple of times. Collecting the precum on my fingers, I rub it onto your clit to give you some type of lubrication.

Rolling the condom onto my cock, I move in between your legs and enjoy the last few moments of your sleeping face before I move my cock inside of you slowly. You're still sleeping as I go inch by inch. I trust my hips slightly faster as I hold my groans in, not wanting to wake you up. The pleasure is way too strong right now. Even in your sleep your pussy fits around me like a tight sleeve.

You start to stir in your sleep, letting out a soft whimper. “Fuck”. That was music to my ears as I stroke faster feeling my cock twitch inside of you due to you and your damn walls clenching against me. “Fuck, y/n I could’nt resist, baby. You looked so fucking hot while you were sleeping, I couldn’t help myself,” I say as I notice you have woken up while you stare up at me, holding your moans back with your eyes glossy and mouth wide open.

“Joe, fuck” you whimpered. Your voice drives me to the edge, causing me to release along with you. The milk of my cum and it all going inside of you (little do you know). I pull out quickly, causing you to hiss at the loss of contact, and take the condom off, throwing it in the trash next to our bed. I can hear you breathing deeply as you close your eyes and process the orgasm you just had.

Once more, I slip between your legs and completely bury my cock inside of you. Your hands are raised over your head as you stare up at me, appearing as though your eyes would bulge out of your head. You are so fucking wet that I slip in and out of you quickly because of the ring of cum on my cock. “Baby your fucking me so good,” you say a little loudly. I cover your mouth with my hand as I feel you sob against it, still sensitive from your last orgasm.

Moving my hips faster, I pound into you as you cry. I can feel your tears on my palms and I see them coating your beautiful face. “Lovely, I’m about to cum again, are you with me?" I said, wanting to cum at the same time. You nod against my hand in reply. I detach my palm from your face. “Joe, make sure to pull out okay!” You say with a little desperation. “I will sweetheart don’t worry about it,” I say, knowing that I'm not. You clench around and start to shake as you start cuming on my cock. I can feel the warmth of your cum spread between us as I bottom out and cum so fucking deep inside of you.

“Baby I told you not to cum inside me!” you whine, highly upset, trying to free yourself of the handcuffs. “Calm down my sweet y/n, I have a plan b you can take.” I reassure myself knowing that the “plan b” that I’m going to give you is a sugar pill. We both put on our clothes and head out to check on Henry after I release you from the handcuffs and give you the pill. After seeing that he was okay we lay down and sleep for the rest of the night.

THE NEXT DAY

We at your friend's house and I were dressed as the flintstones as we walked around greeting everyone. You look so beautiful with your costume and carry Henry around in his I can't wait to see you pregnant walking around with Henry letting everyone know that you're mine.

After A while things started to wiehle down and we were all sitting around the couch playing games and watching movies. Until you aburty hand Henery off to one of your friends before you speed walk into the bathroom I follow you because I'm worried until I see you hunched over the toilet throwing up. I hold your hair back because I care about you and I care about us and our future together.

“Ugh I feel so horrible” you said sitting down on the bathroom floor catching your breath. “I’ll schedule a doctor's appointment tomorrow so we can see what's going on” I said as you looked up at me with a smile. “Thank you babe. What would I do without you.” you explained putting flutters in my chest.

I’m happy that you see a glimpse of what I would do for you…

Austin! Elvis post will be posted tomorrow thank you for all the love you guys have been giving my imagine. I appreciate all of you 😭🫶🏾

[lanawinterscigarettes]

I neeeeed a smutty Joe fic!!

I have been waiting for an ask like this just so I could have the excuse to write for Joe to be honest sksksk

I already have a lil something I've been working on that I hope to get out soon, but other than that, my wips are mostly Joe free 😪 so please send in as much stuff as you want to!

Just keep in mind I have not seen the 4th season yet, so if your request is going to have something relating to it/anything spoilery please put that near the top so I can know (I'll still write it though so dw)

[kausstar]

— ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ my muse , joe goldberg .

female reader. no description of reader besides her wearing dresses. he’s vv suggestive. ꒰ all the beautiful paintings in the museum begged for his attention, but he only looked at one and that was the one of you. ꒱

“look at how beautiful she is,” you smiled, at the painting the two of you stood at. she was, he had to admit, but he only gave the picture a quick glance before looking back over at you. he hadn’t payed the pictures or statues much attention the whole time, he noticed. maybe it was because you only stood and looked at a painting or statue for one minute— two if you’re ucky, before pulling at him to look over at another, or because he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the smile that had been stuck on your face the whole time. he couldn’t decide.

the museum was quieter than expected, maybe because it was monday. a lot of people had work— he did to, but he called off. joe didn’t call off too often. only times when the day involved you. he’d promised you months ago to take you to the museum for your birthday, but he’d gotten too caught up in work to actually take you. he apologized in many ways that night: kisses, hugs, dinner, love making. he only hoped it made the prettiest smile he’d ever seen gather on your face. and it did, but even so, he felt bad for weeks after; hating how sad you looked when he told you he’d forgotten.

so he made time this week to take you, and god was your smile making it so worth it. he watched as your eyes moved away from the painting to another one a couple paintings over. your eyes grow wide and you squeeze joe’s hand tighter in pure excitement. “look, joe!” you pointed, pulling him over to it. “look. look. look,” you said, wanting to skip over to it, but joe’s body weight slowing you down. “i’m looking, beautiful,” he laughed softly at you. once standing in front of it, he didn’t understand your excitement. yes, you had pulled him over to other paintings before but never sprinting towards one.

he didn’t understand until you stood in front of it and explained. “she looks like me, yeah?” you smiled, and he looked back and forth from you to the painting. the woman stood in what looks like a field of flowers. the flowers were different colors, but so were her eyes. the bright sun that beamed on the woman gave the flowers and her eyes much more color. you could only see half her face because she seemed to be interested in something in the sky. her smile might’ve been more blinding then the sun, he thought. the, what looked like, harsh wind flowed her white dress and hair around her body.

he couldn’t really put his fingers on it, but you did look similar. maybe it was the curve of her smile or the curve of her hips that made him think that way. joe secretly wanted to snatch it from the wall and take it home so even if you were to run from him in pure terror, he could have a piece of you. he decided against it though, switching his final glance to you. “so are you a vampire from…” he looked below the painting where it showed when it was made. “…1987?” he smiled, now looking back at you.

you hit his chest playfully with a laugh. “no…” you smile before moving closer to joe. his hands were quick to move around waist. “and i’m sure if i was, i would beg the gods to take me since i didn’t have you.” the line makes his heart flutter. he could only smile from ear to ear and give your lips a deep kiss. he tastes your chapstick on his lips and feels your hips in your dress, and he swears he’s about to take you on the floor but you pull away. you see him chase your lips and you let out a airy chuckle.

“if all i had to do was make up one corny line to get you to kiss me like that then you should’ve said so,” you smile, but he’s quick to pull you in for another. wanting just a couple more minutes of your lips on his before he had to play his “sweet boyfriend” role again. you lightly moan into the kiss this time and as soon hears you do, he pulls away, teasing you just like you did him. “what would be the fun in telling you?” he grinned making you roll your eyes.

 2023 kausstar.

sorry i’ve been reading a lot of poetry lately :))

[explosiongamora]

Being mostly unloved your whole life with out much attention from people around you 🤝 loving obsessive yandere characters

[masturbucky]

Being shared between Joe and Love would include...

[!!!]it's mostly a dark and smutty profile, keep that in mind

Joe. HATES. it.

He hates how Love looks at you- He knows what a MONSTER his wife is, he CAN'T let her get to you, he can't let her know that he wants you even if she does too-

Wait. She... What?

When he picks up on the way Love looks at you — when he sees her stalking you, too, because he does the same-

They both shocked when they see each other's cars near your house.

Love tried to hide you from him, afraid that he would be mad, and he did the same because he was afraid that she will kill you-

But after a small family talk they came to an agreement.

Sharing is caring.

So when they finally have you — not without your and their fight with each other of course, not without some blood here and there, screams, kidnapping, you know, tipical Goldberg-Quinn family stuff-

When they have you the way they want you, without any fight to their love, there's finally appears the question.

How should we have sex?

Joe and Love of course didn't thought about that before, when they, you know, were busy keeping you in their cage and getting you to the point of Stockholm Syndrome-

But it does matter now, when you love them both and want them both.

So they have one more family talk, you're not included yet — they don't want to embarrass you in any way, you have such a good progress accepting them(Love says), they just need to figure it out before acting up

So they talk. Like, seriously talk about how they want you and what would be included, and how. I mean, everything should be consensual, they will take care of it.

Joe was reluctant at first when Love offered to try threesome instead of making a fucking schedule for who can take you and when, but... It's not really that bad, he can imagine that. He can feel himself getting harder on the thought of you being all sweet and messy between him and Love.

So when the time goes to action, they start it slowly. Baby steps, yeah? Love cooks a dinner with you while Joe makes sure that Henry's asleep. A simple, sweet evening of their unusual family, as it should be, as they love it to be and hope that you love it now, too.

You already expected something to happen when Love was practically buzzing with excitement, constantly hugging you and kissing your cheeks while you help her on the kitchen.

So when after dinner Joe and Love somehow lead you to their bedroom instead of yours — well, yes, both of them stayed in your room more often than in their, but still — you just know what's happening.

"Sweetheart, we..." Love starts, sitting on the bed with you, stroking your thigh with her hand softly. She's nervous, you can tell, Joe is nervously stands near the bed too.

"We want to try something new. Y/N, would you let us...?" Joe continues instead of his wife, as he kneels down in front of you, placing a small kiss on your knee while looking up at you.

You cant really say no to them. I mean, of course you can say that you're not ready, they will understand, they want you to want them and they wont force you in their bed, of course- They can always wait for you.

But you don't. You let them take your clothes off slowly, with multiple kisses and praises, with all their attention on you — mostly Love talks, Joe does — a perfect team work

And now, you're completely naked for them. They, meanwhile, stayed clothed, but oh god — you dont really care, as long as Love kisses you the way she does, and Joe eats you out like he haven't eaten in years-

You notice that you're so close to cumming only when Joe puts a thrid finger in you, and Love takes her clothes off too, so you can touch her as much as she touches you.

And yes, that's it. You're cumming on Joe's fingers and tongue, you even feel him moan, maybe he even strokes his cock on that image of you all overwhelmed by him and Love. Love, meanwhile, oh Love, she holds you close, grabbing wherever she can grab on you, and holding your hands on her chest.

It's going to be a long, great night. They waited for too long to stop so early. And from now on, you sleep only in their bed.

You don't really mind, do you, sweetheart?

[saursoob]

HEY THERE STALKER - psh

SYNOPSIS: park sunghoon is infatuated with you yet his shyness seems to get in the way, what else could the boy do than watch you from afar?

PARING: stalker!sunghoon x y/n, school au

WC: 375

park sunghoon, you met him friday at the froyo shop he works at and made conversation about how pistachio is the worst flavor and suddenly, you’re noticing him everywhere.

just the next day coincidentally seeing him again as you were taking your dog for a walk at the park, though he didn’t say anything; must be the shy type.

the day following as well as you did work, taking a glace at your bedroom window and swearing you saw him looking in. you check again and gone, he’s no where to be found. were you going crazy? and if not how did he know where you lived?

at school was no different, you never noticed him in your geometry class but now you most certainly did. he didn’t even try to hide the fact his eyes were creepily on you.

you earlier asked your friends at lunch and they said that maybe.. park sunghoon had a crush on you. honestly if it was true you prayed he could get over it because all you could think about is that day, the window. shivers were sent down your spine as you tried your best to focus back on your professor.

unbeknownst to you sunghoon had actually been watching you for a while but the day at the froyo shop was just when everything became apparent to you.

he knew where you lived from learning your bus number. it was easy really, getting on the bus as he glanced your way; you didn’t notice. looking as stunning as always. he sat at the seat behind you and quietly followed you as you got off up in till you were safe in your house. yes, exactly that. this isn’t stalking really, he just wanted to make sure you got home safe.

oh and the watching you from your bedroom window? well, he did that when he was stressed. and that sunday night when you caught him in the act is the day he most regrets. yet he had no plans to stop. and maybe he could’ve saved himself from all this trouble by just talking to you, getting to know you and maybe even starting a relationship with you but really, wheres the fun in that? your like a drug to him and he just cant get enough.

A/N: totally didn’t make this bc i started watching you… made this short little thing before bed 💤

perm tags: @jaeneohee @skittlez-area512 @aaasia111

[yournextbimbogf]

If you like atleast one of my post i will not hesitate to check tf outta yo page. Idc who you are or if ur my mutual i will become like joe goldberg

[orchidsncrake]

watch yourself

pairing: joe goldberg/rhys montrose

rating: explicit

tags: pwp, slight exhibitionism, hand jobs, mirror sex, dirty talk, possessive behavior, rhys montrose is a real person

word count: 3,105

summary: Rhys takes it upon himself to have a bit of fun with Joe at the dinner table.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53754295

reader's note: for context, this oneshot doesn't quite follow the timeline. it's vaguely set during the dinner at the very beginning of s4ep2 with Rhys next to Joe, but i've spliced in Rhys' pt 2 personality there and a familiarity between the two purely for porn's sake.

