#see? it's red the blood of angry men

[sad--fem]

nothing makes me more blindingly angry than males treating women getting upset as a joke

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

CW: dubcon (kind of??? Idk)

There's this conversation going around,

"If you invite me over to your place as a first date, I'm stealing something from your house to teach you a lesson about inviting random women to your place."

And I think this is hilarious, just imagine what 141 would think/do:

Soap: He doesn't notice when something is missing. It'll take weeks until Kyle points it out,

"Johnny, where's your PlayStation?"

He's immediately infatuated, he thinks you love him. You like him so much you needed to take his PS5 as a piece to remember him by, how sweet. Of course he's gonna return the favor by breaking into your place and bringing all his shit with him. You walk into your flat to find him wearing nothing but his boxers playing GTA,

"Hi doll, whan's dinner?"

Gaz: Pissed off to no ends. You took his fucking Amiri shirt, he just got that! He's hunting you down and when he busts through your door seeing you wear nothing but his shirt, he freezes. He can't help himself after that. You'll be squirming under him, cursing and spitting, while he pins your hands above your head with a crazed look in his eyes,

"If you wanted an excuse to see me again, should've just said that."

Price: Now he knows it wasn't gentlemanly to not take you out on a proper first date, but he hurt his leg and thought making a nice dinner and making you cum until you cried would suffice. Apparently not, a $600 box of cigars are gone. He's angry, hurt, confused. Poor man thought he was doing the right thing. Now he knows that you don't like when men treat you right. He'll snatch you up when you're walking home from work and tie you down to his bed. Brats get tamed, thieves get punished.

Ghost: He doesn't really have much, doesn't need much honestly. So when his switchblade is gone, he's seeing red. He curses your name while he stalks you for weeks. Blood boiling every time you laugh at a joke with your friends or sing along to some stupid song while you cook. Slowly but surely, things in your apartment start disappearing. Remotes, chargers, panties. You lose it when the plate in your microwave goes missing, changing the locks and setting up a ring camera. Simon is a smart man though, he'll wait for the perfect moment to knock on your door (when you are expecting a food delivery) and when you open the door absentmindedly, he barges in, firm grip on your throat,

"Teach you a thing or two about taking what doesn't belong to you."

[immortaljai]

Good Talk.

1.5k Words, Smut, dirty talk, 3some, asshole behavior, porn w plot.

It was a weird family but it was your family. The amount of times the X-men tried to recruit you was sickening, Wade always in your ear about unicorns and his “Golden babys” all that you were used to. You never expected Wade to come home after his disappearance let alone with someone who seems to hate everyone. Logan was snarky, a drunk, and overall an asshole from the moment you met him.

He had this “lone wolf” batman shit going on with him, it confused you seeing Wade and him interact let along him living with you guys. You tried to avoid him as best as you could getting cursed at less then Wade but it irritated you how he hated you when you did nothing primarily to Logan other than have your tomfoolery jokes with Wade.

You really should have noticed the heated gazes, the close proximity and the borderline degrading words, Logan wanted nothing to do with you for a reason. With Wade it was different he was always..touchy always close especially when he was hurt one smaller cut off healing arm waving at Logan and one hand on your waist a bit close to your bottom as you faced him cleaning the blood off his face. If only you looked behind you to see the irritated flustered mess Logan was, truly explains why Wade laughed louder.

You’re a clueless thing indeed, how could you not have noticed Logans brushing up against you as you argue about how onions should be cut “You know what fork hands maybe if you pulled weight around here and cooked your own fucking meals you wouldnt have so much to complain about” the chopping board making loud noises as you slides irritatedly Wade was long gone getting the “Powdered donuts” for Blind Al so he really had no idea what was going down Al decided long before to leave the apartment.

“You have knifes for hands use them” you snarkily said with an eyeroll “You got a fuckin’ smart mouth you better watch it” he growled in your ear still hovering, he snatched the knife out of your hand standing behind you cutting the onions himself “Ya’ see? Maybe if you didnt run your fuckin’ mouth so much you’d learn something” that made your anger flare quickly exhaling through your nose “Maybe if you didnt fuck up what you had, you wouldnt be here and id be asshole babysitting free” the kitchen went silent as the slicing ceased you could hear him breathing lightly behind you. The knife clatted on the cutting board as he leaned down his nose touching your shoulder, his breathing on your lower back “Ya wanna repeat that?” 

You nearly shat yourself as you stuttered out or tried to stutter out an apology, however that was cut short due to Wade coming through the door “MARVEL JESUS IS BACK” you never thought you'd be so happy to hear that name quickly and swiftly moving from Logans trapped arms and running to the door “Heeeey red” you said side smile on your face as you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding “Hi sweet face, where is Whiskey dick” a grunt came from behind you knowing it was logan you paid no mind to him, as Wades eyes widen “Theses my muscle man oh you look angry i think my bone is rising” you rolled your eyes a smirk on your face as you turned to look at logan “M’ not pissed, not in the slightest” he said gruffly a beer in his hands leaning on the doorway his heated gaze on you.

Wade's eyes widened as he raised his non-existent eyebrows “Ohhh what happened while i was gone- clothes are still on” that made you scoff lightly folding your arms as you walked away from the kitchen “Dinners nearly ready” Logan said staring at Wade as you disappeared. Wade smirked walking up to Logan quite closely “So..what happened between you and sweet cheeks” Logan looked at Wade with slight uninterest “She’s got a mouth” “That can be used properly” Wade replied quickly with a smirk “Your disgusting” Logan said pinching his nose “And yet here you are a boner cause of an attitude- you pervert” 

Dinner was as usual loud, friends over as if it was a celebration, Logan in the corner watching keeping a close eye on his self proclaimed daughter a drink in hand as usual, he manspread slightly catching your gaze landing on his lap before away again, his eyes however were already on you, maybe it was the buzz, maybe it was his hormones but you looked..nice..better then nice even. Throughout the night he moved closer to you, from the chair, then next to Laura, then in the end you were in the middle of him and Wade.

Wade's arm around your waist from the moment he closed in, his eyes moving from the cleavage your shirt gave as he talked to you, his eyes taking in you completely licking his lower lip, he noticed Logan moving in and he smirked to himself. “Go get my board game for me sweet cheeks” Wade whispered to you winking to Logan, he gave Wade a blank face before taking a long swig of his drink.

You entered his room, it was cluttered as you huffed looking through his things, tossing things behind you “Where the fu-'' your sentence  was cut short as you were pushed and pinned agaist the bed a heavyweight pushed against your back before a hand came to cover your mouth “Smart mouth..” Logan whispered in your ear you blushed deeply at the bulge pressed against you and the husky voice behind you “M’ gonna need you to listen to me, there's about 6 people in the house..i'm gonna need you to be quiet” you didn't need to be told twice nodding your head slowly.

That was all he needed his hands moving up your pants pulling them down slightly his fingers reading you through your underwear “L-at that, soaked been thinking bout this?” you were pre occupied your face pressed into the sheets whimpers coming from you, that made him chuckle his pants swiftly being pulled down as his tip nudged between your core and your underwear making him sigh deeply before pulling back your slick being pulled with each drag of his hips “This- jus’ gonna have to do for now” he said fucking your thighs, his hand moving to grab your throat to lift your head, the door opened making your eyes widen as you looked back seeing Wade. 

“Fuckin knew it- you guys left me out” he frowned as he started removing his pants quickly “Dumbass- you gave me the hint” Logan groaned into your ear his pace not slowing, his tip brushing your clit perfectly with each drag of his hips, your ass jiggling each time. Wade smirked as he sat in front of you his legs opening “Hi sweet cheeks- im sorry to ask this..given your state but-” he grabbed your hair using your open mouth as a fleshlight as he sighed in content “Yeah..thats better” Wade was bigger then any male you sucked off and it didnt help thst Logan wasnt letting up, you quickly found a rhythm from sucking Wade using your hand to stroke what couldnt fit sucking his tip harshly making his eyes roll back “F-fuck yea- like a lolipop sweet face” his head thrown back as he softly rocked his hips in your mouth, Logan hand reaching up to grab his balls “There you go smart mouth, make the idiot cum” he said whispering in your ear speeding up his precum coating your cunt. Your eyes rolling back as you tried your best to deep throat Wade while stroking his cock “Ohh-Ohhh yea im about to paint the entire room white like marble-” Wades eyes squeezed shut as he held your head down moving it once, twice, three times before blowing his load down your throat and falling back his chest heaving as you swallowed it all licking his tip clean. 

Behind you, you heard a snicker as your face was pushed down into the pillow and a dick was inserted into you Logans pace started off uncaring as he used you as if you were a doll slamming you up and down as his hand rapidly rubbed at your bud “Yea- I don't see you talking now do I?” he chuckled at your muffled moans crudely his chest making contact with your back as he groaned “Fuck..cmon cum doll, cum for your asshole” he whispered in your ear making your mouth fall open as you screamed in the pillow your vision going white as you painted his cock white, triggering his own orgasm as he stuffed you full thrusting a few more times before pulling out pulling your underwear up making sure it all stayed in. Wade’s eyes crinkled into a smile seeing your fucked out face “We gotta get up doll- they gonna start speculating” however you could barely hear let along talk so you nodded dumbly 

That made them chuckle lightly as they stood up Logan stuffing his cock into his pants as Wade put back on his pants “Guess we tell them she fell asleep?” Wade asked “I don’t give a shit” Logan said walking out with a smirk leaving you in your slutted out state 

“Good night sweet cheeks” 

Still feral thanks for cumming.

[uzurakis]

hi again!! (ik I just sent in a request I just had another one LMFAOOO) im back bc I got another request/idea!! jjk men (..yuta n Megumi 🙏 n whoever else u want :3) who got into a nasty argument (could be from ur argument post but it doesn’t have to be connected to that post!!) and then gets really injured on a mission right after the argument! it’s up to you if reader + jjk men end up making up, or it could end on a angsty route of them anxiously waiting for reader to wake up while trying to think to ways to apologize with regret; doesn’t rlly matter!! do what you want 😛😛

HEY, WAKE UP . . PLEASE?

featuring: fushiguro megumi. gojo satoru. yuuta okkotsu.

n. first, i apologize this one took a very long time because i wanted to carefully hit the right spots and nail the each character. second, i only make 3 characters this time ‘cause each one of them is long enough to read. third, i wanna make you guys suffer <3 enjoy !!

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

megumi’s fingers trembled as he reached out to touch your hand, the memory of his harsh words replaying in his mind. “why didn’t i see it coming?” he muttered to himself, voice hardly above a whisper. the guilt was suffocating, the feeling that he had failed you as a partner, both in life and on the field, gnawing at him relentlessly.

he hadn’t slept since you were brought in, eyes red and heavy, his emerald pupils weren’t evident anymore with the dark circles underneath a testament to his vigil. every beep of the monitors felt like a countdown, each passing second a reminder of how fragile everything was. he kept running through what he could have done differently, how he could have prevented this from happening.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking with emotion, repeating the words tremendously. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry—“

“i’m so sorry. i never meant for this to happen. i never wanted to hurt you.”

his mind was filled with images of your smile, your laughter, and the way your eyes would light up when you were happy. he wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, to hear your voice, to have the chance to make things right.

the silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines. megumi’s thoughts were a chaotic jumble of fear and determination. he knew he had to find a way to apologize, to show you that he cared more than he had ever managed to express. but how could he make up for the pain he had caused? how could he prove to you that he was truly sorry?

he squeezed your hand gently, as if the simple touch could convey all the words he struggled to find. “please wake up,” he pleaded softly. “i need to tell you how much you mean to me. i need to show you that i can do better. that i will do better. please, just wake up.”

as the hours dragged on, megumi’s resolve only strengthened. he would make things right, no matter what it took. the door to your room opened, but megumi didn’t look up. his focus was entirely on you, silently willing you to open your eyes. he wouldn’t leave your side until you did. he couldn’t. the weight of his regret was too heavy, his love for you too deep.

“please,” he whispered again, each syllable filled with desperation. “come back to me.”

GOJO SATORU

“you’re always so damn reckless!” gojo had shouted, his voice echoing in the small office.

“maybe if you weren’t so arrogant all the time, you’d understand why!” you had snapped back, feeling the sting of his words cut deep.

now, the same guy sat by your hospital bed, his usually confident demeanor shattered. his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, blood seeping from where his nails dug into his palms. the sight of you lying there, pale and unmoving, tore at his heart. he cursed himself repeatedly, the words tumbling out in a desperate, angry whisper.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” he muttered, voice breaking. “why the hell did this have to happen? why couldn’t i fucking save you?”

he stared at your face, willing you to wake up, to give him some sign that you were still there with him. the argument replayed in his mind, each harsh word a dagger in his chest. he wanted to take it all back, to tell you how much he loved you and needed you.

“shit,” he hissed, slamming his fist into the armrest of the chair. “i’m supposed to be the strongest, but what the hell does that mean if i can’t even protect you?”

a hollow aching threatened to eat away at his chest, a gnawing remorse. tears blurred his vision as he looked at you, voice a broken whisper. “wake up. i want to apologize. i want you to know how sorry i am.”

the room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. gojo’s thoughts were a chaotic swirl of guilt, also his helplessness. he had faced countless curses and enemies without flinching, but this, seeing you like this, was unbearable.

he cursed again, the words raw and filled with pain. “damn it, why didn’t i stop you? why didn’t i fucking do something?”

his mind raced, trying to think of ways to make it right, to fix what had been broken. but all he could do was wait and hope. he reached out, gently taking your hand in his, his grip trembling.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “i love you. please, just wake up. i don’t know what i’ll do if you don’t.”

YUUTA OKKOTSU

yuta, who was normally expressive, was pale and drawn as he sat beside your bed. his voice was crushed by the weight of his remorse, and he was unable to speak. he was completely broken by the sight of you there, so still and vulnerable, in ways he never imagined. his fingers barely touched yours as he extended a shaking hand, fearing that the slightest touch could break you.

memories of the argument replayed in his mind, each moment seared into his consciousness. your angry words echoed in his ears, mingling with his own harsh retorts. he remembered the flash of hurt in your eyes, the way your voice had cracked when you told him you were done talking. he had let you walk away, his anger blinding him to the danger you were about to face.

tears welled up in yuta’s eyes, but he couldn’t let them fall. he had to be strong for you, even though you couldn’t sense a thing. the guilt gnawed at him, a relentless beast that whispered of his failures. he had promised to protect you, to be there for you, and yet here you were, injured and unresponsive, because he had let his anger get the better of him.

“it’s all my fault,” he grumbled, voice barely audible in the sterile room. “i should have stopped you. i should have been there.”

he stared at your face, willing you to wake up, to open your eyes and tell him it was okay. but you remained still, your breathing steady but shallow. yuta’s mind was a storm of regret and self-recrimination. he blamed himself for everything, convinced that his failure to resolve things before you left had led to this. if only he had followed you, things might have been different.

“wake up, please,” he begged, voice breaking. “you can’t do this to me..”

he felt a sob rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down, determined not to break in front of you. he had to be strong, even if it felt like he was falling apart inside. the thought of losing you was unbearable, a gap that threatened to swallow him whole.

“why did i let you go?” he murmured, his fingers tightening around yours. “why didn’t i fight for us?”

the minutes stretched into hours, each one an eternity as yuta sat by your side, his heart heavy with guilt and fear. he couldn’t imagine a life without you, couldn’t bear the thought that he might have lost you because of his own stubbornness.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice choked with emotion. he stayed there, silent and unmoving, the weight of his regret a constant presence. all he could do was wait and hope, praying that you would wake up and give him the chance to apologize, to tell you how much you meant to him. until then, he would sit by your side, holding on to the hope that you would come back to him.

“i love you. please, just give me a chance to make things right.”

@uzurakis

[divinesolas]

Your Reflection

summary: rq; when the thoughts jacaerys has had his whole life finally can no longer be pushed down he seeks comfort in you

jacaerys targaryen x non targ!reader

w.c: 1.7k

c.w: just a lot of fluff, angst and some minor smut (oral)

perm jace taglist ! (open) @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 1 @jacesvelaryons s @earth4angels @itsemohours @valdezthg

your head whips around at the slam of your room and you stand with wide eyes at the red eyed prince letting out shaky breaths as he swiftly makes his way towards you.