“I’d love to use that tie as a leash.”

  Joe’s fork clatters on the expensive china. Rhys chuckles next to him and leans away, sitting upright in his seat as if he hasn’t been spewing filth in Joe’s ear for the entire dinner. No one at the table starts at the sharp noise, all too high or drunk or careless to notice. Joe would’ve thought that if anything could draw their attention, it would be the destruction of something as frivolously expensive as a gold-accented plate, but apparently not. They likely don’t belong to Phoebe anyway.

  “Eat, Joe. Sitting there with your mouth open, while definitely a look I enjoy, isn’t mannered for the dinner table.” Rhys scolds playfully. Joe stares ahead at the wall across from him, eyes boring through the blurred outline of Adam. He doesn’t need to look at Rhys to know that cocky half-grin of his is on full display. Joe shifts in his seat uncomfortably, spears a piece of meat on his fork, and eats it, not entirely sure what it is. It’s high-class, either way; the food and the not knowing. 

  Joe chances leaning toward Rhys. “When I accepted the invitation to this Overlook Hotel of a house, I wasn’t banking on being sexually harassed during mealtimes.”

  Rhys clucks his tongue. “Calling it sexual harassment makes it sound so bad. It’s not like you don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it, Rhys,” Joe hisses, lying through his teeth. Of course, he does, in some twisted way. He would like it more if he weren’t trapped at a dinner table with London’s most affluent and forced to act like the city’s aspiring mayor wasn’t detailing to him a thousand ways he wants to defile him in the hall closet - but you know what they say about beggars and choosers. Not that he’ll beg.

  “If you say so, love.” Rhys shrugs and returns to his meal. Joe sighs, shoulders sagging, and returns to the very important task of pushing food around on his plate.

  A shrill “Oh, Jonathan!” cuts the crowd’s murmur, and Joe’s head whips up to see Phoebe staring at him, eyes too wide. He clears his throat, ready to respond, but Rhys chooses that exact moment to grope Joe’s thigh. Joe stiffens, and the only noise that comes out of him is a pitchy squeak as Rhys’ hand travels inward and up, dangerously close to where Joe definitely does not want it - at least, that’s what he tells himself. Fortunately for him, Phoebe’s attention is quickly diverted to something apparently hilarious Roald’s said, and Joe whips his head to glare at Rhys. Fingers dig into his thigh warningly. 

  “You look at me now, darling, and everyone will know exactly what we’re doing,” he mumbles into his wine glass, frustratingly calm. Joe squirms in a fruitless attempt to knock Rhys’ hand away. 

  “I’m not doing anything. You’re the one groping me,” Joe spits. Even as he denies it, his face warms and he prays that everyone else just assumes he’s drunk or drugged.

  “You think you’re so innocent?” Rhys challenges, setting his glass down to lean into Joe’s ear. Oh, so it’s okay when he does it? “You’re the one all hot and bothered. That bulky jumper will only hide so much once the meal’s over.”

  Joe has to resist the irrational urge to gnash his teeth. “You can’t do this here.”

  “And why not? I should be able to use what’s mine, shouldn’t it?”

Oh, that prick. Joe swallows thickly. “Rhys-”

  “Sh, sh sh. Just let me have some fun, hm? That’s what parties are all about, aren’t they?”

Joe bites back a retort because no , they are not, and this isn’t that kind of party, either - but he knows all that will get him is blue-balled later. He tries to settle in his seat and ignore the growing discomfort in the front of his pants, half-successfully tuning into whatever nonsensical story Sophie is regurgitating. Rhys, however, is incessant in his stream of obscenities, and Joe fears he may snap the fork in his hand.

  “It really is a shame you aren’t more of an exhibitionist,” he dips his chin down as he looks at Joe, pantomiming a normal conversation. “I’m sure everyone else here would love to watch you. Well, besides Roald. He’s got some ego problems.”

  Joe prays he would just shut up and stop inching his hand higher.

  “But, of course, I’m not inclined to share. What’s under those ill-fitting sweaters is for me and me alone, isn’t it?”

  “Possessive bastard,” Joe spits, turning to face Rhys. The fucker’s already grinning, looking entirely too proud of himself for someone trying to make Joe ruin his slacks.

  “It’s hard not to be with someone like you, isn’t it? You’ve seen yourself, Joe - and don’t get me started on that brain of yours.” Rhys takes a bite of his dinner and gestures with his fork, eyebrow quirked. “The only thing better than watching it work is watching it turn off.” Joe sends him a pointed look he hopes no one else notices. “I mean, it really is beautiful, Joe. Your eyes glaze over, and you look even more like a puppy than usual. All confused and needy. I honestly think I may prefer it more than your murderous rages.”

  “Jesus, Rhys, keep your voice down,” Joe whispers, looking around the room for watchful eyes.

  “Oh, calm down, darling. They’re all too engrossed with themselves and whatever’s in their systems to worry about us.”

“I cannot calm down, Rhys. You’re holding my dick.”

  Rhys’s face cracks into a smile, his eyes folding at the corners. “That’s not very polite language for the table, Joe,” he chastises, palm closing firmly around Joe’s cock. Joe stutters, hand shaking enough that he has to put his fork down. He shuts his eyes for as long as possible without raising suspicion, taking deep breaths through his nose until Rhys’ grip loosens. When he opens his eyes, he sees why.

  Adam is staring at him from the table’s head, face painted with vague amusement. “You alright, Johnny?” 

  Rhys clears his throat next to him, and Joe instinctively turns to look, just to see the other flash a smile at Adam. “I think our friend here is just a bit overwhelmed by all the people and noise. Right, Joe?” Rhys turns to look at him, placing a hand on his back like an old friend would. The other remains over his cock teasingly. Joe clears his throat, bowing his head. “Uh, yes, I’m not used to such an… event,” he finally spits out, crinkling his eyes in an apologetic gesture at Adam that has worked before.

  Adam laughs, all his teeth on display. Disgustingly American, even for Joe. “Still not quite used to the high life, are you, John?”

  Joe forces a laugh, wishing he could curl into a ball. “No, and I don’t know if I ever will be.”

  Rhys claps him on the back once and then stands, drawing the attention of the rest of the party. He raises a hand placatingly, and impossibly, half of them go right back to their conversations. “I think I’ll take John to the parlor or somewhere a bit quieter. Is that okay, Adam?”

Adam is already absent from the conversation. He waves his hand and mumbles something vaguely affirmative, and then Rhys is hauling Joe up from his chair. Joe frantically moves to cover his crotch which, admittedly, is probably more obvious. Rhys takes care of it for him by spinning him to face away from the table. Joe is marched out of the room as quickly as Rhys can, obscured from the rest of the party as if they were even looking. Well, maybe Kate was. 

  Once they’re in the hall and around the corner, Joe whips around, ready to lay into Rhys. Instead, all he gets is kissed and shoved further down the hall, arms flailing behind him for purchase. Joe moans desperately into the kiss, a mixture of arousal and frenzy. Rhys’ tongue forces into his mouth as Joe’s back hits a wall, or what he supposed was a wall until it falls away. He tumbles into the hall bathroom, finally free from Rhys enough to breathe. The other comes in right after, quickly locking the door. His air of collection is gone, but only Joe would know that - his hair, clothing, and even his facial expression are all entirely normal. It’s only his eyes that are different, now alight with something gleeful and dangerous. Joe gulps and steps back until his back presses against the vanity counter. He’s ashamed to admit he hasn’t softened at all. Rhys stalks towards him, bracketing Joe’s body with his own. The slight height advantage Joe has on him is useless now - he never feels smaller than when he’s with Rhys.

  “Rhys, we can’t-”

  “That’s quite enough of that, Joe. You can play coy and innocent all you want with those arrogant pricks, but I know you. You’re not some simple American horrified by a bit of exhibitionism, are you?” Rhys’ hand closes around Joe’s crotch again, groping him, and he almost bites off his tongue. “And don’t ever tell me I can’t, Joe. I’ll do whatever I please with you.” 

  Joe opens his mouth to object, or agree, maybe, but he can’t be sure because Rhys chooses that moment to grind his hips forward into his, and all that comes out is a groan. “There he is,” Rhys praises, rocking his hips again. “There’s my Joe.” Joe lets his head fall back as Rhys builds up a rhythm, and Rhys takes the opportunity to kiss over his neck, sucking lightly in places just to scare him. Rhys grabs Joe’s hips, hauling him against him, and Joe gives up pretense and grinds back. 

  “Fuck,” Joe whispers when Rhys nips him a bit too hard on the neck, his voice pitchy. The other just grins and licks over the spot, soothing the sting, and sets to work on unbuttoning Joe’s pants. Joe braces himself on the counter and lets him, giving up all control to the other. Once Joe’s pants are undone, Rhys pushes Joe’s pants and boxers down to his thighs, even though he could have just left them up and saved Joe his dignity. Not that he expects that from Rhys.

  “Take your jumper off,” Rhys pants, kissing him messily. Joe moans when Rhys’s hand closes around his dick, dry enough that he can feel every callous he hadn’t expected Rhys to have. He’d learned quickly after the first time. Joe’s elbows buckle, and he reaches up to fumble off his sweater, but Rhys quickly grows impatient with Joe’s discoordination and just pushes it and his undershirt up his chest. Joe knows he must look obscene, pants around his thighs and sweater bunched up by his collar, flushed chest on display, but he can’t bring himself to worry about it too much. Especially when Rhys twists his wrist on an upstroke, making his eyes roll back.

  “Rhys, fuck,” Joe swears breathlessly, bucking his hips forward. Rhys, for his part, lets him.

  “Yeah, good boy, Joe. Say my name, sweetheart,” Rhys pants back. He ducks down to suck at Joe’s chest, licking and nipping at his nipples, making Joe hiss and buck again. Joe tilts his head down to look, but all he can see is the top of Rhys’ head. He moans a bit desperately, suddenly needing Rhys to look at him, and the other obliges. Blue eyes shine up at him as he smiles cockily and straightens himself, kissing Joe hungrily, using his free hand to grope at Joe’s chest. Joe’s breaths begin to hiss, whines tinging the ends. The bathroom is suddenly too hot, too overwhelming, and he clutches at Rhys’ back like a lifeline.

  “Everything a bit too much for you, darling?” Rhys teases, spreading up his hand, groaning back when Joe moans. Joe squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to breathe through the onslaught. When his thighs start to tremble and he twitches away from Rhys’ hand, the other backs off just a bit, pulling Joe away from the counter. Joe only has time to confusedly call Rhys’ name before he’s spun around, his breath leaving him in a rush.

  Joe knows bathroom vanities tend to have mirrors on them, he’s not stupid, but he had forgotten that in the assault of Rhys trying to wring his soul out of his dick. Now, he’s left breathless as he makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. His eyes are almost entirely black, and his beard is dewy with saliva that he assumes is a mixture of Rhys and his own because he doesn’t think he is drooling. His lips are reddened, swollen, and parted around his heaving breaths, and his hair is in complete disarray. He was right before to think he must look obscene, but seeing himself now with his sweater rucked up and pants tugged down so haphazardly sends a pang of arousal through him. Pink marks are blooming on his chest, and his nipples are puffy from Rhys’ abuse. The man himself wraps around Joe’s back, large hands resting on Joe’s hips possessively, bracketing around his cock but not touching.

  “Now, do you see how beautiful you are?” Rhys asks lowly, kissing over Joe’s neck. Joe watches it happen in the mirror feeling almost detached from his body, struck dumb by the sight of himself. He watches as Rhys’ right hand creeps towards his cock, and the surge of pleasure when it closes around the base and strokes has his body jerking like he’d been shocked, immersing him back in the moment. He watches his own mouth drop open and eyebrows draw together, and he forces his eyes to stay open despite how desperately he wishes he could screw them closed and disappear into the man behind him.

  “I look…” Joe trails off, letting out a whining moan when Rhys presses his thumb into his frenulum. 

“Stunning? Otherworldly? Unattainable?” Rhys offers, punctuating each compliment with a sucking kiss.

  “I was gonna go with slutty,” Joe slurs, tilting his head to kiss Rhys’ cheek. The other laughs and nudges Joe’s head forward again, pressing the fronts of his thighs into Joe until he’s trapped against the vanity.

  “Maybe, but only for me. Unfortunately, I can’t keep everyone else from seeing this lovely face, though,” Rhys responds, genuinely displeased. Joe makes a soft sound, quickly losing grasp of language but still wanting to comfort the other. Pumping his hips into Rhys’ fist does the trick, making the other tighten his fist.

  “Only I get to see this, though,” Rhys continues, meeting Joe’s eyes in the mirror. “Only I get to have you like this, see how gorgeous you are when you come undone and stop thinking so damned much. That’s why I wanted to show you this, so you could begin to understand why I get so ‘possessive,’ to use your word.”

  Joe nods dumbly, tongue darting out to lick his lips. The heat in his belly starts to coil, his skin sensitive and too tight. He tries to warn Rhys, but the other just kisses him despite the odd angle. “I know, sweetheart. It’s okay. I only wish I could fuck you properly, have you watch that, too.”

  Joe can’t help the moan that tears out of him at the visual. The sound reverberates in the bathroom obscenely, and his face reddens impossibly more. Rhys smothers a groan of his own in Joe’s collar and grinds against his ass. “I want you too,” Joe pants out, getting impossibly closer to the edge.