“jace.”

he pulls you into him and falls onto the bed where he lays on top of you, shoving his head into your neck while he lets out weak sobs. “she is being unreasonable” you place your head in his hair while letting out a deep breath. You knew well of his distain for his mothers idea him having ranted for far too long to you about it earlier that same day, to have the low born men and women attempt to claim dragons. bastards.

it was sensitive for him. you knew this far too well. He had gone to try and convince her to change her mind but clearly he had failed and you tried to come up with words that could bring him comfort. “does she not see how foolish this is? to let those people walk amongst us? those those…” he pulls his head away to look at you as he struggles to speak, his face clearly tormented and painful. “they are undeserving. unworthy. they are mongrels and monsters. born out of wedlock believing themselves to be fit for a role they were not made for,”

“are you talking about them or are you talking about yourself?”

he gulps at your words and his eyes well up, “what claim do i have if they claim a dragon? i do not have the hair, the skin, i am a fraud and everyone knows it. I am mere moments away from being stripped of everything i have left.” his head falls onto your chest as his chest heaves up and down with heavy breaths. “i cannot imagine how you feel. the shame you must feel walking down the halls and people staring at you, married to a bastard.”

You grip his face and make him look at you. Hes shocked to see the furry and angry on your face. “i will hear no more of this. you are jacaerys targaryen son of queen rhaenyra taragryen. heir to the iron throne nobody will contest that not. don’t you dare insinuate i am insulted or shamed to be seen with you it is an honor. everyday i wake up blessed to know i married such an honorable and truthful man and i would have it no other way.”

at this point tears are pouring down his face as he shakes his head finding himself refusing to listen to your words. “you could not possibly mean such a thing.” he whines ever so slightly when you bring your lips to his face and kiss the tears off his face, closing his eyes and he refuses to look at you. “i mean it and more. there is no other better man than you. your heritage means nothing to me. should anybody contest that remember you are a targaryen. they shall pay for their contestation with fire and blood.”

he says nothing in return, simply laying his head on your chest while silent tears continue to run down his face. you did not wish to push him to speak, your hands find the back of his head and play with his hair ever so slightly.

“what if they do contest it?” you peer down at him but he continues to stare at the lit fire in your fire pit. “what if after my mother dies they argue and fight and usurp my throne right under me as they have done her? what if there is another war and more people get hurt what if you,,,” His words end up choked up in his throat as he shakes with sobs, you cant help but feel your own eyes begin to water. He’s scared. just a scared young man who doesn’t wish to lose anyone or anything else.

one of your hands soothe his back as you press a kiss to his forehead while your other one cups his face to wipe away his tears. you cannot say anything to console him, knowing this is an issue that runs deeper into his consciousness than you will ever be able to fix by your lonesome. So when you roll him off you he sits up and stares at you in horror as you begin to walk off. his mouth shakily opens to call after you to beg you to stay but his words die on his tongue and he can just let out a meek gasp.

When you arrive back into the room he has his head in his hands while he cries into them. He looks up at you when you place a leather bag next to and tries to catch his breath. His pupils bounce around your face as your hands grab his top and begin to pull it off of him. He allows you, making no move to stop you despite his confusion. “lay on your stomach.” He pauses sniffing as he folds his hands in his lap. When he doesn’t move your cup his face and press a light kiss against his furrowed brows.

He silently pulls away and rolls to lay on his back as you had asked. He has no clue what you’re doing and almost turns to ask you after theres been no movement or talking from you for a bit until he feels you straddle his back and your hands begin to run through his hair. He can smell the oil on your fingers as you delicately run them throughout his curls. He lets out a pleased hum as your nails scratch into his head.

he does not say anything simply allowing you to shower him in affections he normally does not allow you to. cooing at him and pecking all over his back and head. As you move down to massage his neck and back he finds himself overwhelmed with the display of affection and love you’re showering him with he has no clue what to do or say.

Hes even more so embarrassed when you flip him around and he’s hard as a rock. Hes not even feeling sexual in that moment but he’s body is flighting against him. He whines slightly and wishes he could explain himself but he cant. You dont seem to mind. simply dripping more oil onto his skin and working your hands to ease his tension.

He closes his eyes and tries to will it away while you continue to press kisses onto his chest and stomach but if anything it only gets worse at your pure display of love. He hopes he is not ruining this just as he ruins everything. He has never felt so loved in his life he has never felt so at peace since before the war he wants to live in this feeling forever.

His eyes shoot open when you tug his pants down his legs leaving him completely bare and he looks at you alarmed. You say nothing however simply eyeing him as you kiss around his thighs and massage the parts your lips are not. He is breathless as he watches you. When you suddenly stop your movements and look at him he does not know what to do. “i,, shouldn’t i,,, you should,,” The look you have on your face as him stumbling and stuttering over his words. He’s never like this. He would never allow you to do this to him normally. He would insist he get you off first or even outright forbid you to even do something like this more content with pleasing you.

Yet he cant help but be greedy today, the self centered part of him wins and he finds himself nodding to you. He will regret this later he knows he will but when you peck light kissing along his throbbing cock he throws his head back with a moan without a care in the world. His hands grip at the sheets under him when you tongue at his slit slurping up some of his precum before wrapping your lips fully around him.

He understands why some men who are less honorable as he seek out these pleasures often and he almost wishes he allowed you do to this more often. When your hands come to cup and play with his balls his legs shake and he whimpers. He swears he’s going to rip the bedsheets the way he’s gripping at them. His face burns slightly in humiliation and more so in pleasure. sweat drips down the sides of his forehead into his newly oiled hair as he hips uncontrollable thrust up into your mouth where he spews out and apology but you simply hum around him sending another shiver up his spine.

his whole body is shaking with pleasure. He had already been sensitive and relaxed from your overwhelming intimacy he can barely control himself now. he finds himself chanting your name mixed and mumbled with i love you’s. He releases unexpectedly after some louder groans and moans and his eyes well up again as he watches you swallow it down. “im sorry im sorry.” even when he does allow you to do this he never lets himself release in your mouth fearing it may be too much for you and usually just allows himself to spend on your chest.

You climb up to him and press a loving kiss against his lips. He does not mind he can taste himself on your lips as he presses his lips firmly back against yours. The action speaking louder than any words could. He insist he should do something for you in return but the way his eyes droop and struggle to stay open you know he is mere moments from falling asleep. You smile at him and peck his cheek as you shake your head at him. He tries to argue with falters under your comforting hands and sweet nothings into his ear.

He settles with a faint smile on his face the first one you’ve seen on him in many moons. when you rub your hands on his chest he falls asleep at the comfort but not being letting another i love you slip through his lips. His smile grows when he hears you return it before drifting off to sleep where he knows he’ll meet you there too

[tacticaldiary]

Can you do a fic where reader and simon are kidnapped and simon has to watch reader be tortured and creeped on by their kidnapper for information.Happy endibg with them being rescued.Ignore if it makes you uncomfortable :)

Captured In Tandem

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warning: Torture, Men being creepy, mentions of sexual assault

"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"

He's been trained to keep his mouth shut, taught himself from enough pain to span a lifetime, but never did he fathom she'd be dragged into it with him. It's unforgivable.

Masterlist, Part 2

A/N: This is literally one of my favourite tropes-

The first thing he registers is the pounding in his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ghost claws his way back to consciousness, sluggish mind attempting to click the pieces swimming in his head together into a cohesive narrative.

He was asleep...no, he was unconscious. Why? Ghost doesn't open his eyes for a moment, gathering his bearings. His senses snap to him quickly. The metallic smell of blood, the scent of gunpowder. The hard wood under him...a wooden chair? He exhales sharply, charting the sharp stinging in his side.

Injured.

He can't move his hands, ropes digging into the skin above his gloves. Once he's grasped back his control, steadied his breathing into something calm and acceptable, he takes a second to listen. There's nothing but the steady dripping of what he assumes is water on the floor. A pipe?

He's cold. His hands are freezing and so is his face-

His face?

Ghost's eyes snap open at the realisation.

His mask was gone, ripped off and on the floor by his feet. He's tied to a chair. He doubts he'd have gotten such a warm welcome if he was back at base right now, so where...?

An RPG, he suddenly remembers, a sour taste in the back of his throat. They had been on an OP with Price, the team had been split into two, sent to clear out a building on the outskirts of the city, tasked to meet in the middle.

An unaccounted armed squad had aimed at them with an RPG. Ghost remembers barking out an order to his partner, shoving her roughly out of the way behind a beat up car. The rocket hit the car, igniting the engine causing it to explode, the both of them thrown back against the brick wall behind them and-

Her.

His blood runs cold at the sound of a small groan from in front of him.

Shit.

Slowly, he raises his head and his stomach drops at the sight of her opposite to him in the same state.

Shit. No, this was all wrong. The RPG must have knocked them both out. They'd been captured.

"Fuck, my head." She groans, blinking herself awake. Like him, he can tell she's charting up the extent of her injuries, piecing together the events leading up to their capture.

Price would find them soon. They can't have hauled them too far away under the threat of them waking up mid transportation.

"Sleep well?" He rasps, watching her still, head snapping up to look at him.

"Best I've ever had." She responds dryly, looking him up and down. Her eyes linger on the dried blood staining his shoulder. It's a miracle the both of them ended up as unscathed as they did. Only bruises and scrapes, miraculously. She yanks on her bindings, scowling when they don't budge. Ghost can see the angry red marks around her wrists, the same as his. "We're in for a treat, huh?" She laughs humourlessly, leaning back in her chair. "Don't suppose you keep any knives hidden in your sleeves, L.T?" Half joking. She wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"Can't feel 'em." He grunts. "Must have searched us."

Of course they did.

She shifts in her seat, hating the idea of hands touching and probing at her when she's not awake to bat them away. Ghost would be just as, if not more uncomfortable with the thought, if the angry furrow in his brow is anything to interpret.

Voices. Footsteps. Both of them go rigid in their chairs, eyes snapping to the other. No words are exchanged, but a slight raise of the chin from her. They would not break.

She knows exactly what's to come for them for the next however long it took for their team to retrieve them. She's been through this before, been trained for it, seen it happen, hell she's even participated on being the one not in the chair.

They wouldn't break. The knowledge they have could compromise more than just their current operations. Ghost acknowledges the shaky exhale she lets out, casts her an unreadable look before the door swings open behind him, his eyes turning cold once more.

If she notes the tension in his shoulders, she doesn't mention it.

Three men walk into the room, mumbling under their breath. Russian. A quick glance to confirm the other caught it.

The thing with the both of them is that they worked better together than anybody else in the team. Working in tandem, information exchanged with just a glance, seemingly in tune with every thought and movement of the other. It's why they were almost always paired together.

"Some of the best your the military has to offer, you are.." He smiles, flicking through the file. "It seems I have struck a goldmine." The file snaps shut, is handed off the someone else.

She hopes the motherfucker gets a nasty papercut.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

They come twice a day. Once for him, once for her.

Ghost keeps his mouth shut, isn't surprised when she does as well. The both of them have been trained for situations like this, have both gone through a lot of shit that renders them capable of handling it.

It's her that he hasn't been trained to account for.

Ghost had only jeered at the men that interrogated him. Drenched after being waterboarded, bloody from being cut and beat, he had not given them a single thing to work with, taking what they threw at him with a calm, strong, cool exterior.

It was when they turned to her that he felt that crack.

Every knife turned against her, every crack of her bones, each small sound of pain that left her had an anger he'd never felt before bubble up inside him. Glaring death into the people who lay their hands on her as they questioned her, he stayed silent, unmoving as they put her through the same routine as him.

"Not long before they find us now." She'd said hoarsely after the second day. They'd just left them after being unsuccessful in loosening their tongues. Again. He takes in how her arm bends at a strange angle (He'd never forget the scream that teared out of her throat when they snapped it in half), the cuts dripping blood onto the floor and on her tattered clothes (Each one he'd pay back tenfold, he swears), and the exhaustion lining her face the same way he's sure he looks.

Being unmasked...it makes him more on edge than usual.

It's nothing she'd never seen before. She'd touched his bare face countless times, mumbled promises and declarations they had no business making against his lips at night. It had always been in private, shielded from the eyes of others. Now, out in the open, he was more aware of his reactions than ever before, refusing to let out any reaction except for the occasional grunt of pain.

"They're sure taking their damn time." He spits out.

"Gonna give them an earful when I get back." She cough, watery. Ghost's eyes widen when blood splatters to the floor. "Shit." She breathes, inhaling shakily.

Internal bleeding. A telltale sign.

He yanks against his bindings for the hundredth time. Nothing changes aside from more blood trickling down his torn open skin.

"Don't think about it." He orders. "Look here." When she doesn't listen, just blinking at the blood she coughed up as if in a trance, he repeats himself roughly, drawing her attention.

"Right here. Keep your eyes on me." He commands, and it's all she can do to let instinct take over and listen to his low voice. "That's it, love. Good."

She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Swallows dryly and tries again. "If I-"

"Shut up."

"Ghost." She says weakly, "It's a possibility, and if-"

"I told you to shut up." He hisses, fixing her with a glare.

She was in a much worse state than him. Far bloodier. They were rougher with her, thinking she'd be the first one to break, to concede under pain and answer their questions.

Safehouses, plans, locations, inner workings. The intel they stole a month ago. They wanted to know answers that neither of them would ever give them.

The door swings open. The man from the first day walks in, in crisp clothes, wrinkling his nose and the sight of them.

The sight makes Ghost pause. He was in charge here, clearly. This kind of work wasn't normally put on people like that, which meant that things were getting serious. Something had sparked urgency in them if they were seeing this guy. Something had changed.

The 141.

As if on cue, there's the distant sound of gunfire, and the building trembles slightly, dust cracking down from the ceiling. It's ignored by the man completely.

"Admirable, you are." He addresses them. "But I'm afraid there's not time for a soldier's pride during war." They stiffen when he pulls out a revolver from his pocket, clicking open the empty chamber. "I require answers. Call it compensation for what was stolen from me. I don't think you understand that I will get my way in the end. By whatever means necessary."

A single bullet. Loaded into the chamber. Ghost follows the movement with his eyes.

"I'll give you a final chance to be cooperative before I give you a choice." The Russian says evenly, looking at them both in turn.

"Go to hell." Ghost drawls. In his bloodied, beaten state, weak from blood loss and in a disarray from being tortured, he seems to look even more intimidating than usual.

The man sighs deeply. He clicks the chamber shut.

He aims at her and fires.

She barely has the chance to tense before a click fills the room. Nothing. It's when he turns the gun to Ghost that her breath catches in her throat, panic clawing it's way up and through her veins.

Ghost does not flinch. Does not wince or react, merely holds her gaze calmly, in that reassuring steady way he always has.

Click. Nothing.

He continues moving back and forth between them until there's only one chamber left. An undeniable bullet inside. The man turns to Ghost, a smile on his face.

"The choice you have, my friend, is which one of you I put this bullet through."

Ghost visibly stiffens in his chair, fixes him with a scathing stare.

"If you refuse to answer, I have no issue shooting you both." He says evenly, weighing the revolver in his hands. "So who will it be? You, or your lady?" He points the gun back and forth, her heart in her throat.

Me. She thinks. Pick me. The thought of him taking that bullet when there's a choice for her to instead makes her sick.

But it's Ghost. And he's selfless in the most annoying of ways.

"Me." He says tightly, the words forced out and full of venom.

The Russian grins, pleased, raising the gun. She's about to yell at him, tell him to shoot her instead-

She doesn't have to.

The gun turns to her, fires, and pain explodes in her right thigh, wrenching out a scream from between her clenched teeth as she doubles over. Her vision goes black for a second and she can't breathe.

Yelling. There's yelling over the ringing in her ears. Ghost shouts profanities at the man, threats and growls as his chair scrapes against the floor at his attempts to get loose.

He breaks.

The Russian simply laughs, tucking his gun away.

Where the fuck were they? Where were the others? The team? They were close, that much was obvious, so why the fuck weren't they here yet, then?

She gasps when her head is wretched back painfully by her hair, pain thrumming through her like sharp needles as she's forced to straighten up. It hurts, fuck, it hurts worse accompanied with every other goddamn thing wrong with her right now.

"You just couldn't seem to stop looking at her. I thought It'd be more of an incentive to loosen your tongue." He chuckles at Ghost's fury.

"They won't find your body." He hisses, low and threatening, eyes wild. "I'll make sure you're in so many pieces you-"

"I understand why, though." He continues on like Ghost isn't threatening great bodily harm on him. "She's quite the beaty isn't she? Even under all that gore...so easy on the eyes."

She had taken beating after beating. Cracked ribs, cuts and bruises, waterboarding and being prodded with a hot poker, but this? The lecherous way he looks her up and down, yanks he head back farther to expose her neck? It makes her blood run cold, her heart stop.

His breath fans across her face, acrid and disgusting. A choked sob tears out of her lips when his hand trails up her body, grabbing and yanking and pulling in places he has no right to touch. Her head spins from the bullet wound and the pain, and it takes a lot to gather her thoughts.

"Motherfucker-" Ghost snarls.

"I know you're bad at sharing but you wouldn't mind if I had a taste, would you?" He croons at Ghost, who jolts in his chair, pulling at his bleeding broken skin to get loose. "Not that you can do much but watch." He laughs.

This, she would not let happen. She would not let him take something that was hers and hers alone to give to whomever she decided. When he leans down farther, she gathers all her remaining strength and rears her head back, smashing it into his nose.

The satisfying crunch of bone and yell of pain makes it all worth it, draws a smile from her, even if his blood splatters the side of her face.

"Bitch." He spits out. A hand cracks across her face so hard black spots float over her vision. She cries out as it jostles her leg, her broken arm, all her cuts and and he ribs. Before she can gather her bearings, a searing pain pierces through her side, the Russian's knife driving straight into her flesh. She can't help the choked scream that leaves her, hears the way Ghost shouts, his struggling intensifying.

He wretches her out of the chair, shoves her to the floor. Tears track down her bloodied cheeks, not out of fear, but out of pure pain and anger. Disgust, pain and rage is what she feels when the Russian straddles her hips, keeping a hand on her broken arm to keep her down. His other one wraps around her neck, squeezing roughly to cut off her air.

"Answer my questions." He seethes at Ghost. "Your safehouses, the intel you fucking stole from us. Where are they!? Tell me or you'll see this pretty thing die." As if to prove his point, he squeezes harder, making her choke.

Ghost spits out threats that would make any normal man quiver. He would rip this man apart. Rip into him slowly with all his knives, prolong it as much as he could. Days, maybe even weeks. He deserved to die by his hands for what he's done to her, for touching someone so wholly and utterly his. Every single cut he'd return tenfold, twice as deep.

Part of her wants to succumb to the darkness edging her vision, but she's afraid if she does she might never wake up. She couldn't die. Not here, not like this. Ghost...Simon would blame himself, she knows it. He'd replay it over and over again, wonder if he could have done anything to prevent it.

"Get the fuck off of her!" He seethes. Seeing her under him, red in the face and bleeding, dying makes panic tear through him, a horrible desperate feeling he can't help but succumb to. She wasn't going to die, he wouldn't allow it.

Not her. Not her. Anyone but her. Take me instead.

The world was fucking cruel.

The past year had been the best of his life. The lightest, the most at peace he'd ever felt. Loving her came easily, naturally. Something he couldn't help even when he tried to push her away.

Her eyes catch Ghost's. His are desperate and frantic in a way she's never seen before. That...that was panic. But that couldn't be right because Ghost? He didn't panic. He planned and adapted, got angry and was calm. Panicking? She'd never seen it before.

Fuck. She wasn't going to die. She...was, wasn't she? Already, her vision was slipping away, her hearing going muffled. No. No, this isn't it. Not here, not like this.

If she died, Simon might, as well, and she loved him to much to leave him in a situation like this.

Clenching her jaw, she blindly reaches her bound hands to her side. When her fingers brush against the hilt of the dagger inside her flesh, she pauses.

It was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out faster than her bullet wound was already doing...

She yanks it out with all the strength she has left, slams it into the throat of the man above her. He's too busy with Ghost to chart her up as a threat. The way his eyes bug out of his head as he releases her throat in favour of clutching his own has a sob ripping through her mangled throat as she gasps in greedy gulps of air.

She shoves the man off her and in movements wild and jerky, climbs on top of him switching their positions. Ripping the knife out of his throat, she yells a broken shout as she brings it down over his chest. Then his shoulder, his neck. His chest. Over and over again, tears blurring her vision, adrenaline making her shaky, she drives the knife into him again and again thinking about nothing but killing him, taking his life so he couldn't take theirs, so she could feel her skin stop itching from the way she was touched.

"-dead, he's dead!" A voice floats to her, far, far away.

A name...her name. Her movements slow down as she recognises Ghost's voice calling out at her. Confused, disorientated, she glances over her shoulder, pausing, chest heaving.

"You're alright, sweetheart." He says, his eyes a fraction wider than usual. "Here, look at me. Right here, love." He waits till she drags her gaze up. "He's dead. It's enough."

Enough.

The word cracks something in her, the knife clattering onto the stone floor and she looks down at the bloody, unrecognisable mess under her. Scrambling off of him, she leans over and vomits up bile; acrid and burning her throat as it comes out. A strangled sob leaves her as she finishes, realising the sheer amount of blood on her. Her hand shakily goes to her side, comes back bloody in a way that makes her head spin.

"Grab the knife." Ghost urges, looking ready to try to snap the chair under him himself to reach her. "Can you do that for me? Pass me that knife." When she doesn't respond the way he wants, Ghost takes in a shaky breath and repeats himself, voice hard.

"Sergeant. The knife." He commands, low and deep and urgent.

Still a soldier despite her trembling, her body reacts to the order automatically, head clearing. Swallowing, she moves slowly, agonisingly to reach the knife.

"You're doing good." Ghost praises when she drops the knife for the second time from her shaky fingers. "Bring it here."

The moment the knife reaches his fingertips, he cuts through his bonds, kneeling in front of her, cutting hers off too. "I've got you." He murmurs, pulling her close, laying her over his lap as gently as he can as he looks over her. He doesn't really need to, it's more instinct to do so. Ghost was watching her the entire time. He knows the location of every single one of her injuries.

Swearing under his breath, he leans over, roughly rips part of the dead man's shirt off, bunching it up and pressing it against each of her two wounds. She whimpers, a strangled sound that makes him clench his jaw in rage and worry.

"I know it hurts." He consoles her while he secures another part of the shirt around the wounds. "You did well, it's over now." Mindless talk. He just needed to keep her awake.

Her hand closes over his, stilling him as he ties the final knot.

"'m sorry." She breaths, shallow and short. "Can't...Just go." She shoves weakly at his shoulder, and the incredulous, angry look Simon gives her would have been funny if everything wasn't on fire inside her.

"I'm not fucking leaving you, you dolt." He snaps, slowly pulling her up so she's sitting. The way she bites her lip hard to keep in the whine of pain doesn't escape him. "Easy." He says, supporting her despite his own screaming ribs. His left leg was mangled up, ankle dislocated so Ghost doubts he'd be walking with her out of here.

It was too risky. They could run into someone armed, and at such a disadvantage...no, it was better to stay here and wait for the others to show up.

Her eyes flutter, panic slams into him.

"None of that." He demands, prodding her forehead to make her focus. "Keep those pretty eyes on me, love."

A small huff from her that might have been a laugh sends her into a harsh coughing fit. "'m trying Simon." She whispers, words slur.

"Try harder." He squeezes her closer to him, keeping an ear out for footsteps.

"So hard to please." Barely a whisper. "You...you're okay?"

"Christ, woman," he huffs, leaning down to press his lips against her bloody forehead. "I'm better off than you."

A slight smile, her eyes fluttering shut. The loose grip she'd had on Ghost's vest slackens. His bloods turns to ice.

"Hey." He tries, calls out her name. "Hey!" He yells it this time, shakes her gently. Then rougher when she doesn't wake up, breath stuck in his throat. No. No, she was still breathing, he chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

This wouldn't work. Ghost steels himself and stands up, gritting his teeth at the pain that radiates up his leg into his whole body. Ignoring it, he hauls her up in his arms, stumbles slightly.

Staying here wasn't an option anymore, not when she was unconscious, not when the small puffs of breath against his neck could stop at any moment, not when he could lose her.

Gripping onto the small bloody knife, he limps towards the door, pushes it open without hesitation.

He'd walk for a mile like this if it meant he'd get to hear her laugh again. Fuck his own injures, her wellbeing was more important. Ghost moves the knife between his teeth, bone clacking against metal, metallic blood on his tongue. Hiking her up more securely, he starts down the hall, intending to find his team before they found him.

He'd die before he ever let her bleed out on his watch.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

Her hearing comes to her first. Muffled, but still present. Under the dark haze of sleep, she hears muffled noises. The steady beeping of a machine, the rustling of bedsheets nearby. A voice talking int he distance, something she's unable to make out.

It takes too much out of her. Her mind is sluggish, thinking is hard, so sinking back into the arms of whatever is pulling her down is easier. Painless.

The second time her sense of touch returns.

Someone's holding her hand. Rough, calloused fingers, running up and down her palm, soothing gestures than accompany the beeping that she realises is a heart monitor. The familiar pressure, the roughness of those hands, the soothing movements...it lulls her back to sleep almost immediately.

The third time is quick.

Her sight returns last, One moment she's seeing darkness, the next she's blinking up at white florescent lights, the clean scent of hospital waking her up. What...?

Pushing herself up, a gasp tears out of her throat when she finds herself unable to move. Blinking and looking down, she swallows as she sees herself.

Covered in bandages, a cast around her arm. Heavy wrapping around her thigh and chest. All of her is stiff and achy. It all comes back to her in a rush.

The chair. The ropes. The bullets and beatings.

The blood.

Her stomach lurches at the memories. Simon? Where was Simon? He made it out, right? What if-

Her mind immediately settles down when she spots him. Ghost lays on the hospital bed next to hers, eyes shut, chest steadily rising up and down. Relief slams into her so hard tears prick her eyes. They made it out. Both of them. For a moment she thought...

The need to be near him, to touch him, to make sure he's real wins over her desire to stay put and ward of any discomfort. Her second attempt at moving is successful, only because of the strong pain meds dulling the edge of pain she's feeling.

Slowly, she pulls herself to the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly lowering herself onto the ground. She gasps when her leg protests, the one she was shot in. Testing her weight, she glances desperately at Simon, still sleeping. She needed him, needed to touch him, to feel him under her hands, solid and real.

She uses the walls to support her, shuffling over until she's in front of his bed. After taking a moment to gather herself and breathe, she reaches out with a shaky hand, places it on his cheek. Her throat closes at the feeling of his warm skin.

Ghost being Ghost wakes up instantly at the touch. Eyes snapping open, instantly alert even when just waking up.

Relief fills his face, something so powerful it makes a small sound push past her lips, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "You're okay." She whispers, hoarse from not talking.

"You shouldn't be up." He responds, propping himself up with a wince she doesn't miss. He frowns at the way she trembles, looking her up and down slowly.

"I just..." She brings a hand up to wipe off her tears. "Sorry if I woke you." A watery chuckle. "Just needed to make sure, you know?"

"I do." He admits. Ghost's hand slips up her uninjured arm, guiding her onto the bed with him until she's laying down. A long, shaky exhale pushes itself out of her as she lays her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, quicker than usual but still steady soothes her instantly. He was familiar, the dips in his body, the hard muscle and those arms. It was so achingly familiar she wanted to cry.

Having her here, having her in her arms and holding her...it was almost too much to bear. Ghost had never felt relief like this.

11 days.

11 days she hadn't woken up, each one made him more irritable, restless, snappy. He was ordered to stay in bed, but he got out of it every night to sit next to her, holding her hand, just silently watching over her. 11 days was plenty of time for him to think, to run through everything he did to figure out a way he could have prevented this.

It was plenty of time to realise that he'd never take her for granted, even if there was a gun to his head.

He'd carried her all the way out of the building until he'd spotted Gaz. The poor bloke had done a double take at them, shouted something frantically in his comms and ran at them.

Ghost had forced himself to stay awake as the others arrived, forced himself to make sure she got the care she needed, sat awake with the the entire time on the heli, until they got to the hospital. Only then had he let himself get checked over and crashed hard, exhausted in a way that ran deep into his bones.

"I'm glad you're okay." He says quietly into her hair, strong arms pulling her close, their bodies intertwined.

"Are you sure this is okay?" She asks, though the way she sinks into him says she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. "Don't want to accidently hurt you or reopen anything."

"You're worse off than me, I think I should be the one worrying about that." He responds, rubbing small circles on her waist. Soothing. Calming.

"I'll always worry." She mumbles against his chest, already feeling sleep pulling her in.

"Your downfall." He huffs, pressing his lips to her forehead for a long moment. "Thought I lost you." The admission is something vulnerable, real. Painful.

"Rather me than you." She responds, eyes slipping shut.

"Say that again and see where it lands you." He grumbles, arms tightening around her. Being as helpless as he was in that situation wasn't something he'd ever forget. Having to sit there, watch those bastards touch her, hurt her, forcing himself to look impassive and cold. Unreacting.

It had been a worse torture than any of their knives.

The second he was cleared to leave the medbay, he was going on a nice little trip back. He'd retrace his steps, get Price to get him the name of every. Single. Motherfucker that had been in the building that day.

Every single one would meet a fate worse than death itself could present them with.

They'd pray for the reaper before Ghost was done with them. He'd make them beg, draw out every single scrape they left on her until they begged to be spared. Only then would Ghost let them bleed out, nice and slow. Maybe he'd even do it one at a time, make the others watch.

They're dark thoughts, but the fury that had been boiling inside him for the past two weeks needed to an outlet, and what better place than the very bastards that had dared to lay their hands on her? The thought pacifies him for now.

He's assured his revenge, but she's more important than anything like that could ever be to him.

"I'm sorry I scared you. You can't get rid of me that easy, though. Thought you knew that by now." Completely unfazed by his threat.

"I wouldn't want to." He assures her, rolling his eyes. "It'd be a bloody shame to lose someone like you, love."

It makes her smile against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Safe. She was safe here.

It doesn't take long before she's drifted off again, securely in his arms.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

Part 2

(09/07/2023)

[allurilove]

Yan! Prince x Siren you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: Gore, murder, death, cannibalism?, physical violence, non-consensual touching, implied sexual exploitation, fem reader, and decapitation.

*This is just a fun short story I wrote for the class I am taking, and I just decided to upload it here! Some parts are influenced by the yandere fic I already made lol! This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: All you have known is peace, all until you get captured by a group of men that unlocks a different side to you. You then meet a prince, a prince driven with a bloodlust for power, and he gives you a proposition.

Men. All they do is bother you.

Your heart beats fast.

Your vision blurs as the familiar blues turn into browns, and your eyes fixate on the woodwork and rustic charm of what is considered to be a ship. The rope burns onto your skin, and your body contorts into an unnatural state as she is hoisted onto the boat.

Your tail thrashes and you try to bite your way out of the trap—teeth gnashing and chewing—and you cry out as youre is hit with a paddle. Your head starts to ring, and your eyes widen as you see the group of men in front of you.

Their garments are quite different from yours; in fact, they are fully dressed from head to toe. Their clothes are all dark, and their blouses have ruffles at the top. They wear boots, have swords at their sides, trench coats, and carry a heavy musk of sweat and battle.

With a sharp and intimidating blade, one of the men cuts through the net. Multiple hands grab for you, and your world comes to a pause as you panic. You feel like you can't breathe and your lungs are about to collapse. You scratch and attempt to plead with your captors, your nails digging into their forearms, drawing long red streaks.

But they do not listen.

“Mighty thang we got ‘ere!” one of the men says, his hair darkened by the rain peltering their bodies. He has a rough scar running down his face– a deep incision that caused his skin to never heal.

You can see a prominent and yellow snaggletooth whenever he speaks. He has an air of authority surrounding him, and his hat has gold embellishments compared to the regular silver everyone else has. That one particular man holds a predatory gaze, his eyes set ablaze with a whirlwind of mischief. “Tie her up, we could use a beaut like her on top of the mantle.” 

Laughter fills your ears as the group of men start to agree, and you feel a chill run down your spine as they touch your smooth cheek, their fingers trailing down to your jawline, and moving lower to your collarbones.

Each touch feels intrusive as they pet your silk-like hair condescendingly. “We could send her to the owner at The Pearl of the Eye; I know they are lookin’ for new girls to show off,” another says, his arms crossed as he leaned against the post.

“Aye, tha’ a popular place.” The man with the highest regard starts to pet his scruffy beard in thought. He then catches your withering glare, and a flash of amusement crosses his face. “Feisty one, aren’t ya? I know men who would pay a pretty coin for that temperament.”

“Keep it up, trollop.” he snickers, his finger moving to boop your nose. “You’ll make me thousands of gold in no time.”

Your pupils turn to slits as you bite down onto the man's finger, a metallic taste bursting into your mouth, satisfaction lingering on your tongue. His blood becomes sweet nectar, and with renewed strength and clarity, you unhinge your jaw and attempt to swallow the human whole.

Your hunger becomes endless, and a gnawing angry feeling grows into an insatiable appetite for flesh. For skin to be peeled off meat. For meat to be taken from bone, and their vocal chords to be a part of yours. Your body adjusts to the change, your throat expanding to the men’s silhouette as they traveled down your gullet. Their screams were words of encouragement, egging you to continue.

Humans, and men in particular, tasted different from the fish you were used to. They were heavier, harrier, bloodier, and infested with nasty ambition of lust and pride. You revel in the taste of their guilt, their fear, and the past memories of their wickedness. 

No matter how hard the group of men tried to band up and defeat the siren, their swords were no match for your unwavering hatred. You waste zero time to snap multiple necks, your teeth digging into any area that you could rip into shreds, and your stomach becomes full off of their disgustingly filthy urine soaked bodies.