  “Then I will. I’ll give you whatever you want, Joe. Fuck you however you want, wherever. Just never in front of anyone else. You’re only for me,” Rhys growls out, getting frantic. Joe finally breaks eye contact in the mirror as his eyes roll back, the heat in his gut tightening before cresting over and seeping out over Rhys’ hand. He fucks forward into the other’s fist, Rhys’ hips stuttering against his ass the entire time. He feels himself going limp as he comes down, all the energy drained out of him. Rhys leans him forward against the vanity, and Joe tucks his elbows under himself. Looking up, he watches Rhys quickly undo his pants behind him and get his dick out. From how his face contorts, Joe knows he’s already close, worked up from teasing Joe and getting him off. 

  “Cum on my back,” Joe pants, staring into Rhys’ eyes when his head jerks up. He looks undone despite being perfectly tidy, everything in its place except his mask of civility. “Come on, on my back, mark me.” Joe makes a show of arching his back, trying his best to tempt the other. It works, and Rhys comes closer behind him, his free hand groping Joe’s hip while the other jerks him off to completion.

  “Fucking hell, Joe,” Rhys groans, releasing hotly over Joe’s back. Joe shudders, feeling the warmth drip onto his skin. He can’t tear his eyes away from the mirror, captivated by the other and how his chest heaves and jaw flexes as he strokes himself through it. Rhys shudders and, wringing himself out, puts his other hand on Joe’s hip. He kisses softly over Joe’s back, wherever he can reach that isn’t covered by his sweater. Joe idly wonders if the back of it is ruined but trusts Rhys to have been careful not to. 

  Joe’s forehead rests on his forearms while Rhys reaches over to grab some tissues. He lets himself be moved out of the sink’s way, still catching his breath, as Rhys cleans his back with dampened tissues. Rhys turns him over, idly humming some nonexistent song, and repeats the same with his front, kissing over his chest. Joe brings a hand up to card through Rhys’ hair, careful not to mess it up too much. Once he’s clean, Rhys tucks them both back into their pants and fixes Joe’s sweater, which fortunately avoided any misshaping.

“You’re incredible, Joe,” Rhys murmurs, still winded. He kisses over both his cheeks, then his jaw, then finally, his lips, tender and caring where he’d been aggressive before. Joe caresses over the other’s back, already dreading rejoining the party.

“We’ll see if the others think that when we go back out there smelling like sex,” Joe gripes, smoothing his sweater. Rhys laughs softly against his lips.

“Joe, darling, those people would only judge you if you didn’t have sex in the bathroom.”

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 22

Part 21 | Masterlist

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: another Rhys pov! (to make up for the long hiatus lolol) Enjoy <3

Song: And so It Begins – Klergy 

“The disappearance of Tom Lockwood, sir.”

Bloody hell.

Even in death, the bastard managed to find a way to disrupt Rhys’ life and well-crafted plans one way or another. 

He felt a surge of adrenaline, but whereas most other people would succumb to the nerves, start sweating and rambling, make mistakes. Rhys didn’t. Instead, it only sharpened his focus, making him that much more dangerous. 

The reporter had used the word disappearance, meaning Lockwood’s body hadn’t been found, meaning there was no physical evidence that could potentially link him to the crime, which ultimately meant that he was in the clear. At least for now. If he played it right, perhaps Rhys could even turn this little hiccup into a story that would reflect him positively in the press.

The mob of journalists and cameramen were waiting with baited breath for him to comment, silence befalling the crowd once more. The only sounds that could be heard were that of the bustling city around them—the honking of a double-decker bus, London’s never-ending construction noises, and the screeching of a police siren a mere two blocks away. 

Rhys allowed a mixture of emotions to pass over his features. Initial shock—which hadn’t involved much acting—followed by a hint of grieving sadness, before he settled on a more calm, compassionate look. Because, like any good psychopath who studied the intricacies of human emotion, Rhys knew that that’s what the public needed to see in a leading figure. Someone who showed the appropriate level of feelings and compassion, but ultimately was able to offer reassurance and take action if need be. 

“Mr. Lockwood…” Rhys shook his head, unfolding his clasped hands to convey a subliminal message of openness and sympathy. “I must say that I am deeply shocked by this news. Is there any more information regarding his disappearance?”

“News surfaced after an anonymous tip was made to The London Dispatch, a spokesperson for the T.R. Lockwood Corporation has just released a statement that they are and have been aware of the circumstances and are working on an internal investigation, the Met Police have also just reported they are launching their own investigation,” the same reporter summarised, reading off of his phone. “Any thoughts on what could have happened, Mr. Montrose?”

Any thoughts… Oh, he had plenty, alright. 

An anonymous tip. To The London Dispatch. That could only be from one man: Jonathan. 

Did he seriously have the balls to go to the press, knowing full well that Lockwood’s disappearance could be traced back to him? Rhys hadn’t thought he would raise the alarm after revealing that detail to him, but it seemed Jonathan was keen to call his bluff.

On the upside, Lockwood’s employees had tried to keep the whole thing under wraps, just like you and Rhys had predicted. But now that it had come out, the peace and quiet would come to an end, especially with the police’s involvement as well.

“I could not say at this time, I’m afraid,” Rhys stated, schooling his actual thoughts. “I think, as of now, the best course of action is to allow all parties involved to conduct their investigations without adding unnecessary speculation that could potentially hinder their job.”

That prompted an immediate response from the crowd.

“You don’t think Lockwood’s partners should’ve been upfront about their CEO going missing?”

“Lockwood was last spotted in Prague–”

“Hasn't his staff already been hindering the police?”

“–over two weeks ago, what are the chances that–”

“Considering these suspicious circumstances–”

“–could this be another murder?”

“I understand,” Rhys interrupted, raising his hands in an attempt to quiet the masses. “I understand the demand for answers. I do. But we have to let them do their jobs. The Met Police will get to the bottom of this and find Mr. Lockwood, I have every faith.”

Lukas stepped up to the press then, drawing their attention with a wave of his hand. “That will be all for today, everyone. Please, step aside to let Mr. Montrose pass.”

They did so begrudgingly, some ignoring his campaign manager as they kept shouting questions left and right. Rhys walked past them, thanking them for their time. His head of security met him halfway, guiding him the last couple of metres to the car.

“Where’s Y/N?” Rhys asked.

“She’s waiting in the car, sir,” Reggie answered.

“Mr. Montrose!”

“One final question, please!”

Rhys easily picked up on the thinly veiled exasperation in Lukas’ voice as he tried to reason with The Telegraph. “No can do, sir. Mr. Montrose is already late for his next commitment. If you have any follow-up questions, please feel free to send them to our office.”

But the seasoned reporter wouldn’t just let it go, following Rhys all the way to the kerb.

“Mr. Montrose! What about his family?”

Reggie had already opened the passenger door, but Rhys paused, turning back around. He had to give it to the guy, no politician in their right mind could ignore that type of question.

He wetted his lips, a mournful smile flickering across his face. “Ofcourse, I give my deepest sympathies to Mr. Lockwood’s family during these uncertain times. I hope he will soon return in good health, and be reunited with his loved ones.”

Rhys dipped his head, pouring all the sympathy he did not actually feel into a final smile before he slid into the back of the car, where he was greeted by you, sending him an amused but troubled look. 

Reggie shut the door as Rhys leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Take us back to Primrose.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver nodded. “We might hit some traffic, though. There’s been an accident on Holborn and City Road.”

“That’s alright. Nothing we can do about it. Get us there as quickly as you’re able.”

“Straight away, sir.”

Rhys raised the soundproof, glass divider between the front and back of the car, giving you the privacy to talk about all that had just transpired without the driver being able to eavesdrop. 

You turned to face each other as the car pulled into the stream of ongoing traffic.

“So. Deepest sympathies, huh?”

“Why yes, ofcourse, darling,” he grinned.

You snorted. “Liar.”

He was about to retort when his phone started ringing. Rhys checked the caller ID, and sighed. “Excuse me, this won’t take long,” he said, accepting the call. 

“I don’t want to hear a word about Cynthia, Luke,” Rhys announced, wanting to move past his indisputable error in judgement quickly. “Go back to the office, coordinate from there. We need to get an official written statement out ASAP, one that is based on all the facts known at present.”

“Agreed, sir. I’ll fetch Brian to–”

“No. No, have Sam write it, she’ll need the experience. Just make sure to double check it before you post it online.”

“You don’t want to read it yourself? Are you not coming to the office?”

“No, I’ll meet you there later. There’s another pressing matter that requires my attention first. I trust you to handle the situation while I’m out.”

“Yes, Mr. Montrose.”

Rhys ended the call and pocketed his phone before resting his head against the headrest. What a day this was turning out to be. And it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. 

He must have involuntarily let out another sigh, for he felt the softness of your touch, your slender fingers wrapping around his hand. 

“How is that patience of yours doing?”

“I won’t lie, it’s hanging by a thread.”

“Figures,” you smiled, squeezing his hand.

Your smile was quickly overshadowed by that same troubling look from before, one which you didn’t have to hide anymore.

“That anonymous tip… it must be–”

“Jonathan? Yes, I think so, too,” Rhys finished. “Unless you called The London Dispatch and failed to inform me of a new tactical move.”

You shook your head no as the car slowed to a stop, now officially stuck in the busy rerouted traffic. “Nope, it definitely wasn’t me,” you said, looking out the window to catch a glimpse of St. Paul’s looming presence.

It was a cloudy day, ten a penny for London, even during the summer time. The storm front may have passed, but the uncertainty of what was coming still lingered in the air.

“Whilst you were giving your statement to the press, I kept thinking, why?” You looked back to Rhys. “Why would Jonathan do this now? He knows that we put the account that was used to bribe the pilots in his name. That was supposed to keep him quiet, at least for a little while longer. So, what’s his angle?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, the same question dominating his thoughts. “Jonathan’s calculated. But also rash, and unpredictable, as today has clearly demonstrated… We need to act quickly before he goes from being a liability to a full-blown threat.”

You chewed your lip. “You know who else can become a threat?”

His eyes flickered between yours, trying to find an answer there as he mentally went down the long list of possible enemies he made along the way. The ones that were still able to draw breath, that is. 

Only one name came to mind.

“Marcus Atkinson.”

The man who conspired with Lockwood to have Rhys removed from the upcoming elections, by categorically trying to erase him from the face of the earth. 

“Atkinson,” you agreed. “So far, he’s been quiet, but there’s no telling what he’ll do now that the news of Lockwood’s disappearance has been made public.”

Rhys hummed, affirmative. “You’re right. We need to prepare for every possibility.”

“Is that why we’re going home?”

“No,” he said, a little reluctant. 

You frowned, not following. “Then why did you tell the driver to take us back to Primrose Hill?”

He sighed. “Because you’re going home, whilst I go and pay dear old Jonathan a visit.”

You paused, slowly letting go of his hand as the meaning of his words landed.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

Rhys set his jaw, his decision already made and final, but that didn’t stop you from glaring at him.

“And you’re sidelining me because…?”

He looked away, something flicking over his expression. “It’s the only way I know how to keep you safe.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed. “What about me and what I do for a living gives you the impression that you need to keep me safe?”

Rhys winced. He’d anticipated this reaction from you. But there was no way in hell he would allow you and Jonathan in the same room ever again. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you could fend for yourself, because, as more than one occasion had attested, you certainly knew how to throw a punch or two. And make it hurt. He himself was privy to the knowledge. 

However, he didn’t trust Jonathan and what he would do… Especially now. Besides, as far as Rhys could tell, Jonathan still didn’t know anything about your true identity. And he’d very much liked to keep it that way. 

“He’s a psychopath, Y/N,” Rhys stressed. 

“Right,” you drawled. “Do you want me to look up the exact definition? Because I’m pretty sure it would also include present company.”

He smiled, bitter. “I’m not planning on hurting you. Jonathan might. You know the things he was mixed up in across the pond. If he figures out how important you are to me…”

His forehead creased with genuine concern, and even in your anger, your eyes softened a little at the admission.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he amended. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact that I want to keep you as far away from him as I possibly can.”

You nodded thoughtfully, still far from happy with his decision. But Rhys wasn’t going to change his mind, and you knew it as well.

Once again, the sound of a phone pinging interrupted your conversation. Privately, Rhys hoped it would put an end to it as well, although you quickly relieved him of that illusion. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“A man can hope,” he muttered.

You shot him a warning look as you retrieved your phone, effectively making him shut up.

He looked around, noticing they were still motionless. No. That wasn’t right. They had moved about three car lengths in the last five minutes. Progress, he thought, clocking his inner voice’s sarcasm with a wry smile. At least the extended travel time would give him a little more time to prepare for his surprise attack on Jonathan. Although, that twat was likely already waiting for Rhys to show up after the shit he pulled earlier today… 

Rhys gritted his teeth as he thought of Jonathan. How he must have watched the press interview live on tele, probably thinking he’d won this game… Well, Rhys would make damn sure that his victory would be short lived. 

A startled noise came from your side of the car, and his eyes shot back to you, jerking him from those thoughts. 

Your wide eyes were scanning whatever message had appeared on your phone’s screen, four times over, as if making sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you. A wave of worry careened through him as he watched the colour drain from your face.