One last man is standing, his eyes wide as saucers and his tears roll down his pale cheeks. He looks young and his uniform doesn't fit him properly. Your nails help your body to crawl towards the shaking figure, he can't even defend himself, and the weapon in his hand shakes. The wind continues to whip around them, the clouds darken as a loud cry comes from the sky, and an array of purple and dark blue strikes down on the earth. The boy yelps when you have an iron grip on his ankle. 

Unbeknownst to the siren, a smaller vessel has pulled up to the larger ship.

“I wouldn't touch him, if I were you.” The voice is cutthroat, a harsh demand that sends chills down the spine of the scariest and deadliest creature. You wince as you feel a sharp pain on your scalp, and your hair is now wrapped around a stranger's hand as they yank you back. You crash into a barrel filled with treasures as you are thrown across the ship, and a bunch of diamonds and pearls spill onto the floor. 

A tall and proud man stands in front of you, he has pitch black hair that flows in the wind, and his blue eyes shine like bright lights. The unknown man's presence is regal-like, his back straight like an arrow, and his face is trained with unusual niceties. Then the little boy ran into his embrace, and his arms wrapped around him tightly… all before the man pulls out a dagger from his sheath.

Without a single thought, a clean cut to the throat separated the head from the body, and the man’s lips stretched into a wide eerie smile. He isn't phased by the limp body falling to his feet and the blood spilling onto his perfect shoes.

“You… you are exactly what I need.” The man’s eyes are glued to yours and he stares down at you. “My name is Prince....” 

The prince that stands before you is practically last in line for the throne. That is what you could surmise from his little rant. He is sadly and disappointingly the second youngest, and he isn't close to the crown and title, at all.

He paced around, one hand on his heart, and the other continued to grip onto the hair of the decapitated head. “I need to be king. I am the only one fit to rule the land. It is like the gods have forsaken me, and they decided to punish me for no apparent reason.”  

The man huffs, his eyes narrowing. The waves crash against the sides of the boat, but he stands his ground. “Six siblings ahead of me, and one measly brother behind me– does that seem fair to you? That this kingdom will fall into the hands of dumb and dumber, and eventually to the offspring of the said dumb and dumber?!” His voice is so loud it even rivals the onslaught of thunder, and you can hear a hint of distraught on his otherwise clear and steady tone.

“This is where you come in.” He stops right in front of you. “I can keep you fed, and I can give you all the riches you could ever want. Marry me, carry my children and lineage, and get rid of all of my siblings.” The prince throws the head at your tail, and with a tilt of the ship, it slowly rolls towards you.

The boy's jaw is slack, a tooth chipped from the impact of the fall, and his blue eyes are wide open in fear. He has similar tiny freckles around his nose like the prince, the same facial structure with the high cheekbones, and a tall nose.  

“Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” 

[satorusugurugurl]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one my, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 4,782

Warning: cursing, asshole Toji, mentions of blood, physical altercations—👀

A/N:The long-awaited part five! This was so satisfying to write. I hope you all enjoy it!! I think we have maybe one part left, maybe two. Omg! 🥹💚, If you want to be in the tag list YOU MUST HAVE AGE LISTED! Thank you!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Red. Red was the only color Satoru saw as he dragged his suitcase. He'd never felt so angry! Hurt! Betrayed! The emotions swirled and festered like an infected wound.

He'd let his walls down with you. A mistake he would never make in his life ever fucking again. It didn't matter how desperate a voice would sound on the phone. And it wouldn't matter if he genuinely enjoyed talking to the client or if they gave him the butterflies.

Gojo Satoru would never allow himself to be put into a situation like this again. One where he got hurt. Where he mourned the loss of a girl he barely even knew. A girl that left a scar on him no one would ever see.

The thoughts continued to swell and build up in his mind as he bought himself a hotel room next to the train station. They built up like a typhoon, threatening to destroy everything in its wake, all the way to his room, where he collapsed on the bed. Satoru didn't like feeling this suffocating pain. He needed to distract himself, to talk to one of the only people he trusted in this world.

He needed Suguru.

With a few taps of his finger over his phone screen, Satoru stared at himself, praying his best friend was still up. Which he was. Satoru sighed in relief as Suguru’s face took up the screen. His best friend was propped up in bed, his face dimly illuminated by the lamp on his nightstand. He took one look at Satoru’s face and cocked an eyebrow.

“What happened?”

Satoru chuckled, covering his eyes with his elbow. “Is it that obvious?”

“You just called me three hours ago. You said, and I quote, ‘You’re going to love her. She's got the prettiest eyes. Her skin is fucking flawless. I wanna put her mouth on my mouth.’ end quote.”

“I didn't say that last part!”

“You didn't have to say it, Satoru.” Satoru didn't argue with that. “So, are you going to tell me what happened??”

“I—” he groaned, sitting up, “we, well, ya’ know—”

“Fucked?”

Satoru glared at his only best friend. “No!” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Well, we didn't go all the way.” God, he wished it had, but he was glad it hadn't.

“Okay? So, did she give you major blue balls? This isn't helping me decipher what happened.”

Although the pain was fresh and stung, Satoru rehashed the night's events. The kiss at the bar, you calling him after Toji showed up, and everything after. From your sudden confidence to the gentle caresses to the intense intimacy between you both. It had been so fierce, raw, and real. Satoru had never experienced kisses and caresses like yours; hell, your touch still lingered as he lay in bed ranting.

All of the chemistry he felt didn’t change the fact that he’d been hurt. He thought you were genuine, that you didn’t want to sleep with him just because of his good looks. Maybe, just maybe, you wanted to sleep with him because you felt the same spark that he did. A spark that would lead to sex, but from there, it might grow into something more! A relationship, the possibility of a future together.

But those stacks of cash changed it all.

The possibilities Satoru had been fantasizing about, wanting, came crashing around him when he counted the bills. You had been so unfazed by it. All you did was check your wallet before pulling out the bag with condoms in it. Your pitiful face when he asked about the money flashed in his mind. You had been incapable of telling him why you had all that money; you just stared blankly at it like you were trying to put two and two together.

Playing around like you didn’t know what was happening had set him off. Why would you have that much money in your purse? Conveniently, it was also the exact amount that he charged for sexual services. Services that Satoru didn’t typically provide. He had been honest with you. He didn’t like having sex with people that he didn’t know, so for him to find all that money, it set him off.

Satoru finished up his story, rubbing his hands through white hair. “So I left, and I missed the last train out. Could you pick me up in the morning? I want to get home as fast as I can.” His blue eyes darted towards his phone screen, where Geto was staring at him like he was an idiot. “What?” Satoru asked, looking at himself on the smaller screen. “Do I have something on my face?” His best friend let out the most extended, most profound sigh in the entire world.

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

“Huh?!”

“I said, are you a fucking idiot?”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows pinching together. “Why the fuck are you asking if I’m an idiot? Are your gauges too big? Did everything I say go through them and not into your ears?” He watched as Suguru rolled his eyes. “I just told you I found all that money in their bag! Right before we did the nasty! I confronted her, she couldn’t explain. That, to me, screams that she’s guilty, Suguru.” He gestured with his hand in front of him as if motioning toward the evidence before his face.

“Did you ever stop and think maybe she couldn’t answer because she was just as confused as you?”

“What?”

Suguru shifted, dark hair falling over his shoulders as he sat up. “Satoru,” he purred, “think about it. She left her bag where anyone could touch it while you two were—preoccupied.” Well, when he put it like that. “And how would you react if you found that much money in your wallet that wasn’t there before?” Satoru remained silent, not saying a word. “You claim she looked guilty because she couldn’t explain it. But what if she truly couldn’t? And you left before even giving her a chance to explain herself.” Yeah, he did; he left you crying at the inn.

Thinking back to how you ran after him, grabbing his arm, stumbling over your feet, would someone guilty do that? Try to explain themselves, beg for him to stop and listen.

“I-I don’t know how it got there, Satoru! Please! Please believe me!”

Your tear-filled eyes, the shuddering tremble in your voice, and the blatant way he’d coldly dismissed your attempts to clear things up had his stomach twisting. The fury that had been fuming deep at his core had blinded him. He didn’t even give you a chance to talk, to explain what had happened.

“I’m so fucking stupid.” He mumbled out, putting his phone down to scrub at his face. “Why didn’t I stop and listen?!”

“Because you like her.” There was something in the tone of Suguru’s voice that had Satoru glancing at his phone. “You genuinely like her Satoru, so when you assumed she just wanted to fuck you just as an escort and not as a potential lover, that broke your heart.” Satoru opened his mouth to argue. “Don’t try to deny it; you just bitched at me for like an hour like some school girl who just got dumped.”

”Fuck you,” Suguru chuckled, knowing Satoru’s words held no heat in them. “So what do I do now? Run back over there, tell her how sorry I am?”

”Well, honestly, if I were in her position, I would slam the door in your face. The whole ‘consider the orgasm, payment for the cancellation of my services’ was fucking harsh.”

”Yeah, not my finest moment.”

“Well, use that Gojo Sator charm and make it up to her.”

After hanging up the phone with Suguru, Satoru plopped down on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. That red-hot rage had faded into regret. He should have listened to you; he should have stopped the second you grabbed his arm. Instead, he pulled away, refusing to listen to what you had to say.

He made you cry like you did when you told him about Toji.

Seeing you that upset had made him sick to his stomach. He thought, what kind of dick makes a girl cry like this? He hated people like that, people that were so cruel. Now the tables had turned, and he was the dick.

God, what are you doing right now? Were you still crying? Maybe you were pacing the room, thinking about what you would do since your wedding date just up and left you. How were you going to explain this to your friends and family? Or were you dreading the pathetic, woeful faces that would be on the faces of your friends and family when you told them he left? You had hired him to make this wedding easier to attend, but he had turned it into an even worse experience for you.

Gojo had been right about you crying. You were curled into a ball on the futon that still smelt like him. Your chest heaved as you screamed into his pillow, gripping it as you let the waves of anguish wash over you, pulling you deeper and deeper into the suffocating waters of despair.

You cried yourself to sleep, waking up with a numbness in your chest as the flashbacks from the night before plagued you. It had been perfect, too perfect. The butterflies, Satoru’s kisses, the pleasure. You felt so good about him, about the two of you, about yourself, to have it come crashing down around you in seconds.

It hurt being yelled at and screamed at and blamed for something you hadn’t done. The rage and betrayal in Satoru’s eyes burned into your mind, and his words sliced so deep into your skin that they touched your soul. You hadn’t been hurt like that since Toji broke up with you, and that had nearly destroyed you. You ran away from the pain, refused to talk to anyone, and stayed in bed for days. Your heart had been broken into a million different pieces, and it took you so long to put it back together. To allow yourself to live your life.

Luckily, your heart was stronger now, scarred and rough. The pain that it had undergone a year before had made it more durable and harder to break. This heartache was not going to destroy you this time around.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you exhaled heavily through your nose before pushing your hair out of your face. You could do this. You didn't need a wedding date to survive the next two days. You were fully capable of getting through this by yourself.

You put on a smile and got ready for your day. Everything hurt, but you would be able to get through it like you had done before. This heartache would not hold you down. You headed into the kitchen, greeting your family as they cleaned dishes from the morning breakfasts that had already been delivered to guests and discussed preparations for the next two nights.

Their voices were white noise as you pulled a bowl of peaches from the fridge. They asked if you were okay if Satoru felt okay since he wasn’t with you. Hearing them say his name stung, but it didn’t stop you from moving, washing peaches, and peeling them as you preheated the oven.

”He left.” You told the truth, not the whole truth, but you weren’t ashamed to tell them he left you. Their reactions varied from confusion and anger to stunned silence and disbelief. “I’ll be okay.” You assured all of them, urging them to go about preparations for the wedding. Right now, all you wanted to do was be alone, to bake the anger and sorrow out of your system.

They granted your wish, leaving you alone in the kitchen. The atmosphere was drastically different from the night before. You giggled and smiled as Satoru stood by your side; those beautiful, captivating blue eyes wandered, watching your hands move. The heat from his gaze alone had the kitchen so hot you thought every oven had been on when they hadn’t. Now, the only warmth that flooded the space was from the oven and stove as you cooked down the peaches in syrup.

You moved unthinkingly, cooking butter into three trays, before setting the stew pot of peaches off to the side. Mind and body numb as you focused on mixing your flour, sugar, and milk in a bowl, you never heard the footsteps behind you. It wasn’t until the timer on your phone went off that you turned, running into a firm chest. You knew the smell of fresh linen masked with musk, and it made you want to throw up.

Satoru rubbed at his neck, glancing down at you. Dark circles were under his eyes as he placed his sunglasses on his head. Even when he looked exhausted, he was still handsome, which irked you.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, like his voice alone would shatter you as if you were a porcelain doll. You said nothing, stepping to the side to turn your timer off. “Can we talk?”

You ignored him, taking out the trays of melted butter from the oven. You put cinnamon, baking powder, and salt into your batter before whisking it bitterly. Satoru moved, gently grabbing your elbow and stopping you from running further away.

“Please.”

“No.” You snapped, pulling away so you could continue to construct the dessert for the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Sweetie, please.”

“Oh my god!” You slammed the bowl down, turning to shove at Satoru's chest. “You fucking left! You left when I wanted to talk last night!”

“I know I did.”

His eyes never left your face, and his undivided attention only pissed you off more. “Well, guess what? I don’t want to fucking talk now.” Despite your dismissal, Satoru didn’t move. He stayed near your side, watching as your hands moved, putting the peaches on top of the batter. “Don’t you have a train to catch?”

“No, I have a wedding to attend—“

“The fuck you do.”

“You paid for me—“

“And you canceled your services!” Satoru grimaced as you all but threw the trays into the oven. “You paid me with an orgasm, remember?! Because I remember!”

He followed you as you headed to the sink with your dirty dishes. His hand gently grabs your elbow. “Look! Please listen to me.” He took the dishes from your hands, placing them in the sink. “I was an asshole last night, whatever this,” his finger gestures between your bodies, “it’s new and raw and real.” You barked out a laugh. “Stop, please. I messed up; I know I did. And I’m sorry for flipping out on you. But this is worth fighting over; I want to be with you.” His words were regretful; his face matched the panicked pain behind his voice.

That didn’t change the fact he’d hurt you. “Gojo.” The use of his last name had his heart crushed. “You did mess up, you hurt me.” You stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Let’s be honest, this.” You mimicked his finger, gesturing between you. “This is never going to work, not after last night. I had my heart broken once after I was intimate with someone, and you knew that. You knew I didn’t want to have sex. I specified that several times. I put myself out there, out of my comfort zone, because I genuinely liked you. Now, well, let’s be honest: my heart has been broken twice now. So I’m going to ask you to leave.” Satoru swallowed hard, removing his glasses and putting them on the counter.

“Please don’t say that, please.”

“Go.” You pointed to the door, fighting back tears. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

He grips the counter before lifting his head to meet your teary eyes. “Okay,” he reached out, gently brushing away a stray tear, “I’m sorry for breaking your heart.” His gesture had your breath hitching as he turned, heading out of the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.

The moment you were sure he was far enough that he couldn’t hear you, a shaky cry left your lips. You stumbled, your legs no longer wanting to hold you up. How dare he come back and apologize after breaking your heart the night before. If he didn’t apologize, things would have been so much easier for you. You could have grown to hate him, but seeing how upset he looked hearing the pleading tone in his voice, made you want to throw your resolve away to chase after him.

But would a relationship with him work?

He was an escort. People paid him to go out with him. Could you date him, knowing that’s what he did for a living? To be the woman waiting at home for him to come back?

He said he wanted to fight for this, for you and whatever this strange relationship was turning into. He wanted to be with you. So, did that mean he would give up on being an escort? Would he be okay with that? The questions flowed like a steady river through your mind as you sat on the kitchen floor. These were questions you would never get the answers to, all because you sent him away.

Footsteps entered the kitchen as you stared at the floor. You perked up, clenching your fists tight, digging your nails into the palms of your hands. Did Satoru come back? You tilted your head up, tears streaming down your cheeks, to find Toji smirking down at you. The last person on the planet you wanted to see.

”Why are you on the floor?”

”Why won’t you leave me alone?” You snapped as you pushed yourself off the floor.

Toji hummed, leaning over the counter as you went to the sink to clean your dishes. “Because I want to talk to you. But you keep avoiding me.” You threw the whisk into the sink, whirling around.

“You wanna talk? Fine, let’s fucking talk, Toji!” You shrugged a shoulder. “Not that there’s much to talk about, seeing that you’re the one that broke up with me. And last night, you made it painfully obvious that you didn’t want to be with me. So please tell me! What. The. Fuck. Is. There. To. Discuss?!” You screamed, putting both hands on your hips, glaring daggers at the first man who broke your heart.