“Y/N?” he said, alarmed.

“Oh my god…”

Frantically tapping the screen, you brought the phone closer to your face. “Oh my god.”

Before Rhys even got a chance to ask what the hell was going on, you’d already pressed the device to your ear, fingers now tapping restlessly against the car’s interior door.

“Y/N,” he said, firmer this time, clasping your hand in his. You looked at him, panicked, uncertain… terrified. Rhys felt his own stomach drop. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.

The call went straight to voicemail, and you groaned in frustration. “Damnit, she’s not answering her phone.”

“Is it Zoe? Sadie?” Rhys tried, concern slipping into his voice. 

He softly squeezed your hand to garner your attention. It worked. You refocused on him, visibly swallowing a tang of adrenaline before shoving your phone into his hands. Rhys read the ID: Zoe. He was right—there were only so many people that could pull this type of reaction from you. He could probably count them on one hand.

His eyes slid down to read the most recent incoming texts, and he sucked in a breath, immediately understanding your nervousness.

>>> mum’s back

>>> please come

Your mother… 

Alarm bells went off inside of him, his concern slowly getting replaced by something sharper, harder. 

You’d both known the day would come, yet the words on the screen still shocked him to silence, the only thing he could muster a feeble, “Fuck…”

“Yeah…”

Rhys closed his eyes. Another person who had completely disappeared—albeit not by your doing—resurfacing. It had been quite the mystery as to what had happened to her, and you had spent many a night trying to figure out where she could have possibly gone. Without much success. But now she had seemingly returned.

The timing could also not have been better. Apparently Murphy’s Law always lurked around the corner somewhere.

“Where did she come from all of a sudden?”

“From hell, likely.”

He huffed a strained laugh. That was certainly one possibility. Rhys met your gaze, then. The initial shock had lifted, and now the fire he’d grown to love glowed bright in your eyes.

“I’ll kill her,” you whispered, unyielding. “I swear to god, if she’s hurt them… I will kill her.”

You snatched your phone from his hands, your thumbs flying over the keyboard as you typed out a series of messages in quick succession.

“Hey,” Rhys said, pitching his voice into a soothing range. “They’re gonna be okay. Just like their big sister, they can fend for themselves.”

“I know they can,” you said, still holding your phone in an iron grip. “But after what happened last time, I can’t help but worry.”

He couldn’t stop himself. “I know the feeling...”

You dropped your phone, turning to him with a look that made it abundantly clear that now was not the time to test you. 

“Rhys,” you warned.

“Sorry…” he muttered, squeezing your hand again. “How do you wanna tackle this?”

“I’m going over there.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Right now. I have to make sure they’re okay. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you shot back, eyes narrowing.

Rhys pursed his lips. Yep. He deserved that.

You looked outside to find that you were, still, stuck near St. Paul’s. And it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon. Sighing, you clasped the door handle, but before you could sprint out, Rhys tugged you back to him.

“Whoa, wait a second,” he said, worry seeping back into his voice. He didn’t want to part like this. “Are you sure you want to do this by yourself? I can help.”

You looked at him evenly. “This can’t wait. And neither can the Jonathan situation.” 

Damnit. 

No, it couldn’t.

“I’ll take care of my mother while you take care of our professor,” you offered, running your thumb over his hand in an attempt to persuade him. However the grim look on your face wasn’t helping.

He held your gaze for a long moment, equally grim, before nodding once. There was no other way. 

“Be careful, and call me when you need me,” Rhys implored, already cursing himself for agreeing to this plan. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you said, purposeful, determined.

And with that, you were off, shutting the car door with force. 

Rhys watched you go, worry now mixing with guilt. By trying to protect you from one situation, he was now the sole reason you were diving head-first into unknown danger all by yourself.

Although, you would have gone either way. No matter the circumstances. You were just like him in that respect. Once you’d made up your mind, there was nothing anyone could do to dissuade you. Rhys had to let you go. Leaving you the space to deal with problems the way you saw fit. He didn’t like it, but if he wanted to keep you by his side, there was no other choice. 

As far as he was aware, your mother wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. But even so, she’d come pretty close to manslaughter with the Hackney house fire. Rhys also knew for a fact that you hadn’t yet told him about all of the harrowing things you’d endured during your childhood. Some details, yes. But definitely not all. He hadn’t wanted to push you too hard, you would tell him when you were ready. Just like with everything else. 

Rhys shook himself. Dwelling on this wasn’t going to do him much good either. He had his own headache to deal with. After that, he would work to make things right with you.

He pressed a button, lowering the glass divider. “Change of plans. I need you to take me to South Kensington.”

—

An hour later, after trudging through London’s busy traffic, the car parked in front of Kynance Mews. The driver hastened to open his door, and Rhys slid out, glancing left and right. 

“Give me twenty minutes,” he said, adjusting his suit.

“Yes, sir.”

The ride over had given him plenty of time to consider his options, which in the end boiled down to two simple objectives: kill Jonathan, or not. 

As tempting as the first option was, Rhys had to accept that it wasn’t the most prudent one. Now that Lockwood’s disappearance had become a public affair, and the police were conducting their own investigation, there would be a lot of heat bearing down on the case. Sooner or later, the police would find out about the bribe money, and once they’d successfully trace the money and start making connections, ‘Professor Jonathan Moore’ would be the subject of a lot of scrutiny. 

Like with Atkinson, the risk would be too great. If either of those two were killed right now, people would surely start asking questions. Questions Rhys didn’t want to be asked. 

Therefore, with a tinge of annoyance, he opted that the best course of action was to keep the professor alive a little longer. 

However, Jonathan couldn’t continue on like this. He had to be reined in—reminded of who was in control here. Good thing Rhys had one more trick up his sleeve, and now was the time to use it.

He made his way inside the building, taking the stairs two at a time, determination edged in his pace. Once he made it to number ten, he lifted his fist, landing a series of powerful knocks on Jonathan’s front door. He didn’t have to wait long before it swung open. 

Rhys bursted into the flat, the door nearly hitting Jonathan in the face. 

“You’ve been busy, mate.”

Jonathan recovered quickly. “So have you.”

His dark eyes tracked Rhys as he strode around the flat, making sure there were no unwanted third parties present. Once he made sure there wasn’t, he stopped in front of Jonathan, meeting his gaze.

Rhys took a breath and nodded. “Tell me about it. It’s hard work, winning these elections—making sure all possible threats are dealt with accordingly.”

Jonathan looked him up and down, measured. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Among other things... I was starting to miss our fun little chats.”

“I wasn’t,” the professor sneered.

“Oh, pray tell,” Rhys said, light.

Jonathan appeared calm, but the tightness around his eyes told Rhys all he needed to know. A single, disdainful head-tilt cinched it.

So, this would be fun.

“You’re a cold-blooded psycho.” 

His mouth twitched. “Ah, one that needs to be taken down? Is that why you tipped the press?” 

“I’m done with your bullshit and your fucking mindgames,” he hissed. “And I’m not going down for your sins whilst you become mayor of this godforsaken town.”

“And yet here you are,” Rhys snickered, waving a hand at him. “Digging your own grave. Or did you forget that Joe Goldberg helped cover-up Lockwood’s murder?”

“I’ll tell them the truth about you,” Jonathan promised. “You’re not getting away with this.”

“And who do you think they’ll believe?” Rhys returned, tilting his head, a challenge. “A suspected murderer who faked his own death, or the man that’s working tirelessly to strengthen their police force—making sure their kids will have access to a higher education, someone who’s battling corruption and fighting for what’s right. You tell me.”

Jonathan shook his head. “No… No, you will go down for your crimes.”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh. “And what crimes are those? Do you have any proof? Or will this be another case of your word against mine?” he taunted, stepping up to the fuming American.

Jonathan stood rigid, frowning in contemplation. He took a moment to mull over whatever thoughts held him before he looked at Rhys askance. 

“There has to be proof. People always seem to mysteriously disappear or die around you. Like last night.”

Rhys remained entirely unfazed. “That Fernsby bloke, you mean? Well, if you’d listened to the news, you would know he died of natural causes. Very unfortunate but it happens,” he said, inscrutable, picking a piece of lint off of his suit. “Besides, I have an alibi.”

“Of course you do,” Jonathan mumbled, more to himself. “Your girlfriend?”

Anger simmered under Rhys’ cool facade at the mention. But he couldn’t let Jonathan see it. 

“She serves many purposes,” he smirked, lewd.

Jonathan’s face twisted in disgust. “You’re using her.”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s all she’s good for anyway. A pretty face for the cameras, and an excellent shag at night.”

Jonathan looked away, uncomfortable despite his own nature. He took a beat, his eyes locked in an endless stare, seeing seemingly nothing. Then he blinked, once, and looked up to Rhys again. 

Something in his eyes had changed. Like he’d made up his mind about something. Rhys couldn’t tell what it was, but it didn’t sit well with him, at all. That much was clear.

His smile faded, it was time to get down to business.

“Alright,” he exclaimed, delightfully startling Jonathan in the process. “Enough chit-chat. I think it’s about time I remind you of a few things…”

Jonathan stiffened, but didn’t respond. Rhys sauntered over to the window, the one providing a perfect view into the flat of one Miss Kate Galvin. The flat was dark, and it didn’t look like anyone was home.

“Do you know where she is?” Rhys asked, peering through the window.

He didn’t need to specify who he was referring to. Not to a seasoned stalker like him.

“At work,” Jonathan said, clipped. 

Rhys glanced back over his shoulder, clocking Jonathan still standing in the exact same spot, shooting daggers at his back. Rhys’ lips curled. 

“Remember this feeling, Jonathan,” he said as he zeroed in on the fireplace, bending to pick up the fire iron. “Remember how it feels to know where she is. To know she’s safe…”

He twisted the metal object leisurely, feeling the weight of it in his palms. “But above all, remember how I can take all of that away, in the blink of an eye.”

If possible, Jonathan stiffened even more, nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. 

Rhys’ eyes sparked with amusement. Jonathan hadn’t wanted to play any more of his ‘mindgames’, but unfortunately for the professor, he was only just getting started.

“Now, we wouldn’t want her to meet the same fate as her father, would we?” Rhys mused, using the metal tool to prod at some charcoal remains. “Because speaking of unfortunate things, I’d say that would definitely qualify as such.”

Jonathan glared at him, not even attempting to cover the hatred he felt for the man daring to enter his home like he owned the place—and threaten him, his girlfriend, and everything he had tried to rebuild for himself. 

“Stay away from her,” he said, voice as cold as ice.

“Come now, Jonathan. There’s no need to get snippy,” Rhys tutted, eyes flicking to him. “You and I both know that whatever happens to her, it’s entirely up to you.”

The sound of metal scraping against the fireplace's stone surface caught Jonathan’s attention, his eyes flying to where Rhys was still playing around with the rod. He relished the look on Jonathan’s face, a sweet mixture of trepidation and rage. It meant he was listening carefully. 

“Fun fact about fire,” Rhys went on, off-kilter. “Which, correct me if I’m wrong, I believe you may be familiar with,” he added jokingly, stabbing at a larger fragment of unburned wood. 

“Nothing ever truly vanishes. There’s always something that remains. And what’s so amusing about this fact is that you never know which pieces are left behind… or when they might resurface.”

This was it. The last card Rhys could play to keep Jonathan silent—short from killing him, ofcourse. 

To threaten him to complete the framejob by planting Lockwood’s other hand that you and Rhys had kept as a backup, and call in the cavalry. Physical evidence tying Jonathan to the crime, in combination with the paper trail already set up in his name, would ensure Jonathan’s arrest and indictment. And he knew it.

Jonathan swallowed. “Lockwood?”

Rhys walked up to him, eyeing him steadily. “You better stick to our first agreement, and keep quiet,” he warned, tapping the fire iron against Jonathan’s chest. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure you’re going down for all of it.”

Defeat flashed over Jonathan’s face. He was still angry, no, livid would be the better term… But the growing apprehension and doubt was unmistakable.

Satisfied that his message was received loud and clear, Rhys dropped the metal rod to the floor. The loud clang of the object hitting the wooden floor caused Jonathan to flinch back, much to Rhys’ pleasure.

He turned his back on the American, gleefully making his way towards the front door where he paused, resting one hand on the handle, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“It’s all about who holds the power, mate,” Rhys smirked, looking back to Jonathan, whose jaw was clenched tight. “And at present, that isn’t you.”

–––– 

A/N: FINALLY a Joe and Rhys meet… I know it’s been a long time coming 🙈 I had a lot of fun writing this particular scene, I hope you enjoyed it as well. Now let’s see if Jonathan will heed Rhys’ warning or… not. hehe

––

Tags: @artaxerxesthegreat

[i-find-the-beauty-in-chaos]

[faithsknife]

you're dangerous, i'm lovin' it moodboard

summary: Finding someone after Beck felt impossible for 4 months, until Joe meets Rhys and realizes what being meant for someone truly means.

read it here

[kausstar]

ANYTHING FOR YOU

joe goldberg x f! reader￨nsfw content￨wc: 3.2k

joe promised himself he wouldn't pursue anyone. he wanted to change, turn over a new leaf, but it was hard when you were so perfect.

dark and mature content, be aware. no characteristics of the reader besides you liking pasta and having a favorite flower. season four! joe. obsessive! joe. the reader gets picked up. joe w/ the beard cause he lookin goooood. stalking. implied break in. talks of murder. panty stealer! joe. unprotected. eating out ;). creampie. praise kink. breeding kink.

𝓴aus. longest fanfic i’ve written and i see why i don’t write stuff this long 😭😭.

"here you are," you hand the cup of coffee to the sweet lady who stood in front of joe. she thanks you, before leaving the line to take a seat at one of your many tables in your coffee shop. probably another college student studying for their masters degree. joe watched as you placed the money she had given you in the cash register, taking note of the way a light smile was practically glued on your face even if you weren't being spoken to.

"hello," joe spoke first, making you look up from putting the bills in their correct places. he gives you a small smile, that he realized a while ago, will never amount to yours. "hello," you replied, closing the register. he notice the smile you gave him showed more teeth than the one you had given the nice lady before him. he notice everything about you: the way you carried yourself, the way you wore your hair everyday, how you loved asking about his day and about him, but never talked about yourself. you were always so thoughtful.

before he could conjure up a conversation, your name was called from steps away from you by your friend who was working at the second register. "isn't it your break time?" seth asked, taking a glare to jonathan. the glare was hard enough to kill, but wasn't enough to scare joe away from you. seth elsher, he's been your friend since college. it was very obvious in the photos on your instagram that he liked you. the small hand on your back, staring at you as you took photos which you intended for only you to be in. that's probably why he's practically messing up his eyes sight to get you away from me.

you pull your phone from your front pocket on your apron and read the time. "it is actually," you say, looking up from your phone to share a glance between the two. you slide your phone back in your apron, “i'll take him, and then go." he shakes his head, “i got him. you've been working all day." he walks towards you before putting his hand on the small of your back. again, giving a glance to jonathan. you move from him, making his attention turn to you. “it's fine. i’ll take him, then i'll go," you insisted making him nod, with a small smile towards you.

he doesn't leave without giving a hard glare to jonathan before he walks away and into the back. he's probably going back there to cry before coming back out. "sorry about that." you rolled your eyes with a light sigh. "he really hates me, doesn't he?" joe chuckled, fixing his bag back onto his shoulder. he does the “i can take his order" thing everytime i come. it's kinda sad. you shake your head with a light chuckle, "no. he just doesn't like when i talk to dudes. especially you, for some reason." joe nods. looks like he'll be a pretty big problem between us.

"anyways, you have to get places. your regular?" you smiled, your eyes trying their best not to shift to his lower half, wanting to appreciate the man's appearance. "yes. if you don't mind of course," his grin grow at his teasing words, knowing you would do anything he asked. "i don't mind at all," you grinned before turning on your heal to grab a cup from the counter behind you. "so are the kids doing well?" you asked, speaking of his students.

they would love you. a chuckle exploded from his chest, watching as you move behind the counter. he could only imagine the way you looked wearing nothing but his shirt in the early mornings. "very. they always complained about the poems i use and how they're very "american" but they're doing good. how are you doing?" he smiled. you gave a light "hm” with a shrug, in response as you poured creamer into the cup of coffee.

"come on, you got to give me more than that," he grinned, hoping you would hear the desperation in his voice. and oh am i desperate for you. and by the way you spin around to look at him with a grin, cup of coffee in hand, you did. "nothing exciting really. i had my first rude customer yesterday when you weren't here," you shrugged, sitting the coffee down the counter, before sliding it towards him.

joe always apologized for not coming the day after not coming. he would always walk passed though, his mind yelling at him just to be a couple minutes late but he couldn't, his job was already across town. "really? sorry about that." you shook your head at his apology with light smile. "it's fine, love. i just hate people sometimes." you roll your eyes with a laugh, he couldn't replace. maybe killing him will solve your problem but it was too soon for that. he nods, a smile growing on his face at seeing yours.

"i have a question, if you have some time to spare," he spoke before taking a sip of the coffee that had been warming his hand for minutes. “unless that bell rings then yes. talk all you want, professor,” you grinned leaning on the counter. he smiled at the nickname. "well i'm done grading papers for the week and today i’ll just be doing a lecture, so i was wondering if you'd like to have dinner at my place?"

your heart stopped for seconds that you didn't even get to count before you let a breathy, "yes." breathless? did i really surprise you that much? "amazing," joe pulled his wallet from his pocket even though you never let him pay. you realize what he's doing and you go to protest but he stops you. “i can't keep leaving with free coffee," he smiled at your sweetness as he places the money on the counter before pushing his wallet back in his pocket. he grabs a napkin from the small holder and a pen from his pocket before writing his number down on it.

he slides the napkin over to you, acting as if he hadn't already found your number through facebook. “9:00?" he questioned. "yeah," you smiled, nodding. "i'll see you tonight then, love.” synthesizing to the nickname you had used minutes prior. “i'll see you tonight," you said, smiling before he walked towards the door and out.

you : Hello? Is this Jonathan? | 8:13

8:13 | Yes : unsaved number

you : Hi, it's y/n! I was wondering if were still on for 9? | 8:13

8:13 | Yes. If that's fine with you.: Jonathan

you : It is very fine by me. | 8:14

8:14 | great. see you then. : Jonathan

you : see you. | 8:15

Today 8:30 PM

8:30 | here's my address for later : Jonathan

* address sent *

joe hummed softly to the music as he stirred the pasta in the pan (he had taken the note from your instagram post that it was your favorite). for the first time in a long time joe felt he could breathe, in fresh air and not be so... stuck. he would hope it would stay that way forever but it never really worked out the way he wanted it to. his heart seemed to burn at the thought of losing another. he couldn't. he wouldn't. you were the last one.

a knock came upon his door. panic rushed through him. already? he thought looking at the sliver watch that adored his wrist. 9:12, it read. "shit." he cursed as he buttoned up his white work shirt, that didn't have a tie around the neck. the tie had been discarded in the room he called his bedroom, on the bed to be specific. he walked away from the pasta dish on the stove, sitting the spoon on the small plate to the side.

he quickly decided down the hall and into his bedroom, grabbing the tie from his bed and tucks it into his side table, right next to your underwear he had taken days ago from your apartment. you couldn't blame him. he just needed to know you a little more and going there was his best bet. he wondered what he could do to you in front of that mirror that faced your bed. he didn't let his mind wonder off too far and just ignored the hard on that was growing in his pants.

he walked back down the hall and quickly made his way to the door. his hand wraps around the doorknob and turns it to find you looking down at your hands. but once hearing the door open, your eyes quickly flicker to his. a smile grows on your pretty face. "hello, professor." you teased making him chuckle. "hello, love," he said, playfully, but the way he found you looking down as if nervous he thinks you like the name. after staring for a while, he steps aside to let you inside the apartment.

you weren't afraid to step forward either- to be consumed by the smell of coffee and the cologne you hoped to smell every morning. he watched as you walked, pretty outfit fitting your beautiful body perfectly. he smiled lightly, closing the door. how did i get you? your eyes darted across the apartment, before walking into the kitchen where a table was set up for the two of you.

he walked quickly, trying to get a good glance at the kitchen before you did to make sure there was nothing you weren’t supposed to see. fortunately, he found nothing but bowls. “sorry about the mess," he chuckled nervously.

you shook your head, looking over at him as he grabbed them and put them in the sink. “i don't mind. you cooked after all. i don't expect it to be spotless," you smiled. if smiles could kill, the whole country would be dead. maybe you're too perfect. are you hiding secrets in that head of yours? he only gives you a light smile, keeping his heart felt thoughts to himself.

your eyes soon met the flowers on the table and pick them up, eyeing joe. "these are my favorite,” you smiled, taking in the smell of them. your eyes close when taking them in and joe is glad you can't see him damn near caulking over you. you open your eyes and he grins at you. “i’m glad you like them," he said. you smile, “i love them. thank you."

xxx

after dinner, the two of you just talked. it wasn’t really about anything because joe knew everything. when you told him “new” things about yourself he would act surprised as if he hadn’t known it weeks prior. besides, with the wine you had drank he believes you could barely care. "why does if smell so much like coffee in here when you come to my coffee shop everyday?" you asked with a fixed grin.

jonathan only shrugs. "air freshener?" he laughed only making you tilt your head. “they have coffee air freshener?" you asked and he shrugs once more with a teasing grin. “i guess so." you both laugh at the ridiculous questions and answers.

the joke had seemed to bring up a memory of the day. “and about what happened today..." you spoke up, your tone quickly apologetic. joe knew exactly what you were talking about, lucky for him it never really hit him hard. but he still chose to act clueless just to hear your tone longer. at his confused look, you continue, explaining more. “at the coffee shop. with seth. he's always so- how can i say it? protective,” you shrugged. protective? that's the word you use to describe that asshole? "is he always like that?" he asks, sitting up more in his chair.

you shrug, “yeah. but mostly with you for some reason…” you tilt your head studying his face. your eyes carved hearts into his. "says you look like the type to read books on the weekend and kill people on weekdays. but... i don't think you'll even hurt a fly." the softness of your voice makes joe's heart slow as if it's trying to take in the moment, savory every second. only if the fly touches you. he smiles as the room moves slowly around him.

your eyes seemed to pull him in like a sinkhole. he wants to know what gets your pupils dilating; what gets tears rushing from your eyes; what makes you smile from ear to ear. he drunks in all your features as if your going to be taken away from him in any moment. thinking if he stares hard enough you'll never disappear or leave him behind. he won't let it happen. finally, you inch closer, and you feel each others breath on your face.

joe's welling to close the gap from pure hunger of needing you. your lips met in a passionate and hungry kiss. he could taste the wine that lingered on your tongue and he wanted to suck it all off. you stand up from your chair, your lips still locked and you straddle his waist. he was sure you felt his cock harden under you and the way you began rocking your hips onto him, you did. the sudden friction made him groan into your mouth and his hands shoot to your waist.

you hips continue to rock, gaining panty soaking groans and moan from joe. he could barely think, head so clouded with need. he wraps one arm around your back and one closer to your ass before standing from his chair. you yelp in surprise before pulling away. “where are we going?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him with a grin.

“i’m sure you know,” he grinned, as he walked down the hallway until he stepped into his bedroom. he lays you down softly onto his bed but doesn’t lay on top of you. instead, he starts unbuttoning his shirt. you take that as a go and took off what you were wearing as well. once fully naked besides both your underwear he quickly latches onto your neck. 

as he made marks on, your hands tangle in his hair, your mouth open letting light moans into the room. joe continues the sucking on your neck until he’s satisfied with the hickeys that adorned your neck. once satisfied, he moves down your body, kissing and nipping at any skin his mouth could touch. at your tummy, he teases you slightly, taking way longer to get where you really need him. your hand once again travels to his hair and you tug on it lightly making him look up at you.

you roll your hips and beg with your eyes. “sorry. just wanted to appreciate you a little,” he grins before giving your tummy one more kiss before moving down. his arms quickly lock around your thighs, and he lines his mouth up with your pussy. he could already see the wet spot in your pretty panties. him being as hungry as he was for you, wasted no time to pull your panties down and lick a strip along your pussy.

the feeling of his tongue makes you moan lightly. he dips his tongue into you, tasting you on his tongue making him hm with delight. he laps at your leaking hole, hoping to suck up every last bit of juice he can get like a water-ridden dog. “you taste so good,” he says, his voice muffled. how could i ever let you go now? you claw at his hair, pulling at the roots, dismissing his thoughts.

“ah- more. please, baby,” you beg, rolling your hips. he gives you what you want by licking at your clit. wrapping his mouth around the sensitive bud and swirling his tongue around it. he can feel his cock strain in his boxers. he wouldn’t be amazed if there was a wet spot in them from his pre-cum. his eyes wonder up to see you already looking at him, mouth open, moans spilling from it.

you move his hair from his face so you could see him better as he applies more pressure from his tongue onto your clit. the sudden pressure makes you moan louder and throw your head back into the pillow. he pulls away, not wanting you to cum just let, looking at how your pretty pink insides clench and beg for something inner.

the site almost makes him cum in his pants. the need in his chest and cock grows, so he gets up from his position between your legs and takes off his boxers. he quickly climbs onto of you and catches your lips in a needy kiss. his cock sat hard against your wet folds. he could feel the heat radiating from you and he was going light headed. with pure excitement, he reaches down and lines himself up with you before pushing in.

you moan into each other’s mouth. your cunt so snuggle around him, he swore he was going to pass out. you wrap your legs around his waist pulling him even deeper. he could barely keep up with your rough kisses. god, save me. his hips start with slow rocks trying to let you adjust to his size.

his hips didn’t pick up the pace until you whine into his mouth and buck your hips into him. the room seemed to get stuffy as his hips smacked against your thighs. your moans were muffled by his mouth but soon he pulled away letting them roam freely. his groans and moan moving along with them in the stuffy and hot room.

his eyes watched as you coo’d for him, begging for him to fuck you harder. your begging only made him wanna fill you to the brim, until you couldn’t think. what a slut you are. he did as asked, slamming his hips into your thighs, making sure to reach deep. the deeper he reached the more you moaned and the closer he got.

your pussy clenched and squeezed him making it even harder for him to hold on. "oh my god. i’m gonna cum,” he moaned, hips moving a bit faster. he could feel as your pussy spazzes around him. your moans fill more of the room as you cum around his cock. the feeling of you cum pulls his cum from him. his cum rushes through him and into you filling you with a sense of warmth.

joe sighs when done and slowly pulls out, careful not to hurt you. lightheaded from cumming so hard, he lays down on top of you and you don’t mind at all. you smile lightly as he tries to catch his breath. finally, when your hearts are normal, your eyes are barely open and your breathing is content. you speak, "maybe i was wrong about you not hurting a fly.” joe only chuckled.

oh i’m never letting you go.