“Fuck.” He laughed, his eyes trailing up and down your body. “You got feisty in the year that you’ve been away.” When he saw how you glared at him, he held up a hand. “Right, right, fine, I’ll talk.” He straightened his back. “But first, did you enjoy yourself last night?”

His words had your heart dropping into your stomach. “I-I’m sorry?” You asked, hoping that you heard him wrong.

”I asked how your night was. Finally, get dicked down?”

”What?”

”Oh, right, you didn’t know.” He strode forward, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefingers, forcing you to look into his dark eyes. “After you left, I got a job. I’m a PI, the best in the business.” You felt goosebumps rise against your skin as he leaned beside your ear. “I did a little research into this Gojo Satoru, heir to the Gojo business. It took a little digging, but I eventually found his profile in Escorts4you.com.”

You were frozen in shock and fear. “You knew?” Of course, he knew; he knew something was up the first night.

“To think my ex-fiancée hired a fucking escort to be her date to a wedding. I had a good laugh over it. But when I saw the prices, oof, I know you,” toji squeezed your cheeks, “a pathetic baker from a cafe could never, ever afford to get fucked by a pretty boy like him.”

“W-Wait—“your head spun, “wait, it was you; you put the money in my bag?”

“Ding-ding-ding,” He reached into his pocket, holding another wad of cash towards you. “¥480,000, the money you used to cover rent when I was out of a job.” He put the money on the counter behind you. “I’ve been wanting to pay you back. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You put—you put the money—“

“But seeing that you were able to buy a high-end escort for an entire week, I figured that maybe you wanted more. So I figured I’d give you half to get the full escort experience.”

“It was you—-“

Toji smirked, gently patting your cheek. “Yep, I found your bag in the kitchen last night. Put half the money in there.” Your ears started ringing as he pulled back. “So tell me, did he fuck you as good as I did? Did he make you scream and cry like me~?” He pulled back, smirking down at you. “Or have I ruined all other men for you?”

Ruined? The only thing he ruined was what you and Satoru had. He fucked this up! It was all because of him!

“You son of a bitch!” You screamed, slapping him across the face. Toji stumbled back, grunting as he cupped his cheek in shock. “Do you know what you did!?” You slapped him again, harder.

“Ow, what?!”

“You ruined everything!” He took several steps back as you grabbed the plastic flour container, throwing it at him, which he dodged. “Yes! I hired Satoru! But I wasn't going to sleep with him!” You tossed a spatula at him, trying to close the distance so you could hit him some more. “But what was supposed to be a job turned into something more! I liked him! I liked him, you asshole!”

Toji dodged a cookie tray, “Well, tell him that!” You rushed forward, slamming your fists against his chest.

“He found the money! And he assumed I was going to pay him to sleep with me!”

“Stop it!” He snarled, grabbing your wrists, forcing you to cease your assault. “Look, I didn’t know you legitimately liked the guy!”

You snapped, yanking your wrists free before kneeing him in the crotch. Toji gasped out, hands reaching down, cupping himself as he stumbled. Vision blurring with tears, you weakly slapped at his shoulders.

“You’re always ruining everything! You broke my heart! I didn’t get to pastry school, and I lost a nice guy because of you!” A gut-wrenching sob made its way through you. “Did you stop to think that maybe I was happy?!”

Your heart was pounding, thundering in your ears as you cried, and cried, and you kept crying as Toji straightened. “Look, I didn’t know it was serious. But if you keep hitting me, we’re going to have a major fuckin’ problem.”

He hissed his vague threat through his teeth. Hearing that only pissed you off more. So you did what anyone else would to the man who broke your heart and kept butting in your life. You pulled your hand back and slapped him as hard as you could. He winced, bangs shielding his eyes as he growled.

When he snapped in your direction, he received another slap. It was when you went in for a third slap that Toji’s hand flew up, grabbing your wrist and squeezing it. He crowded you against the wall, scowling down at your smaller form.

“I told you to stop fucking hitting me!”

“I hate you! Let me go!”

“Are ya’ going to stop hitting me?!”

“No!”

“Then tough shit!”

You kicked at his shins, but he easily avoided you. You were going to kick his ass, beat him into a bloody pulp—once you freed yourself. But all the fight vanished as you saw two ivory fingers tap Toji on the shoulder. He turned around, only to be knocked back by a powerful punch. You stared at Toji, who spit out blood, his gaze locked on the man standing at six-three. Satoru shook his hand, fingers brushing over his knuckles as he glared.

His lip twitched, revealing sharp canines as he stepped forward. “Oh, you think that hurt? Wait until I get a good hit in.” He clenched his fists into tight balls, continuing to close the distance between them.

“Oh, you don’t wanna fuck with me. I’ll fuck up your face so bad you’ll never get a ‘client’ again.”

“Why you—”

“Wait!” You yelled out, jumping between the two men and holding your arms out. “Stop! Stop it!”

Satoru looked down at you as if you’d lost your mind, his momentum stopping. Toji kept moving until your fingers grazed his chest. With a deep sigh, you looked up at Satoru, giving him a gentle smile, one that had his cheeks flushing.

“I got this.” the softness of your voice was the only convincing he needed. With a curt nod, he crossed his arms over his chest as you turned to look into Toji’s eyes. “You have fucked with my life for the last time.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep!” You grinned wide and warmly before punching him directly in the nose. “Try that shit again! I dare you! I fuckin’ dare you!!”

“Oooh!” Just as you went in for another punch, you were picked up, and Satoru carried you out of the kitchen. “Easy there, I don’t want you getting arrested.”

You flailed in his arms, “I’m serious, Fushiguro!” Your ex groaned, cupping his hands over his bleeding nose as you jammed your finger at him. “That was the last time you’ll ever interfere with my life!” You glanced over your shoulder, watching Satoru grab his forgotten sunglasses off the counter before heading down the hall.

“Oh!” You heard your mother squeak out as Satoru passed them. “What’s going on? I thought you said Satoru left!”

Satoru grinned, turning to face her as he passed. “Me leave her?” He shifts, throwing you over his shoulder. “I’m not making that mistake again.” You squeak as he bounds down the hall.

“W-Wait, the cobblers! Mom, take them out of the oven!”

The halls were a blur as Satoru carried you to the room you both had shared. Only once inside, he gently places you down, taking several steps back, giving you space. You remained silent, nursing the hand you had punched Toji with.

“Do you want some ice?” Satoru said softly, eyes following you as you sat down on the futon, thumb rubbing over your red knuckles.

“No.”

You could hear him wince at your stiff tone. “Are you sure?” He slowly approached you, not moving too fast, as if you would bolt if he did. “It could make baking hard if you don’t take care of it.” Your heart slowly crawled up your throat as he sat before you, crossing his legs.

“You know what I want?” Satoru inhaled slowly, holding it for the briefest of moments before exhaling.

“No, what is it you want?”

You slowly lifted your head, eyes locked on his. He was stiff, pulse visible in his throat as he waited for you. Seeing him like this, like a child waiting to be reprimanded, had you swallowing hard as you opened your mouth, the words leaving Satoru’s eyes wide as he rocked back at your request.

“You want what?”

Tag List/ (AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

@arminloverlol @jamzywiththejam28 @gojoful @maskedpacific @ahseyy @kash77 @sadmonke @ari-maccha @sugurubabe @hyori2 @bluechocolatemint @itsinherited @dellappatca @therealestpussyeater @dead-at-tokyo @nvrgojover @drakenswifeyy @nealeart @yunho-leeknow @fire-child-kira @faeryminnyx @tqd4455 @harmonyflora @volkins181-blog @noukstmblr @lovley212 @stinkinstuffie @desihopelessromantic @witchbybirth @sonicsolos @lilbiguy @supsiii @rentheannihilator @bloopsstuff @pepepepepopopopo @pandoness @sw33cadav3r @rixo-19 19 @meguvmii @sxnkuna @mmeerraa @lemonintrovert01 1 @bunny-lily @kibananya @kamastar39 @rjreins @lzaj19 @tiredflame132 @manyno @oliiper @rengokushair @simp-plague @matchalatte06 @haesify y @majanggeum

[storiesforallfandoms]

the bad room ~ homelander;the boys

word count: 2654

request?: no

description: in which a ghost from his past returns when he needs her the most

pairing: homelander x female!reader

warnings: swearing, use of y/n, lil bit of angsty angst, mentions of death and violence, mentions of threatened suicide, mentions of what homelander and reader went through in "the bad room", the boys typical stuff, spoilers for 4x04, reader was also raised in "the bad room" but is not homelander's sister we'll say she created using another supe's dna

masterlist (one, two, three)

"John?"

The name that just moments ago made him so angry he saw the brightest of reds, brought him to a halt. It wasn't the name, but rather the voice. When he turned and saw her there, he was almost certain it was a hallucination.

"(Y/N)?"

He hadn't seen her in years. Since she somehow escaped The Bad Room before he was set free of it. Before he became Homelander. But it felt like she hadn't changed at all. Not her eyes, watching him with care and concern. Not her face, just as beautiful as he remembered. Not the fuzzy feeling in his stomach just being in her presence.

He was tempted to take her in his arms and never let her go, but then he remembered the blood soaked super suit and the thick liquid still dripping from his face and hair; the blood of the people who tortured them both.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

A wry smile twisted on Homelander's face. "Visiting home."

Her eyes flickered to the building behind them. "Did you leave anyone alive?"

"Barbara."

(Y/N)'s face darkened. "Should've killed her first, very slowly and painfully."

Homelander chuckled, humorlessly. "That's quite the thing to say about your mother."

"That woman was never a mother to me."

"She raised you."

"If that's all it takes, then Vogelbaum was your dad, right?"

Homelander scowled at her. "Point taken."

(Y/N) looked him up and down. He suddenly felt very self conscious and small, even though he stood a few inches over her. They were emotions he thought he wouldn't feel anymore; human emotions. He was supposed to have left those behind in The Bad Room. That was the whole reason he had come back to this nightmare.

But he realized he wasn't feeling this way in a negative way. Well, he definitely felt ashamed that (Y/N) had to see him like this. But he realized he felt small because he was remembering every moment he and (Y/N) had in The Bad Room. She was the only good thing about that place. They kept each other going; they kept each other sane. When she suddenly disappeared, he thought the worse. He wanted to escape himself, to burn the whole place down, to burn himself with it. But he was still young, not yet The Homelander.

He later found out she was alive and had just managed to escape. He would've been angry that she didn't take him if he wasn't so heartbroken by it.

"I live nearby," (Y/N) said, breaking the silence. "You can come over and get cleaned up."

It took him a moment, but he finally registered what she had said. "Yeah. Okay. Lead the way."

(Y/N) seemed confused. "Um...I drove here."

Now it was Homelander's turn to look confused. When he realized she was being serious, he said, "Oh...okay. Well...you drive and I'll follow your car."

"You think it's a good idea to risk people seeing Homelander flying around covered in blood?"

He knew she wasn't wrong, but he hadn't driven in a car since...well, maybe ever.

"I'll clean the seats later, and it'll be less risk for your image," she said. "John...please?"

She wanted him to come over. She wanted to spend time with him. In her space. How could he say no?

That's how Homelander found himself stood under a stream of hot water in an unfamiliar bathroom. The blood ran from his face and hair, staining the water red as it ran down the drain. He found himself looking at the products she had there - her body washes and shampoo. He tried not to think too much about the fact that there were no men's products there. Although, he would've appreciated some men's body wash at the very least. He wasn't sure if he could handle using her body wash and smelling so much like her.

Eventually the water went from red to clear, so he shut it off. He wrapped one of the towels (Y/N) had left for him around his waist. He had left his suit on the floor, but now it was gone and any blood that had dripped onto the floor was cleaned. Homelander found himself blushing at the thought of (Y/N) coming into the bathroom while he was showering without him knowing, but then the blood moved from his face to a lower area.

He walked out of the bathroom and into (Y/N)'s living room. She was sat on her couch with a glass of wine in hand. He could smell bleach trying to be masked by the smell of hand lotion, which told him that she had cleaned her car while he was in the shower.

"Does that stuff get you drunk?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Of course not," she responded. "I drink it for the taste at this point."

He noticed her looking him up and down again, and he suddenly became very aware of the fact that he wasn't wearing any clothes.

"My suit..." he started.

"The cape is in my washer, but I wasn't sure how to wash the rest of it. Especially with those shoulder pads you have."

"That's okay. I can get someone back at the tower to dry clean it for me. They won't ask any questions."

(Y/N) winced and took a sip of her wine.

"I have some clothes you can borrow," she said, placing her glass down and standing from the couch.

"I don't think any of your clothes will fit me," Homelander said, a smile tugging at his lips.

She gave him a look, but he could see she was smiling as well. "They're men's clothes."

His smile suddenly fell. "Oh."

"They're my brother's."

He should've been happy for that clarification, but it only made his brow crease more. "Brother?"

"Foster brother, but I see him as an actual brother," she explained. "He stays over whenever he's in New York so he's left some clothes here. They should fit you."

He dressed in the clothes that (Y/N) gave him, but he was filled with more questions. She had a foster brother, did that mean she had a whole foster family? It would make sense, she was still a minor when she had escaped. He guessed she couldn't just live on her own under the age of 18.

But couldn't she? She had powers. She was raised to be a Supe just as powerful as himself. She could've taken care of herself, gotten whatever she wanted.

But maybe what she wanted was a real family.

But they weren't her family. They were just posing as one.

He was still turning these thoughts over in his head as she entered her living room again. She was back on the couch with a second glass of wine. He didn't drink alcohol. He was told he couldn't before. He had an image to uphold. But who cared about that image now? He literally killed a man and got away with it.

He sat next to her. She took a sip of her own wine before looking at him. "You have questions."

That was an understatement.

But she was opening the floor for him to ask everything on his mind, and he had a lot of things he wanted to know.

The first thing out of his mouth was, "Why were you there tonight?"

She seemed almost amused by this being his first question. "Barbara called me. She said there was a breach."

"What are you, their bodyguard?"

"That's what she thinks. Or...thought, I guess."

"I didn't kill her. I left her with the bodies of the people who tortured us."

(Y/N) looked at him, almost in disbelief, before a laugh slipped from her lips. "Jesus, that's worse than death. That's what she deserves."

"Why does she still have your number? You escaped, why would you want any connections to her or-or that place?"

She sighed. "It's...complicated."

"Then uncomplicate it for me."

When (Y/N) looked at him, there was no fear in her eyes. Not like most people who get this close to him, who know what he's done and have to deal with him after the fact. Instead, he saw sadness. And with it, any ounce of anger that was growing in him evaporated.

"I didn't escape, I made a deal with Barbara and Vogulbaum. I told them either they let me go and stop trying to train me and make me into their next Supe princess, or the second they let me leave the facility and put me on camera I would reveal everything those people did to us. And then...and then I'd kill myself on live television so the world knew what Vought did to us."

Homelander watched her as she took a sip of her wine. Well, a gulp more like it. She finished the contents of her glass and reached for the bottle to get herself more. He reached for his own glass and swallowed it all in two gulps. He winced at the taste and suddenly was glad he never drank before.

(Y/N) started to refill his glass when he asked, "Why didn't you take me?"

She paused. He could hear her heart rate picking up, and he could see the tears welling in her eyes.

"They wouldn't - " she started, but choked on her tears. She cleared her throat and tried again. "They wouldn't let me. I tried to negotiate it with Barbara, but she said no, and she said even if she agreed Vogelbaum never would. She said the deal was only me, and if I didn't take it then...then that was it. I had to stay, continue all the training and...experiments. Neither one of us would ever get out if I agreed to that, so...I took their deal. They rushed me out in the middle of the night so that you wouldn't know, blindfolded me so that I wouldn't know where the facility was, and then dropped me in the middle of nowhere to fend for myself. I was hitchhiking for hours when this family drove past and found me."

"What did you tell them?" Homelander asked.

"I lied and said I had no idea what happened to me. I said bad people took me and I couldn't remember who they were or where I came from. Only that I remembered my first name, the only name that Barbara gave me. They looked into missing persons and couldn't find me anywhere here or in any other state. So - "

"They took you in," he finished. "They fostered you."

(Y/N) nodded. "They wanted to adopt me officially, but that's a whole process. They became like my family anyways. Like I said, I'm still in contact with them."

"Do they know you have powers?"

She shook her head. "I haven't used my powers since I got out of there. Not on purpose, anyways. There's always the odd slip up, but that's bound to happen."

Everything she said just resulted in more questions in his head. He wanted to ask her why she never disclosed to her "family" that she had powers, but he figured the answer to that was pretty simple: she wanted to be normal.

But she's not normal. She's never been normal. She was made to be a God, like me.

Instead of saying that, he said, "You never...called. Or came by the tower or...anything. You never tried to contact me."

"I did once, remember? When you asked me to be in The Seven."