 2023 kausstar.

[plasticfangtastic]

Can We Be Lonely Together? Ch. 12 3/3

A Homelander X Stalker! Reader fanfic

This is a GN reader but male leaning for crackship reasons. this is also a Supe! reader fic

Author's note: YAY!! thank you for making it to the final part of the final chapter, hope y'all like it... there's an epilogue coming btw but its short thankfully! LONG CHAPTER ahead! warning! thank you for reading and I can't wait to drop the 2 fics I got in the works, one is just HomeAsh smut and the other just pure Homie fluff. previous chapter on #my fic tag and #can we be lonely together? tag in my blog.

R18+ Child death mention, child murder, gore, mild gore, murder, smut, Homie OOC towards Ashley, rape mention.

Chapter 12

Cont.

The morning after was without struggles, a new routine set itself after medication and breakfast now the cats needed your attention.

Homelander was still silent, still far away– but John did his best to look strong without his brother’s guidance, yet unable to stop hoping to see his brother's reflection.

You took to work, he said nothing about you entering the labs to pick up supplies, he even gave you his blessing, ensuring the security cameras were off during your shopping spree, the thought of you killing excited him greatly, pent up arousal still burning his loins as all you could muster after last night spat, was a quick fuck in the shower before bed and some head before breakfast, he had cummed but he wasn’t satiated.

Insufficient by all means, you backed up against his hips, the hot water reddening your sensitive skin, squeezing as he threatened to leave only for his hips to smack yours to reassure you that wasn’t going to happen, pumping a single thick load without leaving a bump, you cleaned him with your tongue, making sure to get every nook as he sheltered you poorly from the shower.

Your tongue flicked him awake, squeezing him with all your might as you pumped him messily, letting him watch as you pleasure your throat with his member, leaving him in awe as your nose got tickled by a small tuft of hair, his hand firm against your head as he groaned and hissed as your teeth rubbed his sides awake, holding hands as he came making sure to swallow every splurt and licked every drop you’ve spilled, before he could return the favor– Ryan woke up, so you cut it short this morning.

And then the cats protested, they complained a lot, demanding things after only being here for a day, but you and the kid seemed too happy to please.

It was to be a long day, he worried.

No calls during lunch break, or smoke break, no messages to remind him to eat and that a glass of milk was not a meal.

He knew you had the day off but he still expected something, you failed to reply to any of his messages.

He could feel something pressing against him.

It would be eight o’clock and you still haven’t called home, it was past nine and your phone kept leading to voicemail.

It was almost ten when Ryan asked about you, as he prepared to go to bed, Homelander reassured him that you were at work at Dolores’s restaurant, ordered him to keep the fort and headed out.

He hadn’t want to think about it but his mind betrayed him, did you lie? Were you with somebody else? who the fuck where you with!? his chest puffed the more and more he thought of that nameless woman, you wouldn’t. He was better looking, wealthier, smarter and high specs than some OnlyFans thot– were you trying to get back at him? Even after you forgave him? But the more and more he huffed, the nearest wall cracked deeper under his fist.

He felt that squeeze in his heart.

You've said you liked the difficulty. 

What made this cheap mudperson difficult?

His throat grew an impossible knot, he felt againts the hall wall as he headed away from his apartment, resting his temples as he lost control of his heartbeat.

Boars had tusks to shred you, to impale you, to bleed you with, after all.

There you were lying cold in some rat infested alleyway, the stench of your rotting corpse hidden by putrid piles of rubbish, and wet bitumen.

There was you still crawling, still clinging but too far away, too quiet to catch anybody's attention– not that anybody would care in this city. 

He choked, his mind racing and the ringing in his ear painfully loud at the thought of you calling for him behind red gargles, claws shred his insides.

Heading downstairs to Analytics to find one of your co-workers. Your phone stopped ringing and sent him straight to voicemail.

The man looked up, seeing the alarm in his expression, he was tense and shaky as he took the back of the chair, leaning slightly towards him, the man squeezed his bladder as the back seat cracked under Homelander’s grip.

“Give me the last known location for this cell phone.” He showed his screen to the man– now!”

He jumped and began checking the data, not questioning his motivations or why Homelander had that number saved in his contact as ‘Fiancee’ ; it took a couple of impossibly long minutes before something pop-up.

“It says that is–

“Soho. I know the place…”

Pantingly he looked away, his ears ringing too loud, and each movement felt tight, what could’ve possibly been there left for you? He caught himself as his eyes attempted to squeezed some weakness out of him, as his suit became unberably itchy.

“This phone hasn’t been active since it got there… no tower has picked it up afterwards, sir.”

“Good work. if it moves you call me.”

He was gone before the other man could even muster a response.

In minutes he had crashed on their lavish patio, it’d be another minute until Kent emerged from inside the house.

“I knew you’ve come…” he flashes your phone, the screen cracked– but I can’t help you.”

“Where the fuck is Y/N !?” He growled, illuminating the darkened patio.

“Pusher came by my office around two… by six I was handed this by an old colleague at the Times.” He smacked his lips– I was hurt.”

Untucking a newspaper roll from under his arm, Homelander didn’t care, his eyes glowing brighter than before, illuminating the skin around his eyes giving Kent a glimpse of veins and skullbone.

“God… are you here because you miss that ice queen?”

“My calls keep going to voicemail– even the burner phone.” He muttered– "I can't get ahold of them.”

“Hot damn– I told Pusher to leave you because you were never gonna last… seems I was wrong... you just wouldn’t leave unscathe. You ain’t going to find Y/N, they're gone, probably already got a new name and passport– you think you’re special? Let me guess Pusher said they’ll marry you?”

The light faded slightly, as Homelander shoulders stiffen, watching the arrogant prick get closer.

Thinking of that woman again, your bff would know if you two...

“Before you was a cute aspiring writer, then the librarian, there was a rich baker too, some hot married thing, one who cheated on Pusher so the idiot buried the bitch alive and then had Dolores find them after they clawed their way out, and right before you there was this wannabe self-made trustfund kid– Pusher loves you, cherishes you but the moment you stop acting like the character in the movie they made about you… is goodbye. Unlike them you can’t be killed by traditional means.”

He threw the newspaper at his feet.

“You and Pusher?” John asked, the more this snake spoke the more he wanted to see it choke on its own tail.

“God did you hear anything I just said? Ours was complicated… our relationship is more than… yours, but not at the moment. Altho Pusher did leave you this– took a good chunk of the liquid you had and put in an off shore account, made it seem like an everyday transaction for you, the info its in the note app… something about making sure Vought couldn’t fuck you over. It's not all of your fortune but you and the kid won’t need to think about your grandkids working either.``

Homelander took the phone off his hand.

“I’m not like any of those worthless–

“You’re different? You are not– Good luck finding the idiot… sorry about Vought, tho.”

The way Kent’s body thud against the tiles wasn’t as cathartic as he’d hope for– the slow wind flicked the pages of tomorrow morning’s edition of the New York Times, in big bold letters “The Great American Disgrace.” he crook his head as Kent drowned, as his mind processed the missing half of his body and agonized. 

Glad that this married asshole was away from his pumpkin, he had spent too much time with you… it didn’t seem right, anyhoo. 

He wasn’t like any of those low born mudpeople, he was divinity incarnate, a higher being, you were of the chosen few— so there was no surprise that simpletons did not keep your attention for long– he was better than all those nameless cocksuckers. He was the fucking Homelander but you didn’t answer his calls, this phone who vibrated with a hundred missed connections for some reason had his money, looking around on the device, you also had a few other disturbing things, all of the devices on his name and others close to him were being monitored by you, he ignored it for the moment.

He took the newspaper, seeing a massive photograph of a familiar boy, smaller print in bold highlighted words ‘Operation Patriot and First True American’ the words: inhumane, organized child murders, illegal human experimentations– repeated themselves, but above all… his name… his deadname, the sequence of numbers and placeholders. The entire front page was thousands of letters describing horrific findings… by 7 am the whole country would see this picture of him.

Just a small thing, holding a blue blanket, taken from a security camera, of him alone in a sterile room.

The other images were of his mother sitting alongside two other women, their bellies swollen and their eyes glazed, in drab hospital garbs. Then little kids he had never seen, images of higher quality than those drab 80’s photos.

Homelander sat on Kent’s bench, he had forgetten how to breathe until he was done reading the whole front page did his lungs lived again, flicking to the next one, more images, more names, more women he vaguely remembered, faces, smiles, bodies… names.

Only a few meters from him were a bundle of sleeping children but all he had of his were these grainy images– of little girls with his lips and little boys with his hair, some looked nothing like him until he stared just hard enough to see his chin or ears.

A quiet wail escaped his lips, as he cried into his hand, his eyes flowing endlessly, the more awful words he read, the more Homelander ears rang. Wobbly knees lifted him, catching sight of the illuminated 7, refusing to believe all of this… he wouldn’t crumble… not yet… not until he felt safe. 

He had to protect John, that was his purpose but who was there to comfort him.

Now when he wanted to burn it all.

In a large penthouse Stan Edgar laid asleep.

Jumping as he felt the weight of his bed shift, in the dark he saw red, at the edge of the bed, just watching him without breathing, no hiss escaping his lips– just Homelander… or something worse watching at him with the stillness of statues. 

Edgar took his glasses, finding this sight just as unsettling, not that he let it show, a part of him expected this visit sooner than later.

Homelander and him stood like this for a very long minute, until his arm creaked handing him the newspaper.

He turned the gold table lamp on his glass side table, his bed a velvety plush thing, and his sheets disgustingly expensive.

Homelander muttered nothing, no sound, no movement, he was more projection than physical entity, for once Edgar’s heart rate did pick up at the sight of him, this was not his petulant child. Homelander watched his demeanor break as more and more of his idiot brain processes the information.

“I won’t let you kill yourself, nor am I going to kill you. I want you to see your empire and your legacy burn in front of you… and when you finally could feel even an ounce of my pain… then I’ll watch you beg me to kill you.” he whispered.

“Homelander…”

“The CIA is outside your door– you won’t be doing an Epstein on me, either.”

“This has nothing to do–

“ Your name over and over… Madelyn’s, Jonah, the other cunts in the labs… you… all of you… on page 3”

He stood up with freakish smoothness, his hidden hand threw two sticky wet masses towards Edgar.

“I used to think Earth looked beautiful in outer space… but… is so ugly… is just too cold out there. too cold for them, too” his lip barely move, cheeks stained with trails and trails of dried tears– who knows where they are now… just drifting away endlessly in the vastness of the Milky Way– too far for me to even catch them again.”

Edgar looked down at the mass.

Two hunks of hair, still attached to their scalps, little specks of melted red ice puddled on his quilt.

“Maybe Zoe will hit Jupiter by the time you die. She cried so much when I took her hair off… Vicky too… so I made them twinsies.” he chuckled– it was so sweet.”

Oh he had always wanted to see him afraid, crying, anything but his usual self, but now he did not care.

The man tried violence only hurting his hands in return, Homelander just walked out the front door as he screamed words that meant nothing.

Not staying to watch when the CIA operatives entered the house.

Aunt Mallory awaited him in the hall.

“I always wanted to see Vought fall. Never thought I would see it… or that you would help us get this done so quickly– even if it was on a threat. But I still couldn’t touch you. The Government would like you to take part in the trial– by tomorrow afternoon all of Vought who was involved in those operations will be arrested and charged with… fuck… everything.”

“Was somebody named Y/N L/N your whistleblower? You seen them?”

He was glad to have seen Kent, otherwise he wouldn’t be watching Mallorys response so closely.

“Can’t tell you that.”

so stupidly easy, she was being smug.

“Can’t tell me where my own fiancee is… or should I go get it out of Butcher? He’s downstairs in the lobby.” He sounded raspy as his throat had given up– I’ll testify on the trial… you know the things they did to me wouldn’t get these people more than a couple years without my testimony. If you tell me and grant me immunity… say you find something else… I’ll give you my all and maybe something you’ve wanted too–

Mallory could cream herself at the fantasy, sensing his desperation and in response his willingness to harm to soothe it, she bit her lip.

“Too good to be true. We don’t really need you for a trial y’know once we identify the families of the women and children–

“I won’t let you touch Ryan.” He said calmly, taking a step closer with red in his eyes– You think the CIA is better than Vought? Either I burn this fucking country to the ground and force you to nuke your cities just to see if you could even scratch me, or you agree– or do you think Soldier Boy will help you, after you put him back in a fridge? I’ll be nice if you like, I’ll even  stop compound V production until we can see the outcome of Vought... I won’t hand it to your people or mine– if you hand me the paperwork saying I’m just a poor little meow-meow.”

He spoke so softly even his cursing didn’t sound hateful, in this tranquil tone Mallory froze, his hand lifting her chin slighty forcing her to met the bluest eyes she’ve ever seen, to see this calm sea holding back a biblical flood.