Oh, he remembered. It was just after Lamplighter had announced his intention to leave, before they put out a nation wide search for a new member that resulted in Starlight joining the team. He asked Stillwell to wait on putting out word on a search because he had someone he wanted to ask first. Reluctantly, he turned to Vogelbaum, because he knew they must've had an idea of where (Y/N) ended up. Even when he thought she had just escaped, he knew they never would've let her truly be free of them. He asked Vogelbaum to send her a message: "Please come join The Seven. It would mean the world to me if you did."

Almost immediately, Vogelbaum called the tower to let Homelander know she had responded. "She said I'm sorry, but I can't."

He was locked in his room for days after that.

Now, he scoffed at her bringing up that memory. "That's not trying to contact me. That's responded to me trying to contact you, and having to go through Vogelbaum of all people to do it. You basically fell off the face of the Earth to me, but I was readily available to you if you ever gave enough of a fuck to reach out."

"You think I didn't care?!" (Y/N) snapped, standing from the couch. "You think I wasn't thinking of you every second after I got out of that hell hole?! That I wasn't trying for years to figure out where the hell they had you hidden so I could come save you, too? I tried everything John! I looked everywhere that I could, but I was too late. They were already parading you around on TV as the next Soldier Boy! The second they announced you'd be the leader of The Seven, I knew I was too late. They had already corrupted you too much, you were already another Supe pawn in Vought's attempts at global domination. I couldn't handle that. I couldn't try to pry you away from that when I knew you would never leave the spotlight. How could you? You're the world's greatest superhero, you had everyone at your feet. And I was just the girl who ran away from that life and stopped using her powers. How could you ever choose me over that?"

"I would've chosen you every time!" Homelander snapped back, getting to his feet as well to stand over her. "That's why I asked you to join The Seven!"

"But that's not what I wanted, John! I didn't want to be a hero. If I took you up on your offer, I would be letting Barbara and Vogelbaum and all of those other fuckers win. I just wanted to be normal! I wanted me and you to be normal!"

"But we're not fucking normal!"

Tears were running down her face as she backed away from him. He realized then that he was crying, too. So much built up emotion between the two of them was finally coming out. They both needed it, but goddamn, Homelander felt his heart breaking all over again.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

Suddenly, (Y/N) was throwing herself at him. Her arms were around his neck, holding onto him for dear life, and her lips were on his. He was surprised at first, but quickly wrapped his arms around her to hold her to him. He could taste the salt of their tears mixed with the wine they had been drinking. It was messy and far from the perfect kiss, but neither of them cared. It was the cultivation of years of emotions between them.

(Y/N) pulled away first. She rested her forehead against his, looking into his bright blue eyes. "I can't be your perfect Supe counterpart. I can't be a Supe, John, you have to understand that."

"I do," he said. "Whatever you need, I won't push you. I just want you back."

"You can have me," she said, her voice a whisper but he could still hear her plain as day. "You always had me."

He leaned in to kiss her again, picking her up in his arms as he did so. He never wanted to let her go again, so he wouldn't.

[sukunas-wife]

you could do something where sukuna and yuji team up to protect their mom/wife when a person is bothering or harassing her, they love her so much that they won't let someone hurt her 🥹💗

Leave Mama Kuna alone 😔

Old Day, because no one was brave enough to confront Sukuna for murder.

Warnings? Murder, in red text a man attempted to force himself on reader, Gore, Blood

It didn't take much to upset Sukuna, he was always looking for a reason to snap at someone and end a life. Sadly his son Yuji was a cock block for murder, and it irked him that he basically had to shake and rile his son up to get angry and then he’d just flat line and “but why don’t we-“ They didn’t agree to often on why a man should die- but in this case they were all agreeing. “Get him daddy!” Yuji yelled, pointing his chubby finger at a man maybe in his early Twenties who had been talking to you while you were trying to pick out Snacks for Yuji. He had wandered off after passing a candy stand and usually you’d send a maid or help to get the necessities but today you wanted to take Yuji out to walk and play and hopefully learn some self preservation, Sukuna, well he was feared and he just wanted to come along to make sure no idiot would try to disrespect you. “Listen, I’m just trying to get some things for my son. Leave while you still can and maybe my husband will let you live.” You smiled nodding at the man who scoffed “Your husband? What is he? a Mercenary? What’s he gonna do to kill me? That’s probably a lie you probably don’t even have a so-” you sighed turning away when Sukuna lifted the man by the neck with one hand twisting him around to face him, “No, I’m your God,” his stare darkened “but I’m not so merciful.” There stood Yuji by his dads leg, “Yeah! You deserve no mercy! That’s my mom you were disrespecting!… Idiot!” You tried not to laugh at Yuji’s extra words and went back to paying the scared vendor for the snacks you had picked out. By the time you looked back the guy was laid out on the floor bloody and probably just barely clinging to life, head being pressed into the dirt being grinded on by Sukuna’s large foot. Yuji was swinging away on his ribs and stomach, for a 7 year old his hits were surprisingly solid.

As the day progressed you had managed to convince Sukuna to have lunch despite the fact he didn’t eat human food. But he watched as Yuji sat beside him slurping away at noodles and his rice topped with diced meat, “Boy’s more human than curse.” Was all Sukuna said when Yuji looked up at him, noodles hanging out his mouth before he slurped them up smiling. “Daddy I gotta Pee.” Sukuna sighed standing up out of the booth, “then go.” “…go with me?” Yuji looked up at his dead with pleading eyes before Sukuna groaned and motioned for him to go, “Fine.” Sukuna was waiting outside the bathroom when he heard a trio, two men and one woman. “That's her isn’t it? She’s the Deity at the Shrine house isn’t she?” One man asked the girl. She just shrugged, “Yeah but I don’t see what’s so special about her? So she had some big curses kid, her body’s probably trashed or something.” “Shut up Kaguya, you're probably just jealous, any man would give anything to lay that woman in their bed. If I had a chance I’d get her pregnant too, look at her, I’d do anything to pull her robes off.” The second guy spoke up, “That’s sick man, she has a husband and kid, Yeah she’s pretty but she’s literally a deity, have some respect.” Kaguya interrupted “She’s probably a slut and maid who just had sex with him and got lucky she got pregnant, she’d probably spread her legs for anyone if they offered a comfortable lif-“ Sukuna’s hands were bloody, in a matter of seconds he had ripped th hearts out of the first man and the girls chest. It hadn't been processed as they managed to look up his blood covered hands. The smirk on his face was sinister and became worse when the second man looked up at him in fear, struggling to scream. He shoved the man’s friend's heart into his mouth like a gag, leaning down with a threatening voice “You’d do best to keep your mouth shut.”

Yuji and you had wandered off from Sukuna when he became surrounded by people bearing gifts to honour him. He was annoyed and even more when he turned to realise both you and Yuji had left his side. You were taking Yuji with you to the shrine house the people had built for you. The eunuchs at the entrance greeted you, stopping to ask if Yuji would be entering with you, which caused him to hold onto the side of your robes and sleeve, you put your hand on his shoulder comforting him, “Yes, this is my son after all.” Entering the shrine, you made your way all the way to the back where you would sit and wait before the doors would open to the public. Yuji was walking around the room looking around until he stopped. You had a wall where all the drawings he’d ever given you while leaving the palace had been framed because “I don wan you to forget me” A young girl came into the room shocked that Yuji was there until you cleared your throat, “oh! Forgive me Lady Y/n, I didn’t know you would be here today.” You waved a hand of dismissal. “I didn’t expect to be here either, but I thought Yuji,” you looked at him, he was staring at the girl in the door, slowly walking to you, his eyes never left her face. He looked serious, a face his dad often wore when something was wrong and he was watching it play out or when he was lost in thought. He turned away from you leaning against your lap standing between you and the girl. “Who the hell is she?” He sounded like a younger version of his dad with his demanding tone and dead stare, his curse word caught you off guard. You tried to form words stopping when you couldn’t, “she’s a servant who works here Yu, what’s wrong?” You leaned trying to get a look at his face, but he wouldn’t turn to look at you, he had his target. The girl became uncomfortable under his stare, “well, him Lady y/n there was an expecting mother who came by begging for a miracle.. the details shouldn’t be explained in front of such a young boy or boy at all really but-“ you held up your hand silencing her. “Bring her into the main room. I'll be out in a minute. I just need to make sure Yuji will be okay here for a few minutes.” She bowed, closing the door, Yuji turned to look at you and he seemed visibly at ease, “Yu.. what’s wrong?” He looked at the door, “She’s funny.. in a bad way..” you didn’t know how to answer. “Alright, I’ll remember that then.” You stood up, setting him on your chair and kneeling in front of him, “Will you be okay here? Alone for a short bit?” He shook his head no while kicking his feet, “Don’t leave me.”

That’s how you ended up with Yuji following quietly behind you when you made your way through the hallways to the main room. He got distracted stopping for a moment to look at a picture, the end of the hallway split two ways. There was a painting of Sukuna holding newborn Yuji, he looked so serious in the painting, when you told Sukuna you wanted it for your shrine he refused to smile saying it wouldn’t look good in the public eye or something along those words. Yuji was pulled out of his day dream when he heard you scream, he ran trying to find you. He froze seeing a man cornering you in the hallway, you were fighting him off the best you could but you couldn’t only do so much against a half curse half man that was attempting to measure up to Sukuna. He was far off from even touching the hem of Ryomen’s robes, but he was an entitled arrogant bastard. When the servant girl came, Yuji saw how she smiled at the scene. Yuji ran in blind, jumping and climbing the man’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck and biting into his shoulder. The man screamed and tried to pull Yuji free. He couldn’t do it alone so the servant girl tried, you fought harder when you saw how she was shaking him around. You broke free from the man's grip pulling Yuji free from her before rushing screaming for Sukuna, all the eunuchs wouldn’t be able to help you. The man grabbed your robes and Yuji fell from your arms, he watched his man lift you by the front of your robes and your hands, nails were digging into his wrist.

Why don’t you use your technique mom!? DO SOMETHING! dads not he- “Domain Expansion” the room went black, there was the sound of a drip and everything was dark, it felt hard to breathe, “Cleave.” Your eyes widened before you shoved the man off of you. You heard the squelch and thud of a body, and the crashing and cracking of the walls to your shrine being torn apart. Turning to look you saw Yuji, his hand sign was opposite his fathers, but he looked livid. His face was covered in markings mirroring his fathers more human form. You wanted to say something, but you turned to the gaping wall. The Cursed man was laying in the dusty street, he was sliced deeply but not fatally. The servant didn’t stand a chance. She was sliced finely for betrayal. Watching a crowd gather you pulled Yuji with you to see if the cursed man was alive. He was laying there, unfocused, he saw you and yelled “ILL FUCKING KILL YOU AND YOUR DAMN CHILD I AM THE ONE DESTINED FOR GREAT I WILL BE THE KING OF CURSES YOU BOTH WILL DIE AT MY HANDS,” before forcing himself up, chest, arms, and waist crossed with deep gashes.

He tried to lift his hands only to realise they weren’t there, his arms were gone. Yuji was mad that a man would try to take advantage of his mother, but as long as his father wasn’t there he would be there, but for now, a low chuckled rumbled behind the man, “You’ll need your hands to even think about laying them on my wife and son.” Sukuna wrapped his arm around the man from behind, large hand squeezing his neck, a low grumble, “You aren’t strong, you’re a fool and your brain is a pile of shit. You deserve only the worst death, but I’m having a little fun here so I’ll make this slow and painful.” Uraume approached Sukuna holding out his staff. Sukuna stabbed it into the ground piercing the man on the pointed edges, letting him sink down until it pierced through his chest. There the cursed man screamed and no matter how much he squirmed and begged for mercy Sukuna would push him down further. The man begged for mercy, for him to stop, “Did you listen to my wife when she asked you to stop?” He took the man’s jaw in his hand forcing him to look up at him, the pressure slowly fracturing his jaw as he shook his head no trying to profusely apologise. Sukunas nails dug into his face before he let go, “Did you have mercy on my wife when you grabbed her like this?” His large hand crushed the man's throat, nails digging into his skin, blood flowing, “WHEN MY WIFE TRIED TO PUSH YOU AWAY DID YOU WALK AWAY? NO YOU TRIED TO TOUCH HER LIKE THIS.” Sukuna placed his hand on the man’s chest, “dishonourable actions will be paid for with blood.” The crowd was watching when Sukuna drove his hand into the man’s chest squeezing his heart in his chest, the man screamed and gurgled as he spat up blood. Sukuna ripped out his heart throwing it on the ground and ripping off his head crushing his skull in his head, “Let this be a warning to every human in the vicinity, in this city in the existence of this time, that any man or woman who would act to lift a hand against my child or wife, your blood will be spilled to atone your sins.”

The crowd quickly cleared out and Sukuna turned to you, Yuji still had the markings on his face, his eyes were red. Sukuna nodded, holding an arm out to you. Pushing Yuji ahead of you, you started to tear up, hugging your husband’s side. Yuji was hugging your side. “Ryo-“ he shushed you using a hand to press your face against his chest. Burying your face against his hot skin your body wanted to tremble while you cried into the comforting of your husband but his presence was reassuring as surprising as it might sound. He rubbed his warm hand up and down your back “I’m here now.” He rested his chin on top of your head, he looked down at Yuji pulling him into his other side ruffling his hair. “You did good kid.” Yuji still looked serious before he leaned into his dads side with a slight smile. He went over to hug you, you took hold of him and he didn’t let go until you stopped sniffling. He smiled up at you, puffy eyes and red cheeks, Sukuna snickered, pinching your cheek making a joke, Yuji’s bright smile didn’t falter, “I still think you’re pretty.” Your sudden laugh made your husband and son laugh. Kneeling down you pinched both of Yuji’s cheeks lightly as he laughed, before cupping his face in both hands bringing him close to kiss both of cheeks and forehead calling him “My Little Protector.” He smiled with pride before you got up smiling at Sukuna, he sides eyed you before sighing leaning to the side giving you his face, “and my big hero.” Cupping his face you brought him into a kiss and he smirked against your lips when Yuji let out a loud “eeeewwww”

“Cmon Yu,” you held your hand out to him and he took it happily walking while holding your hand, “I’ll be stronger next time!”

Tag:

@sakuxxi @mercymccann @simpforyoubitch @certainduckanchor @domainofmarie @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @sad-darksoul @cyder-puff @satorisgirl l @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 7

[fictionismyreality3]

Jealousy is my Best Friend (18+)

Jason Todd x Reader

Tags: Smut, jealous!jason todd, protective!jason todd, possessive!jason todd

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, penetrating sex, hair pulling, choking, spanking, sir kink

Notes: am I.. a whore? MaByE🤪 I would certainly let Jay do anything mentioned in this oneshot 🫣and OMG ANGry SeX

When you got invited to the Wayne Christmas Party you knew Jason would be livid.

It was almost a year since you’d been together and you grew to know him inside and out. Once you got past the edgy, broody and overly aggressive personality, he really was a sweet guy. But he got jealous.

Really jealous.

Since you had moved in with Jason a few months ago, you had gotten to see his more possessive side almost 24/7. He was rarely ever out of touching distance, always keeping a hand on you, especially if you had company over. The few times you met his brothers, he was practically acting like a viscous guard dog.

That’s why you knew he wouldn’t be happy that Bruce had invited you without him knowing. But, in defence of Gotham’s Dark Knight, everyone knew that Jason didn’t want you involved with his family.

So, obviously you accepted the invitation.

Yes, you knew he would be mad when he found out and when you insisted on going, but you wanted to be a part of all aspects of his life.

So, here you were. Standing in the living room of your apartment, all dressed up and ready to go, with Jason sitting fuming on the couch.

“You’re not going.” He murmured.

“Why? Do you know how bitchy I would seem I didn’t show up?” You said exasperated.

Jason ran a hand through his hair in frustration, letting out a long sigh as his eyes drifted up and down your outfit again.

“You’re not going in that.”

You were reaching the end of your rope. You had been arguing with Jason for the better part of half an hour and he hadn’t budged. The dress you had picked out for the party was one of the few times you let yourself splurge. You looked hot. You knew you looked hot and Jason knew it too. That’s why it was so impossible for him to sit with the fact that other men would be seeing you.

Jason’s eyes roamed your body again. The red fabric of the dress hugged your hips, making him want to reach out and grab you. His colour. He knew you chose that dress just to get him worked up and he loved how well it was working.

Not knowing who was going to be looking at you was utterly infuriating, even more so since he knew exactly what they would be thinking. A gorgeous girl like you? Fuck, if he wasn’t already with you he’d be eye fucking you along with the rest of them. Not that he wasn’t already.

“Are you even listening, Jay?”

Your voice broke him out of his lusting thoughts and he felt the sour pang of jealousy creep to the forefront of his mind once more.