“We can be civil. You got my word.” She bit her tongue– how come you haven’t yet.”

“That’ll depends solely on you.”

“This Whistleblower left before Butcher delivered me the files. Don’t think he would know.”

“Useless.” he grumbled– "I want to see that bastard in jail first, anyhoo.”

Homelander headed to the elevator, his mind trying to hold the avalanche that was John inside of him, to hold himself until he could find a place to scream.

William sat on a couch by the opulent lobby of the apartment complex, finding something comforting in seeing him... now it bothered him too much but Homelander ignored it, already on edge, one wrong word and he would collapse.

“When was the last time you spoke with Y/N?” John said.

“Why the fuck woul’ I tell you?” 

“William. I’m afraid my Pusher lied to you… whatever was said about me is not true, it was just a ruse to get you to do the dirty work.”

Dead, cheating or running away. Homelander would play the one that hurt him the least and the most, he needed to see you, to understand what you’ve done.

“Those bruises looked fuckin’ real to me, mate.”

“Pusher is a Supe– A Telepath probably told you what you wanted to hear to get you to do as told. I just want my fiance back… I… I can’t do this alone…” His expression softened and his eyes stung– did it make you happy? To see those videos? To see my kids die before I knew their names? I haven’t even seen them, just what was said on the papers and Mallory told me.”

“Don’t. You don’t wan’ to see it, mate. I Hate you. I fuckin’ hate you but… your kids… they were gonna do that to Ryan. They was gonna make my Becca into a monster! All she did to protect that little boy just to end up killing him! My Becca wouldn’t have lived with herself… none of those kids and their mothers deserved that.”

Butcher spoke, his voice did nothing to hide the pain he felt over what almost had awaited Becca, the pain and guilt he felt as he once considered handling that kid back to Vought to rescue her back then, Becca would’ve killed herself from grief if not by her own hands if she was still here and saw those videos.

Homelander sat beside him, he had died once tonight, he could do it again, Butcher shaken as he sat on top of his flag that he almost seemed so careful with before.

“I need to see them. William… please… I need to know… maybe it’ll make you happy to see me reacting to it.”

He looked so frail next to Butcher, whomever this was they did not recognize him.

“If Pusher won’t be there for me– can I have you instead? After all, we had something different.”

It made him uncomfortable to hear him say that, whoever this man was... was just a wounded stranger, sitting too close, their knees touching, Homelander seeking for any relief and Butcher feeling his skin crawl.

“It won’t make me happy. I’m not sick like you” He took a cigarette out offering Homelander one the man considered for a strange second or two– After this what are you gonna do?”

“I think I’ll move to the mediterranean with Ryan, the two cats and maybe… maybe two more people… Mallorca… or Valletta… You can visit Ryan if you like… before that golf ball in your brain kills you. You should see the beachest down there… so pretty– but after I find my pumpkin.”

He lit the cigarette on Butcher’s lip, this was it. The end. It sucked for them both.

They shared a sorry laugh, Butcher picturing the blonde in tacky Hawaiian shirts and a burnt tan screaming ‘Expat’ he just didn’t seem like the type to pull it off, unlike himself.

“I’ve been to Greece on my honeymoon…it wont be pretty not with you in it. I’ve called your fiance early, that we had met all their demands. They came soon after and dropped the passwords, then asked my Frenchie for tips to deal with a supe. They fashioned some stuff for a bit then your Pusher left around four.”

“What Supe?”

“Firecracker.”

He scoffed.

You had forgiven John but never did you say anything about her, he stayed with Butcher even after Edgar was dragged in front of them, following him to his office to watch the videos that even his worst enemy didn’t want him to see.

The longer he watched the less he wanted to see, he had left Butcher’s office by dawn.

Butcher feeling not victorious as he watched them, the happy recordings of kids being kids, of kids trying to make their mothers happy, until the tears began, until the blood, and the screams, until they became silence.

He opened the front door for the authorities heading a private tour to appear extra cooperative... the company was a mess, a beehive disturbed by ravenous wasps.

An emergency meeting was called and the news were talking non-stop of him, of the others could’ve been Homelanders, of his mother and their mothers. His aunt was already victim to guerilla interviews unable to understand what’ve happened, the stocks were below red, and their competitors were just waiting to start eating their hot juicy remains.

“We will cease all production on V. until further notice… but honestly I’ll just take my severance package, and let you guys take care of this.” His voice soft– This is over. All of it. No point in crying about it– it ain’t you guys who ought to be crying.``

Ashley whimpered regardless.

“Sir… I would’ve never authorized this–

“You are too weak to do these things. You've been a good girl Ashley… the least I can do is make sure you’re taken care of, I’ve put in a good word that you had nothing to do with this– after all this is before our time” He turned to the others in the boardroom– them on the other hand. After all of you get arrested I’m going to kill everybody you love and feed them to my cats… maybe not tomorrow, or next week– but I will… I’ll fucking let your dogs rape your wifes and send you the videos and maybe send them to your kids.” he chortled– All of you can go fuck yourselves. Now me and Ashley are going to get out, and none of you better make a peep.”

It was quite the scene.

“Ten million should be enough to live comfortably for you, right? Or is that like a lowball amount? With inflation is hard to tell.”

“Excuse me?”

“I won’t hurt you Ashley because Ryan likes you. And your name did not appear anywhere…” he petted her head mockingly– you and I are done… but you’ll have to sign an NDA about the things you covered for me, your last job for me is for you to testify in the trial.”

“Are you doing alright, sir?” She was too shocked to ask anything else– I…”

“No.”

“Hmm… sir, I wanted to tell you before the meeting that Firecracker has been missing since this morning. And one of the guys from Analytics gave me this… address. Said you had requested it but you never answered your phone this morning.”

His mouth crook upwards.

“She left her phone at home. We already had a team out looking for her… is she our whistleblower?”

“Did she have any friends? Any brunettes with freckles and a big ass?”

That rang bells for an odd reason, a girl she had seen hovering around her during recordings.

“Yes…? I think her old editor.”

“Get me her address, I’m going to go deal with them”

There you were again in a ditch, your face gone, Firecracker nowhere to be seen.

Mallory and some other high ranking investigators stood watching closely overseeing the arrests. Their suits filling the halls.

“That one had nothing to do with it.” his thumb pointing at Ashley.

“Any more requests, your highness?”

“Not going to give you the formula for Compound V.”

“Vought and you caped bastards going away sounds like a dream to me… but you kept your word… I kept mine, you will be granted complete immunity even if we aren’t investigating but the crimes against you. We are pinning all of this on the old guard.”

“Enjoy it.” Before he left he turned around– thanks to you the whole country gets to live another day.”

Butcher stroked his temples.

“And he is going to get away with it!? All of it!?” Starlight protested, the rest of the gang sharing her sentiment– Butcher!?

“Is out of my hands. The fuckin’ ‘ead of Homeland Security, the CIA and the president rather he retires to fucking Madeira than risk a nuclear apocalypse! They haven't even begun to unravel Soldier Boy’s abilities, and the Russian’s ain’t helping– you think I want this!?” 

“So what are we gonna do?”

“Nuthin’ we won. Besides… Y/N might be a serial killer…” Starlight and company urged him to continue– couple years ago some writer and their friend were found killed… nobody could describe this Beck Nevere partner, as if they never existed, not their age, gender, color nor height, they knew Beck had a partner–  both the victims social media accounts were clinically scrubbed… talking black-ops level completely fucking clean. They suspected a Supe was behind it but it led nowhere. There were another couple corpses here and there with similar lack of witness accounts. Only one gave a vague description and a name... Pusher.``

Hughie pulled up the sketch composite that Butcher was referring to, it wasn’t perfect and some of the details were wrong but there was a familiarity to the image.

“This cunt went here to ‘elp us get rid of Vought. Maybe they’ll get rid of him too.” he thought of that name the cunt had dropped– He called them ‘Pusher’ I bet if we dig far enough we could find about this bastard.”

He thought of Homelander sitting on that leather couch, wondering who was after who.

As he sat in the archives a metal box opened and its contents carefully placed around him, Homelander would cry alone, at pictures of close strangers, the sound of voices he would never hear down his halls, all the families he could’ve had, all the first he could’ve witnessed, John could had been given all that made him weak, all that would render him needless, but all he had wanted, all their stolen timelines… You had given him a mother… had you tried to bare him children but found this graveyard.. leaving you more frail than wet paper... did you shattered? Afraid he would kill you for this after his mother’s fiasco? Had he finally managed to scare you?

Two men awaited to take some for evidence, but gave him space until he was ready.

By the end of the day, the internet was losing its mind, even his biggest detractors and haters had nothing negative to say about him, before the day ended the whole world saw Homelander as a victim, a man brainwashed, a survivor. 

Theories that the entire internal coup that saw Edgar fall from grace were nothing but a machiavellian plot to take over the company that had caused him so much harm-- it was to be the next best biopic, studios already preparing for the upcoming bidding wars, and publisher eager to jump at him with publishing offers for his biography, it would sell out day 1 if it happened, News channels and celebrities already competing to see if they could get him to sit down for the first exclusive interview.

Some still hated him– but as of the first 24 hrs the public was sympathetic. It would become the popular opinion to not hate him, those who did would be silenced, and eventually it would be taboo to voice it openly, or at all.

His strange quirks and violent outburst now blamed on complex PTSD and trauma, he wasn’t hated nor ridiculed to his surprise, while much of the facts had been sanitized, much of the details to be saved for the trial or for government eyes only– enough was out to paint a horrific image; CNN to Joe Rogan had been given a couple of heavily censored clips, graphic enough that its content was undeniable. The families of the mothers, and his ex-lovers already being identified, the missing women had been given potential and confirmed names in massive reddit and 4chan efforts, faster than the FBI had even if there was plenty of misinformation drowning the main feeds.

He had checked  Firecracker’s friend apartment finding nothing, no struggle, or signs of it that’ve been cleaned, her keys missing but her wallet and phone left behind.

A couple of cigarettes left behind, no lipstick marks left on the buds, Firecracker wasn’t a smoker, he grinned.

He could scan the whole city and eventually find you, but it came to him.

A number he didn’t recognize appeared on his screen.

“Found your bitch, aye.”

Seems Butcher wanted some payback, he was better at this than Homelander after all.

“Love you too. How you get my number?”

The other man was silent at the other end of the line, watching the building you were holed up.

“Your bitch used me. Painted you as some victim to be pitied. Made you get away with all the bullshit you’ve done– I want front row seats to the funeral… found some of your bitch past achievements– gnarly little things.”

“You and me both.” He was to let you explain, to tell him everything before he made a decision on you– thanks.”

“This one is good– but I am better. Gather your team is a bit short of funds and all, just so you know I’m gonna get ev’n.”

He hanged, seconds after Homelander received a text message.

Homelander flew, finding you wet, naked and tired. 

You looked more beautiful than ever before, as you throw your back with each swung of a modified machete, sweating profusely as you bathed in her life, your shoulders burn and you hair clump around your temples... you looked breathtaking.

His ire fading as the sight of you assuaged him, the thought of your arms holding him tenderly... the only place he could cry, of your lips telling him all the things nobody had meant and internet voices were too impersonal to mean much for him, left alone for days, worried sick you’ve been hurt by Firecracker and left dead on some dumpsters, you were safe, you could explain yourself, he could grant you one chance to explain yourself.

You did look so beautiful.

But you were here, breathing, thinking of him still.

They would just be a little upset still.

But you could explain it all... maybe it had been a misunderstanding... maybe you didn't meant it.

And then here you two were.

Dawn fast approaching, the cool breeze rustling your hair.

“Why did you ran away?”

“Killing Firecracker was harder than I anticipated. The fugu only paralyzed her… had to get creative with the saws… took me a whole day to find the right blade. Not to mention I had to kill the friend first. I was so tired I overslept quite a bit. I only caught up until you showed up.” You admitted– I kidnapped her friend, drew her to that safe house, and then you showed up.”

Her heart beat honest, it shocked John.

“I did have to find out a few things about you from Butcher, Kent, my team… you’re certainly a character. So why did you kill your exes?”

You looked away, embarrassed and ashamed to say this outloud, not wanting to talk about past lovers.

“They couldn’t handle my devotion.” Your voice is gentle yet pained–  Too intense for them. I suffocated them and made them feel isolated.” trembling lightly you looked up at him– I loved them too much but they couldn’t muster to return an ounce of what I gave them. They didn’t want me anymore.  Didn’t want to give me my refund. They weren't my true love.'

“So you didn’t get bored?”

“All I wanted was to be loved like I always dreamed to be loved. They got bored of me… they hated me… they couldn’t stand me.” Your eyes watered– But you returned my love, so equally.”

He strokes your hair, tucking it behind your ears.

“You won’t fall out of love with me… even after you erase my memories?” John asked.

“Is nice that you think I can do that– you need it for the trial. Or you meant later?”

“Maybe I want you to kill me instead of killing you, and leave my brother in charge.”

You dropped an imaginary plate, all air squeezed out your lungs, your nails digging on his arms.

“No!! I would not!!” You shouted– Absolutely not!!”

“You did all of this to have me all for you, but maybe I don’t want to be all yours. My brother likes you… he only came back for you, he ignored me for you. You love him, not me. Nobody loves me, I’ll cheat on you again– you can’t win me over not after what you did! I have nothing! Vought! Privacy! This fucking suit!!!”