“I’m not gonna waste this dress! Do you know how much I spent-”

“Shut… christ, shut your pretty little mouth and let me talk for one fucking second.” He growled.

Your mouth hung open, floundering for a second before it closed. Jason’s fists were clenching and unclenching. You watched that vein that only popped out when he was angry beginning to pulse with blood. His head was in his hands as he ran his hands through his hair.

With a predatory speed, his head raised and his gaze snapped to yours. His eyes pulsed green.

Before you could figure out what was happening he was striding across the room and pinning you against the wall, his hands on either side of your head.

“Jay, I didn’t-” You tried.

The rest of your pleading sentence was cut short as Jason’s hand slipped from the wall to wrap around your throat, squeezing slightly. He really wished you would just be quiet. Every time you opened your mouth he just wanted to fill it with something other than words.

“Do you know..” he inhaled sharply, “how fucking hard it is to let people seen even an inch of your skin?”

“I can-” You began to say, but Jason’s grip on your throat tightened and the words stopped at your lips.

“Stop. Talking.” His jaw ticked.

With a tortured sigh, he dipped his head down to the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin. He was utterly enraptured by you, and the thought of anyone else having you made his skin crawl.

“You’re not going to the party.” He said, his voice a little softer as he placed a gentle kiss to your neck.

“Jay, please. I need to meet your family.” You protested.

Your continued pleading was interrupted by your phone ringing where you had put it on the kitchen counter. Squinting your eyes, you just made out the caller ID. Dick Grayson. Thinking he could talk some sense into Jason, you used the distraction of the noise to break from his hold and run to the kitchen.

Grabbing the phone, you answered as quickly as you could. But, before you could get a word out, Jason snatched it right out of your hand.

“We’re not coming.” He said darkly, and hung up before Dick could say a word.

Okay, now you were fucked.

You took a step back and retreated all the way into the kitchen until the back of your legs hit the counter.

The taste of jealousy Jason had tried to push down was rearing its ugly head more than ever. Of all people, you were going to get his brother to help? He was fine when strangers tried something with you, he could always break a few arms. But his brother? Fuck no.

Jason prowled towards you. The sound of each step on the kitchen tile reverberated through your bones. He consumed your field of vision as he trapped you between him and the kitchen counter. You bit your lip, knowing better than to say anything. You knew that you had earned a rough punishment.

He closed his eyes, trying to keep a lid on his temper, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

He kissed your forehead.

“Knees.”

Your legs clenched together as a rush of heat flooded your core. The dark eyes of your boyfriend looked at you expectantly, and it was all you could do not to melt on the spot. Not wanting to earn a harsher punishment, you lowered yourself to the floor.

Jason’s eyes drifted to where your skin met the hard tile. He took off his suit jacket and bent down to put it underneath your knees. The only marks on your skin would be from him.

Your heart swooned at his actions. Even though he was gonna fuck you silly, he was still treating you like a princess.

“What should I do with you, huh?” His fingers found your chin and he tilted your head up to look at him.

Seeing those pretty doe eyes of yours staring up at him was almost enough to make him cum in his pants.

“Should I fuck your bratty mouth?” He said condescendingly sweet. Your head was swimming as your panties pooled with desire. You loved how he reduced you to a speechless mess with just a few words.

“Answer me, sweetheart.” He rasped.

“Yes, please Jay.” You whined.

Your begging was only met with a sharp tug of your hair, and you realized your mistake.

“Sir! Yes please, sir.” You corrected quickly.

That was more like it. Jason smiled down at you proudly, almost smug with the way you went from angry to eager for his cock. With torturously slow movements, he undid his belt and placed it on the counter beside him. He usually liked to please you first, but he was too riled up to go slow.

His hand came to hold your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he undid the zipper of his pants. Most of the times he made you take him out, but he didn’t want to look away from your pretty eyes.

Even if you wanted to move, you couldn’t with the way he was holding you. The head of his cock brushed against your lips, and he finally let go of your chin.

“Show me how sorry you are, baby.” He said lowly.

Your previous anger had evaporated into a haze of desire, and you greedily took him into your mouth, earning a deep groan from Jason. One of his hands threaded into your hair as it had done a hundred times before, and you twirled your tongue around the head of his cock.

The familiar heat of desire thrummed through your veins, and with each lick you felt your pussy dripping with arousal. Jason murmured praises under his breath, his quiet groans filling the room.

God, he loved your mouth.

So hot and wet. Perfectly skilled at drawing all sorts of noises he didn’t know he could make from his lips. And your hands were even better. As soon as you started to roll his balls in your hand, his head tipped back in ecstasy.

“Dirty girl.” He gasped out.

Seeing how much you affected him filled your heart with pride, but before you could make a bratty comment, he had both hands in your hair and was pushing his cock to the back of your mouth.

You gagged instinctively, and your hands shot out to his thighs, pushing weakly against him. You moaned around his cock, only making him press himself deeper in your mouth until your nose touched his pubic bone.

“Oh, fuck baby.. just a-” His cock pulsed, heavy in your mouth. “Just a little more.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes and your pussy clenched on nothing. God, he loved making you cry on his cock. He barely held back his orgasm as your little hands started to hit against his legs.

“Oh.. okay. Shit, princess you’re so.. whiny.” He mummers.

You try your best to take all of him down your throat, but he’s so big that it makes it hard to breathe. Wanting to please him seemed to be the only thought in your head as your core burned with the anticipation of the pleasure you would receive in return.

You sucked hard once, then twice, and had him gasping. Taking his cock from your mouth, he pulled you up from the floor.

“You want this cock so bad you have to be fucking brat?” He growled as he bent you over the counter top.

The cool air suddenly rushed across your skin as he ripped your dress off, throwing it to the floor without care. You were left bare apart from your bra and panties, which were red to match your dress.

“That was expensive..” You complained.

“I’ll buy you another one.” He said as he kept you pinned to the counter with a hand on your back.

And you knew he would.

He loved seeing you like this. Bent over, legs spread, your pussy dripping so much your panties already had a dark patch. Your red panties. His colour on his girl. He took a breath in through his nose, his hips jutting forwards and brushing against your clit.

“Jay-” A swift spank had your ass blooming with stinging pain.

“Sir! Sir, sir, sir.. M’sorry.. please, sir.. please.” You whined, repeating the title over and over again.

Jason got to his knees, pushing your legs apart, and pulled your panties down, throwing them with your discarded dress. His hands ran up and down your legs, the calloused skin of his palms making you shudder with impatience. Sensing your desperation, he decided to take mercy on you. You had been a good girl so far.

Without warning, he licked from your clit to leaking slit, moaning at the sweet taste his girl on his tongue. He could eat you for days and never need to come up for air.

“So needy..” He whispered, the air from his words brushing your clit and making you whine.

With one hand on the back of your thigh, and the other on your ass, he began to eat you from behind. His movements were aggressive like him, and he licked and sucked you without abandon. He had your hands flailing against the countertop, only to find nothing to hold on to.

He felt your thighs shaking where they were around his head, and pushed two fingers inside. You cried out in pleasure, your eyes squeezing shut as he curled his fingers to hit that perfect spot over and over and over and-

“Don’t you dare fucking cum.” He hissed, his words muffled by your cunt.

Strings of moans and high pitched mewls fell from your throat as Jason worked you up to the edge, only to pull his fingers out or take his tongue off your clit. You couldn’t even lift your head anymore, your mind too dizzy with pleasure as he pumped his fingers into you.

“I’m gonna.. need to.. oh, pl-please-” You words came out choked when when Jason suddenly added a third finger, stretching you out.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” He said pulling his head back, leaving you missing his tongue.

“Y-yes..” You mewl breathlessly.

Jason hummed in consideration, his fingers slowing down almost to a stop. You felt painfully empty as he pulled his fingers out of your needy pussy, your walls squeezing around air. Jason stood up, still behind you, and leaned down. His chest pressed against your back and all of your senses were consumed by his weight on top of you.

“Who gets to touch this perfect little pussy?” He whispered into your ear.

“You, sir.” You gasped.

“Hm.. and who gets to decide if you get to cum?”

“You, sir..” You words came out breathy.

“Good fucking girl.” Jason rasped.

Far too soon his weight was off of you, but your mind was quickly calmed as you felt the tip of his cock rubbing up and down your entrance. You sighed out in bliss, your mind running through all the other times he had you screaming.

“Gonna take me real good, huh?” He muttered and slammed his cock into you without a moments notice.

Your mouth fell open in a silent cry. Tears pooled in your eyes as your breath caught in your throat.

You were so full.

Everything about Jason was large, including his cock, and you felt like you were fucking him for the first time all over again. You could never get used to his size.

After letting you adjust for a moment, ever the gentlemen even when blowing your back out, he began to lazily roll his hips into you.

The teasingly slow pace was incomprehensibly difficult for Jason to maintain. As soon as he was inside of you it took every ounce of willpower to resist fucking you so hard that your brains leaked out of your pussy.

But he wanted to see you fall apart even more.

You whimpered and whined, making such pretty noises for him. His large hands gripped your waist easily, allowing him to prevent you from getting greedy and bouncing back on his cock.

“Oh g-god please.. I can’t handle it..” You said in what felt like part moan, part sob.

Jason stilled his movements and you thought you might cry, but then he tangled a hand in your hair and pulled you up so your back was flush against his chest.

“Who owns you, princess?” He said as he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“You do, Jason.” You mewled.

“That’s fucking right, baby. Good girl.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

And before you could ask he was already bending you back over, your chest against the cool marble countertop as he began to pound into you relentlessly.

You cried out at the sudden roughness, your walls clenching around his cock, earning a strangled moan from Jason. If it wasn’t for the hand he had on the back of your neck, you would have been pitching forward with each thrust. Your hands shot out to press against the white tile backsplash, needing something to ground you. Every time he pumped into you the tip of his cock would brush against your cervix, the delicious pang of being full of Jason had you screaming.

“You’re okay. You can- oh fuck..” He gasped out as your pussy tightened around him. “You can take it, pretty girl.”

He rasped out the reassurance, but he didn’t know how much longer he could stop himself from cumming. Every time he fucked you he only got more hooked on your body. The sounds you made, the noises and little breathy whimpers always had him harder than he thought was possible.

And you really were doing so well.

He knew he had been rough with you, but when your sweet little cunt was so fucking tight around him, how was he supposed to go slow? With every thrust he watched your eyes roll further back into your head. It felt like he was molding you from the inside out. Shaping you to fit with him and only him.

All you could do was lay there and take it. Tears had begun to fall down your cheeks, and Jason reached down to brush them away.

“You.. jesus christ, you’re mine, sweetheart.” He gasped out.

You nodded, your wanton moaning answer enough. You looked over your shoulder at Jason and his resolve snapped.

His hips were suddenly pistoling into you with a speed only reachable by a man like him. Your jaw hung open as a string of curses and groans bubbled past Jason’s lips.

“Need to..” You begged incoherently.

“I know, I know.. shit-” His cock twitched inside you. “cum with me, sweetheart.”

As soon as the words of permission slipped from his mouth your body reacted before your mind could process it. You cried out as your eyes rolled back in your head, your legs quivering so much you were grateful to be bent over the counter. Jason was cumming just as soon as he felt your cunt squeeze around him with a vice like grip. His thrusts became erratic and sloppy as he gasped and groaned out in pleasure.

Your head was hazy as your legs twitched with aftershocks. The only reminder that you were still on earth was Jason leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your neck.

“That’s it. Deep breath. Did so good for me, baby.” He cooed soothingly and pulled out.

You whined at the loss of him, feeling empty, but he quickly silenced you with a searing kiss. He watched with a proud grin as he leaked out of you, dripping down your inner thigh.

After you had calmed down enough to remember how to breath, Jason picked you up easily and began carrying you to the bathroom, his eyes on your face the entire time.

“Maybe I should make you angry more often.” You giggled.

He rolled his eyes at your remark, giving your nose a little kiss.

“Don’t even think about it.”

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

idk if this is a sex ed question, or if you're the right person to ask, sorry, but do you have any reputable sources about what testosterone *actually* does?

i see people saying it limits your emotions, that it gives you breast cancer, that it makes you malnourished, its a second more dangerous puberty, etc, and I'd like to think im good at picking out lies, but there's a lot of stuff that sounds like bullshit coming from blogs i thought were trustworthy.

if not, all good, thank you in advance!

hi anon,

I'm really glad you sent this ask, because this kind of scaremongering misinformation is deeply upsetting and I'm so happy to provide a better information.

there are tons of reputable sources as to what testosterone does; some that I'll be pulling from in this answer include Cleveland Clinic, Harvard Medical School, University of California San Francisco, Mayo Clinic, the Society for Endocrinology, and Planned Parenthood.

so, what's up testosterone?

testosterone is a hormone produced in everyone's bodies, either in the testes or the ovaries depending on which set of equipment you're working with. all bodies produce both estrogen and testosterone, usually in different levels. regardless of the genitalia you were born with, how you understand your gender, or what levels of testosterone you have in your body, testosterone affects things like your sex drive, your hair growth, muscle and bone density, and the production of red blood cells.

in people born with testes, puberty usually comes with an increase in testosterone that kicks off changes such as growth of the penis and testicles, the production of sperm, an increase in hair growth all over the body, deepening of the voice, greater production of oil on the skin, and an increase in height, weight, and muscle mass.

either an overabundance or a deficit of testosterone can have health complications, just as having more or less of any hormone that a body needs can cause complications.

people who choose to transition by taking testosterone will experience many similar effects as cisgender men going through puberty, including the increase in body hair, skin oils, and muscle mass, as well as a deepening voice. while people on testosterone are unlikely to experience significant growth in terms of height unless they start hormone replacement therapy (HRT) at a fairly young age, testosterone does frequently cause a redistribution of fat on their bodies to be more similar to that of cisgender men. bottom growth, the increased size and sensitivity of the clitoris to more closely resemble a penis, is also common; the clitoris and the penis are homologous structures (they're made out of the same goo when embryos start developing genitalia), hence why they react similarly to testosterone.

to address your specific concerns:

testosterone does not limit the range of a person's emotions. while it may impact a person's mood and the severity of their feelings, the same is true of any hormone - for instance, people also report mood changes when they take antidepressants or birth control. the sometimes drastic mood fluctuations experienced during puberty are not tied to a specific hormone; this is a turbulent time regardless of what hormones your body is producing the most. testosterone is stereotyped as making people angry and violent, but all people are people regardless of their biology and are shaped by much more than the hormones in their body.

while cisgender men and trans people on testosterone can both get breast cancer, testosterone does not pose any particular risk. several of the sources linked about don't find any significant link between taking testosterone HRT and an increased risk of breast cancer, reporting that transgender individuals who take testosterone are not at any particularly higher risk of developing breast cancer than cisgender women. for more detailed information about potential health problems affiliated with taking testosterone, I recommend the "Risks" section of the linked UCSF document. yes, there are health risks affiliated with taking testosterone; this is true of literally any medication and, more importantly, is also true of just being a person with any kind of hormones in your body. cis men and women also have health conditions affiliated with being cis men and cis women, this is the price of admission for having a human body. nobody gets out unscathed.

there is no evidence that testosterone causes someone to become malnourished. people undergoing a testosterone-based puberty, whether they're cis or trans, are likely to experience a great deal of growth and bodily changes that will use a great deal of calories, which means they may be hungry and need more food than they did previously. this is a normal effect of puberty on a body, and is only a risk for malnourishment if a person isn't able to eat in sufficient amounts to keep their body properly nourished.

there is nothing about a testosterone-based puberty that is "more dangerous" than an estrogen-based puberty, which is what I assume is the point of comparison. puberty is a completely natural process that does not pose any significant dangers unless you want to be a real dipshit about it and pull some shit like "puberty is dangerous because you grow breast tissue and then you're at risk for breast cancer," in which case sure, great job, Sherlock. you solved it, puberty is cancelled forever. I cannot emphasize enough how stupid this is, conceptually; roughly half the human population goes through this kind of puberty every day and they're fucking fine. puberty by itself is not a risk factor of anything.

I don't know what particular interest the blogs you've been following have in making testosterone-based puberty sound like it's going to turn you into an emotionally stunted skeleton with breast cancer, although I fear it's transphobia hidden unsubtly behind concern trolling and disdain for cisgender men.

if you're interested in taking testosterone and are concerned about the changes you might see in your body please, for the love of god, consult with reputable health resources and a doctor rather than whatever nematode is posting about testosterone ruining your life.