He whispered words laced with anger and pain.

“Then I will kill the next one, and the one after and the one after that one. Fuck I’ll kill the bitch you stared for more than five seconds at the coffee shop queue if I must. As long as you come back to me John is alright… is you, him and me.”

He whimpered, stifling a tear, the way you spoke so softly, your deliverance continuously painfully honest, hard to reconcile your merciless nature with this one who saw him as their everything, genuinely meant it, who saw him as frail and began to cried at the thought of euthanasia.

“I won’t stop until I consume every ounce of doubt you have.” You mumble– I’ll never ever let you leave. I’ll put you in a glass cage if I have to” you stroke his cheek, clinging to him, a strange white swirl floated in your eyes– All I did was to protect you and us. That man– Butcher… was going to destroy you! I was lucky I gave him those files and made sure no matter what– the whole world would never think of you as evil, thanks to me. I got rid of her because I’m yours… so you didn’t need her… you own me.” Your kisses are so soft on his neck, turning him into glass replacing the old marble– I want to crawl inside you to feel your warmth for your touch is not enough. I would consume you if I could and fill my guts 'till it burst, so you might nourish all of me. Just to be closer to you.” 

Homelander mouth dried, your words clawing at his throat, his hand glued to you feeling his body swirl as you pulled his face closer, gasping with every fond stroke of your lips and palms, the red flickering the more you spoke and his heart thumped, as he struggled to breathe, you sucked it out his system.

Your pretty eyes so white.

–You could have me forever and tuck me in the closet until you need me, and I would be fine with it– I’ll be there for you… ‘cuz I love you and you’re very special to me John, so I’ll just make you come back to me– both of you.” You cried, kissing him more intensely, sussurating into his lungs– I prayed and prayed to all gods for traces of you. I gave up hope… but you found me instead.” you kissed him more, and more, bleeding into his tongue. Harking back at the first moment you met, the moment you heard them both, and your eyes met, that first shared heartbeat– Even my ghost won’t leave you. I promise. Now that the gods have brought us together I won’t let go” you sobbed clinging on to him, that pale light brighter– I was born for you.”

There is a perturbing and enthralling manicness to you, your voice will forever haunt him as it spoke so sweetly, your kisses branding him with iron, you were pulling him closer, swallowing him– it frightens him how unbashedly you yearned for him. 

You were a scary thing.

A monster.

His other half.

He let himself be saved in your arms, his legs giving up, pushing you both into the hard ground.

Your declaration makes his wounded heart thump more alive than it had ever been in forty years.

It wouldn’t heal him, it wouldn’t fix anything, it wouldn’t earn you forgiveness.

But Homelander and John needed this. Always had. Both had seeked this.

He had wanted something awful it seems.

That god would make somebody just for him.

Who had felt the same suffocating loneliness.

And emerged just as awry.

Who would cling to him shamelessly, like he had yearned since the moment he learned he was born from nothing.

Who for forty years had clung to sweet nothing in search for anything, any crumb of something to fill the abyss.

You here wanted to fill his abyss with your own tragedy.

Every sulken glance, every smile, every tear and every kiss… forcibly if you had to.

He needed to be cuddled and held, laughing maniacally as nothing made sense anymore, he cackled in between hoarse sobs, you kissed him, cradling him and swaying him, kissing his tears as he clung to you. 

Looking up, a dying lamp vaguely illuminated above you two, a flickering halo framed you, you watched him with fervor, your lips lifted into a pained smile, holding him as if the mere thought of him touching the ground was killing you, your heart screaming so loudly. 

Oh there it was… he thought, in the depth of all that was you. He finally really saw what his brother saw– Stormfront didn’t look at him like this… not close, not remotely the same.

You were the comfort of the familiar pain.

In the white ouroboros.

You were the Bad Room made flesh.

He was born there… he would die there…

He was inside that room, city skylines and rusted metal replaced by thick white cement walls, the flickering ligths replaced by cool white halogen.

He was born to keep John alive but John never knew how to be without him.

So he continued to be unsure of where to be.

Until you…

In your muddy disguise, without a hint of sanctity, you who appeared so boorish– you were the white walls that’ve birthed him, still chasing after him, a tulpa or demon from within that place.

What were you?

“Don’t be silly. If I was a demon I would’ve joined William’s side. Or tell you not to do the Oprah interview”

Glimpsin into that uneasy white swirl illuminating pupils, he thought. 

Frozen inside this silent room, the buzzing of the air con drilling into his ear.

If his brother had taken the reins before, ran for days and nights, if he had agreed to lie about you before, if all John knew now was on your words– had you forgotten to tell him something? 

What had you two kept to yourselves?

What had you two done while he wasn’t around? What had you shared for his love to infect him? For you to become like this? In his fracture memory he couldn’t reach the answer easily.

You kissed him as he watched the white swirl fade away like a slithering worm taking that unnatural light away from your irises.

With it the world returned.

He squeezed your hand, trying to calm down the oppressive weight in his chest– Oprah… he had already been offered ten million for exclusive first dibs, he could think of that instead of the unknown, as you pressed him against your chest, he could just let you two care for him as you had promise, let him just get the bliss and the fortune.

“Should I?”

“Well we gotta make sure the public thinks you’re a good boy… and if you want to keep killing we got each other... it will be much more fun if we gotta be sneaky about it. Also is Oprah, baby!”

“She’s so lovely, pumpkin.”

It was too much… how can one man, god or not– handle the last few hours, it was too much,  accepting defeat, he could kill you but solve nothing, now he needed your powers.

He had said, himself… now he was a god made whole.

You held him until even his back grew sore.

He thought of waves, of never ending waves, and golden stone, of the cawing of sea birds and the heat on his back.

“You want to move there?”

“It's far away..."

You pulled him closer, as his head rested perfectly against your chest, kissing his forehead over and over until his toothy smile returned.

“You’ll be there to make everything okay… you'll make it okay.”

“I’ll take care of us forever.” your hand holding his cheek– I was put on this earth to care for you.”

To be held was all he ever wanted.

If his brother could hold him… this is how he imagine he would.

He felt the candor of your love, hotter than his own inhuman heat, he knew these frail chains made of bone and glass will not break, he held your collar and you held his chains.

Both visciously clutching on those chains.

Tangling himself further into the uncertainty, but he didn't fear it, he craved it.

Bleeding into his mouth.

Offering your fealty.

Whatever was to happen, whether the world would be blessed with rebirth or survive another decade, hanged on you.

[masturbucky]

Hi :D

My name is Daniel or just D, my pronouns are he/they, I'm from Ukraine (russians dni). Spent almost three silent years in tumblr but yeeeaaahhh, as you see it was only a matter of time til I speak on my own shit. I have no idea what I'm doing, by the way. :D

I enjoy dark fics, fun shit, sometimes fluff and of course smut (I'm 18!), there will be like tons of random things. i will do x readers/my OC only. Fem readers, gn readers, transmasc readers.

Will write for characters:

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier (MCU)

Wanda Maximoff (MCU)

Chris Beck (The Martian)

Steve Kemp (Fresh)

Kyle Spencer (AHS)

Denji (Chainsaw Man)

Nick Fowler (The 355)

Frank (Endings/Beginnings)

Dayton White (Logan Lucky)

Joe Goldberg (You)

Love Quinn (You)

Eddie Munson (Stranger Things)

Five Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy)

Silco (Arcane)

Jinx (Arcane)

Keigo Takami/Hawks (BNHA)

Eddie Brock/Venom (MCU)

PLATONIC Tony Stark (MCU)

Din Djarin (Mandalorian)

Donnie (Rottmnt)

Carl Grimes (TWD)

Negan Smith (TWD)

Probably will add more/change with time!

IF YOU HAVE ANY REQUESTS, IT'S ALWAYS OPEN! I do not guarantee that I will write it, but anything that is for mentioned earlier characters and that is not including the things below, I'll take it!

What I WON'T do:

Angst related to cheating

Break-up angst

Death of mentioned characters and/or reader/oc

Anything related to russians or russia in general

transphobia, homophobia, biphobia, racism, xenophobia in any way and shape (except for russophobia, as I mentioned we hate russians there, so I might from time to time remind you that<3)

Probably will add more/change with time!

Send me a request, I'm bored and I'll probably go insane if I wont write something :p

[ribb6ns]

masterlist

☼ = fluff

❖ = dark fic

⚲  = non-binary reader

♣ = angst

marvel

wanda maximoff x reader

home ❖♣

flashes of red ♣❖

enough ❖

natasha romanoff x reader

never good enough ♣

disappointment ♣

wandanat x reader

attention stunt ♣

you

love quinn x reader x joe goldberg

foul play ♣

[diyabloko]

idk if someone do that like this, but i want to share my goldrose drabbles here. considering the fact that I still can't get used to ao3.

this one is hurt/comfort and there's the joe×kate side line also. and little tip before start: sorry my mistakes if there's any.

Joe leans against the wall and feels his eyelids flutter. Nervous, tired, or sad - who knows, but it's getting hard. Everything is pressing and it's hard to move on at times like this. Even when your life is tightly intertwined with someone else, it can be terribly lonely, and even realizing how stupid it is at his age and experience, it doesn't get any easier. He turns the key over in his hands, but he can barely overcome his doubts.

When it seems that a person is incapable of leaving you, they will soon do so. Just like mother did. For example. So, reflecting on the relationship with his girlfriend, Goldberg catches a nagging thought for a moment: "Even though it seems different, everything is unstable". Kate is helding close by nothing but a promise - she can lose her morals and leave, leave him to drown in lies and blood whenever she wants. All he has to do is make a wrong move, step on her territory of identity, and he'd lose her trust and specialness in her eyes. And it's easy. She's stubborn.

His face is gently taken in slightly stiff palms. This person hesitate for a moment, and then kiss him gently, forcing him to hug their shoulders. Joe stubbornly pushes his thoughts away. He is afraid that everyone might leave him again. He might not be enough again. He could be a lost boy again, with his life in danger, even if he has a new name and hairstyle, even if he has his own money and home. He can be abandoned again, and it is painful enough, so for some moment he even wants to grab Kate and hold her by force, as if she were in a glass cage that he is moving from city to city. In fear. In hatred. But close.

"I'm always here, Joe".

Words ease the burden. Thoughts still rage, but they're getting easier to control. For some reason, that kiss makes him want to kill. To kill someone so that he can share heavy secret with Kate, to keep her at least in this way, in the faint hope that shared lies will bind them together more than shared mornings.

But he is always there. And this realization does help to forget everything for a moment. Rhys runs his fingers from his ear to his chin, looks with his cold eyes, and smiles slightly. He is always here, although at the same time he is never there.

"One day you will learn to answer instead of being silent in response. Maybe then it will be easier to be alone with you."

"Rhys."

"That's already something. Go on, keep talking," he smoothly plunges into the hug, as if deliberately wrapping Joe in his arms so that he does not get out on his own. Thanks to Rhys's waywardness, Goldberg hardly ever feels pathetic for having to comfort himself. It's as if Rhys was never fictional, he was never contained within the comfortable confines of an imaginary friend. Or something like that. He always walked on the edge of reality, but always hugged outside of it.

"The peace is pressing on me. And I'm afraid to be alone in it."

"Let's go for a run. Just say the word, and I'll remind you who to kick in the ass. And the peace is gone."

"I can't kill every time I'm sad."

"And who came up with this?" He runs his fingers through Joe's hair, as if forgetting that it's not as long as it was in London. He continues to play with it, making a mess. But it works. The mess he makes has always helped Joe to put his thoughts in order - surprisingly, this contradiction is not the first wierd thing that makes sense to Joe in this relationship. "You're not alone now."

"«Now» - since when?"

"Since you separated me. Since you started dividing your actions into "your own" and "forced" ones. Since you started dividing yourself into the person you are and the person you had to become. And you know the answers to these questions very well. As well as everything I tell you."

"Yes, I do. But I don't understand. Just like I don't understand why you're still here. Why, even after accepting you, you're still... Not a part of me?"

"I am a part of you, dummy. And we still have a long way to go," he doesn't let Joe slip out of his arms again, as if he's really trying to join someone else's body in this way. But it doesn't work either, it only gets hotter in some places from the close contact. "Now I don't want to be just a thought. Now I have a form, I have a direct influence, I have a voice and actions, even if now only for your attention. It's much easier to be constrained by the boundaries of an imaginary personality than to be one of the options."

"How sad do you think it is if a part of me is comforting me?"

"I think it's more joyful than if someone else did it instead. And that's what I'm getting at. No one can take me away unless they kill both of us. I am always with you, and my thoughts remain the most important for your attention, because you can't get away from them. And our love will not disappear. And this is what you always needed - to lock someone inside you and live with them. Because everyone else was leaving and dying, and I won't leave and I won't die, because we are one, and this is the happiness we deserve by the fact of being."

Time was losing weight in conversations with Rhys. Because all this could happen in a few seconds of thought, or it could last for hours of tears. After living together became routine, counting time in particular became a silly idea. It's not always a good thing, but it's always amazing, as if mental disorders have opened the door to superpowers.

"Joe. You will not be alone. You will be miserable, but not alone. And I will always be here to remind you of that."