[kiatheinsomniac]

──── 𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ˊˎ -

☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: i'll love you forever if anyone knows what the title is a quote from. anyway, i was craving primal, desperate, bloody sex with alucard so here it is 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Adrian 'Alucard' Tepes x Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.2k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: MDNI, NSFW content, smut, biting, marking, blood drinking, oral (fem. receiving), overstimulation (male and fem.), men whimpering and moaning

A desperate noise leaves your lips as his fangs sink into your neck. There’s pain but a rush of pleasure too as his canines withdraw and his lips wrap gently yet eagerly around the wound, your blood pooling on his tongue, sluicing down his throat, staining his teeth red and pink. And when he kisses you, it’s with a mouth of heat and copper and yet it’s not off-putting in the slightest as his tongue slides against yours and he then buries his face in your neck again, lapping at the punctures over your throat, warm breath panting against your bloody skin. 

A moan leaves his lips and your hand tangles in his gossamer hair, the ends darkened and stuck together where they’ve swiped through the blood on your bodies. He’s not the only one leaving marks through as your other hand is scratching angry, vengeful lines down his back. He’s on top of you, nestled between your soft thighs, the insides which are already painted with fang punctures and love bites, having been thoroughly pampered and prepared with his skillful tongue before he even considered taking his own pleasure for you. 

His heart might be slower than yours but every beat of it belongs to you so as your pulse thrums through your veins like a storm, he listens to its flutters and feels the warmth of its work on his tongue. His alabaster skin is also smeared with the red liquid. Your life isn’t like his: it’s warm, red, brief and he wants to worship it. Your life flowing from your broken skin isn’t unappreciated at all and you’ll be treated like a queen of queens after this but for now he wants to love every part of you, of your nature, to feed from you if only to prove how his immortal life rests in your living hands. 

Your thighs squeeze his narrow waist, heels digging into his back to push him deeper into where he’s pumping in and out of your welcoming, wet walls. Between your flowing blood and arousal, your bodies meet with repeated wet smacks and he looks at you with lidded eyes the colour of winter sun. He’s beautiful – unspeakably so – and it only makes you pull him into another kiss, your tongue sliding past his fangs and tasting the bitterness of your blood and arousal that’s filled his mouth. 

The kiss breaks and he rests his forehead against yours, brow pinched in pleasure as he thrusts into you, stretching you sweetly as his tip kisses your cervix each time, hips angled to reach each sweet spot of yours along the way to keep those sweet moans and whines pouring past your bloodied lips. His breath mingles with yours and a whimper squeezes out of his pale throat. 

“You’re so warm… so, so warm.” He props himself up with a hand on the headboard and looks down at your writhing figure beneath him, breasts bouncing enticingly with each firm smack of his hips against yours. “I want to see you come again, I want to feel it.” His eyes are watery with how overwhelmingly good he feels, crystalline drops clinging to his long lashes. His other hand ventures down to your clit where he begins to rub sticky hearts, pressing down on the sensitive button to feel your walls clench around him. “So pretty… you’re so pretty, my love.” He sighs out when you throw your head back and he feels the way you tighten on his cock. 

He wants to keep on looking over you like this but he can’t resist the crimson splashed over your throat like sweet syrup and his tongue is lapping at the punctures he’s left in your flesh again. 

“Come for me, darling.” He coaxes, voice slightly muffled with the tip of his tongue still on your warm skin, “Come on my cock and show me your prettiest self.” He smiles when your moans go up in pitch and he can feel your thighs squirm and tense. With his one hand, he keeps on pressing and rubbing your clit, rapidly flicking the pads of his fingers over it, but the other goes to the back of your knee, pressing on it to hold you open so that you cannot close your legs when the pleasure washes over you. You wouldn’t be able to close your legs with him between them anyway but he wants an unobstructed view of your pussy swallowing his cock over and over so that he can see how you’ve made a halo of cream at his base, length shining with how much he can turn you on, the insides of your thighs smudged with blood and darkened with love bites. 

“A-Adrian, please.” You cry out as you begin to tremble and all that pressure building up in your belly finally collapses in on itself, sending utter bliss washing through your body. He bites you again, over your breast this time, and lets out a muffled moan of his own. You’re contracting so tightly around him that it’s got his hips stuttering and everything about you from your feel to your looks, your sounds, your scent, your taste has him going right over the edge with you. A whimper escapes him as he slows down his steady but firm pace, now just grinding into you as he pumps you full of warm cum. He leans down over you more and shifts your hips so that it’s less likely for it to spill out of you. 

You’re both pushed to your most sensitive states but he doesn’t care and continues to grind into that soft spot of yours with his tip over and over and over, pulling soft, wet noises from your fluttering walls. He fucks his cum deeper into you, not wanting a drop to spill from your body for now and yet he’s already anticipating the sight of seeing it leak from you when he pulls out. Alucard’s body feels as though it’s on fire with the overstimulation settling into his being and yet he’s enjoying you far too much to care and with those beautiful tears prickling the corners of your glittery eyes, he can’t find it in himself to stop. 

He nuzzles into your bloodied neck as his arms wrap around your back, pulling you close to him and encouraging your spine into an arch. You’re trembling like a leaf in the wind but he’s right there with you, desperate sounds slipping past bloodied lips for the both of you. Eventually, he reaches the pinnacle of that sweet fire in his veins and he finally goes still. He presses a kiss to your collarbone reverently and then slowly pulls out, mindful of how sensitive the both of you are. Just as anticipated, he’s blessed with the sight of your puffy pussy that glistens with your juices and leaks his thick ropes of cum, framed by your pretty thighs that he’s bruised with his mouth and punctures with his teeth, smudged with blood. 

He lays down beside you and pulls you into his arms, bodies damp with sweat and blood. You curl up against his toned, scarred chest and he’s holding the most precious thing in the world. He smooths your hair back and away from your face, lips pressing to your forehead as he closes his eyes, coming down from his high. He cups your cheek and then kisses that next.

After around ten minutes, he gets up to begin doting on you like royalty. You deserved every bit of pleasure he was capable of giving and now you deserve every ounce of care. 

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[thesuperiorrobin]

Bruce told him countless times.

It’s dangerous to get close to a civilian as a hero. But when does Damian Wayne ever listen to his father? But he retreats it. He should have listened to him this one time, however. When the news broke out that a certain girl was taken in broad daylight on her way home from school, He knew. It was a gut feeling. A horrible feeling that ate him away.

You two have been caught countless times—with headlines booming on the news about the secret girl Robin has been seen with. The good thing is no one has gotten a good clear picture of your face.

Until now that is.

Damian doesn’t know how they found out about you—much less figure out the specific route you take home. It takes him two days to find out where you are. With no help.

He wanted to find you and bring you back home safely.

To your family and back to him.

The men that belonged to Joker weren’t bright, but they were kind enough to keep you fed at least. They wanted you alive to be used as bait to capture Robin. You kept your distance from them, tried to at least. When they asked you about his identity you kept your mouth shut. For one reason being that you don’t know his identity. They never believed you. It was always the same for two days straight. They’ll get angry and take it out on you if you said nothing—hopping that the constant abuse would lead you to blurt it out.

At the end of the second day, you’re curled away in the corner. Knees pulled to your chest, head down trying to hide away. You were scared that they were going to kill you if you didn’t fuss up, fearing that you’d die for something you never knew. You could hear heavy footsteps—the sound made your heart drop every time and when the door slammed open, you couldn’t help but let out a yelp, scooting closer to the wall hoping it’ll suck you up as you covered your face.

Someone grabs ahold of your wrist—as a reflex you try to get away from their hold. Thrashing and pulling, But they’re much stronger than you are.

“Let go!” You shout “I already told you I don’t know who he is! Please I’m telling the truth!”

“Hey—y/n—Hey!” Your ears seem to block out the person who calls out your name as you keep fighting until the person grasps ahold of your forearms—shanking you roughly to get you out of the trance. They bring their hand up and you flinch back.

“Y/n, It’s me! Please you need to calm down” You are taken aback by the sudden familiar voice and you finally open your eyes as you look up. Green, red, and yellow fill your vision—and green eyes stare back at yours. You recognize them.

You recognize him.

Damian stands before you with his mask stripped off his face and a worried look painted on his features. Your breathing is heavy “Dam……Damian?”

He nods, gloved hand bringing itself up towards your face gently as he brushes strands of hair out of your face to get a better look. Clothes torn, hair messy, dirt and specks of dried blood cover your body as well as faint bruises that he could see. It makes him angry, but his priority is you right now. Bruce is dealing with the idiots who took you.

“It’s me. Yes—are-are you alright?”

You don’t answer—instead, you throw yourself in his arms—wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you clutch his cape. Damian doesn’t hesitate as he wraps his arms around your waist securely, soothing you as he gently rubs up and down your back. Like how a parent would soothe their crying child at night. He can feel you shaking in his arms and sobs that escape past your lips break his heart, all he can do is stay quiet and hold you.

“It’s alright, I got you. You’re safe now”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

A challenge (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: In which you are in a search for identity, and Aemond is in search for a way to prove his superiority to your father. Somehow, you find each other.

Warnings: Fluff. Chaotic family dynamics. Royce! Reader. Angry! Reader. Sword-fighting in dresses. Mature language. Unkind thoughts. Deeply violent thoughts. Eyefucking. Aemond’s toasts ™

A/N: I tried! Feral reader to match Aemond.

THE PETITION FOR Driftmark is none of your concern. Your castle sits in a different region altogether, but you still show up a few days before it is meant to take place.

The years spent trying to turn into bronze have not served you well. Hard metals are also brittle, after all. The fact that all these years have passed, and you still wish to meet your father shows it.

Your ears in King’s Landing are paid handsomely enough to provide you information that allows you to beat him there. It allows you to avoid the riffraff, and settle into the unknown territory before the confrontation.

Not knowing the terrain well enough had killed your mother. You wouldn’t make the same mistake.

Daemon should have raised you. Taught you how to hatch your dragon egg and speak the tongue of your ancestors. But it isn’t like the Rogue Prince to raise daughters. You have heard he has also sent one of the replacement ones to foster at Driftmark. He only raises other men’s sons.

The same could be said for his brother. King Viserys had kept a steady stream of correspondence with you when you had been a child, perhaps feeling guilty for Daemon’s behavior. Not enough to stop it, or bring you justice for your mother’s death, though. It was why you had no qualms about using the flimsy connection to convince the Queen to host you.

The day of your arrival is perfectly sunny. You have always liked the outdoors, a fact that your cousin Tobar attributes to your mother. It is why you decide to explore the grounds instead of supervising your trunks being taken inside.

The Red Keep has grand gardens and a Godswood, but what really catches your eyes is the courtyard. Some knights and squires are training in groups, and it has your blood pumping. After hours copped up in a carriage, your hands itch for the chance to unsheathe Lamentation.

Tobar had gifted you with it when you had turned six and ten, claiming you had become proficient enough to be trusted with it. The same age your father had been knighted, and given Dark Sister. A woman's sword, just as you carried a man’s one. The symmetry amused you.

You stood to the side, arms crossed over your chest. There was a cluster of men in the center, watching a fight. The rhythmic smacking of steel against flesh could be heard, hinting at proficient swordsmen, even if their bodies didn’t allow you to see what was actually going on.

“Smaller than I remember.” Someone shoves you, making you stumble. You turn to glare, and meet the back of a brown haired boy. Another one, smaller, follows him. They are already moving past, without even apologizing.

The courtyard is a big space. It’s only rudeness or hurry that leads them, and you incline towards the first one. With a scowl, you move towards the fight instead.

The crowd parts easily for you. Most of them are knights and squires, and your dress identifies you as a noble lady, with the intricate stitching and heavy velvet. They are practically trained to be polite.

One of the fighters has dark coloring, and wears a Kingsguard’s gambeson. He is handsome, but the one that really catches your attention is the other man. He has long, silver hair, and moves gracefully in the ring. Your traitorous heart gives a lurch.

Daemon. You step closer to the front, and one of the knights places an arm before you, as if to protect you. Your father. He is so slight, and he is deeply-

He is not Daemon. His waist is too trim, his limbs longer. And as he shifts around his opponent, you notice an eye patch on his face. Must be the King’s second son.

Aemond? Daeron? You cannot recall. He prances around with all your father’s arrogance, as if he were certain of his victory. You assess him with a critical eye. His confidence is unwarranted. His footing is slightly askew. He leans too much forward when lunging, trying to overcompensate and add strength he lacks to his blade. He would benefit from focusing on speed rather than brute force.

Despite all the unconventional techniques he employs, he seems to be winning. The crowd makes awed noises when he manages to land a hit, and cheers as the Kingsguard is pushed back.

The duel ends quickly. He disarms the Kingsguard with a quick flick of his wrist, his sword sent flying. You frown, finding it sloppy, but the crowd breaks out into applause.

“Well done, my Prince.” The Kingsguard says, confirming your initial thoughts. This is one of your cousins. “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” The man says, and you fight a smirk. The profanity is amusing, for someone so tightly wound. You step closer to them, but he spots the rude brown haired boys before he spots you. “Nephews… Have you come to train?”

The boys look like they are about to shit themselves. It makes you smirk.

“They haven’t.” You answer, only realizing the words once you speak them. You had not planned to make a challenge, nor had you intended to part from the crowd. But often, your body reacts before your mind can do so. “But I have.”

Some squires laugh. The younger brown haired boy fights a smile. It doesn’t anger you. You know what you look like to them, in your heavy velvet dress with bronze embroidery. The skirt is full and pleated, covering the sword strapped to your hip in a sea of cloth.

The only ones who do not laugh are the Kingsguard, who is too busy wiping blood from his mouth, and your cousin. Instead, his eye meets yours.

He stalks towards you, every movement calculated to look intimidating. He moves like a predator, all graceful and long lines. It is clear he is used to using his height as a part of the routine, so it amuses you that he can’t quite loom over you.

Because you stand tall. You always do.

“And who are you, who dares defy a Prince so openly?” His voice sounds amused.

You look at him. It is true you have not met him before, but you would expect at least a hint of recognition in his eye. Even if you look more Royce than Targaryen. The runes embroidered on your dress practically scream your identity.

“No one who wishes you harm.” You smile, picking up the hem of your skirts. Most of your dresses have been cleverly designed, to allow you to turn the lower part of them into breeches by tugging on a few ribbons and securing some knots. The sword at your hip is revealed as you do so, and you revel in the attention the dramatic display gathers.

“I welcome all challengers.” Your cousin bows his head to you. “If they dare face me.”

“My prince I do not think…” The Kingsguard advises, wisely. Perhaps he senses the sharpness of your grin doesn’t forebode anything good for his pupil.

“Oh, Cole. Let the lady try.” The Prince answers, dismissively. “And we can go on with our days after I disarm her. It’s not as if I will hurt her.”

You unsheathe your sword. While the thought is gallant, he won’t hurt you because you are the superior swordsman. But it’s sort of cute that he worries.

“Of course, Ser. The prince will not harm me.” You slide into the proper stance, Lamentation held loosely by your side.

Your cousin studies you, in silence. He must know as well as you do that the person to make the first move is always at a disadvantage. He is handsome, you think. His jaw is so sharp, you could cut your hands while trying to hold him.

You are better at the waiting game. You have waited years for a chance to meet your father, you can wait a few minutes for him to become unsettled.

He lunges at you, a smug smile on his face. Hoping to force you into blocking. Instead, you move aside, allowing him to tumble forward. Your assessment of him was right. He put too much force behind his blow, sure it would connect.

Someone snickers, and you turn slightly towards the sound, recognizing it as made by the Strong boy. A sudden smacking sound and a flash of heat against your arm forces you focus on the fight. Your cousin has taken advantage, and managed to hit you with the flat of his sword.

Lamentation remains held by your side, but you tighten your grip on it, feeling the ridges on the pommel dig against your palm.

He lunges again, a frown marring his handsome face. You twist away. Once again, he repeats the same mistake.

“Are you aware…” Your cousin shouts. “That swordplay involves using a sword?”

“Oh, I am.” You grin at him, hoping to goad him into making more mistakes. Your arm still feels warm from his blow. For such a slight man, he sure is strong. You had underestimated him too much. “It’s just… You are such a poor swordsman I thought we were dancing.”

The rest of the knights and squires fall silent after you speak. It allows you to hear the change in his breath, exertion yielding to rage. He can't take a joke, it seems because his next cut is aimed at your neck.

Were you not ready to meet him, he could have killed you. But fortunately, you are done playing with your food. You lift Lamentation and smack the flat side against his wrist, hard enough to make him drop the sword.

Had you not swung flat side first, he would not only be missing an eye. By the look on his face, and the way he stares at his wrist, he knows it too.

His eye lowers to the fallen sword, perplexed. He seems unable to believe how it has betrayed him.

You unmake the knots and lacings of your skirts, releasing them back into their normal state. You fluff them up, just for show.

“Nice match, cousin.”

You prance back inside.

“HOW GOOD IT is… to see you all tonight… together.” You are sitting next to your decaying uncle, the place of honor having been afforded to you thanks to your supposed stream of correspondence. You are deeply regretting that lie, since King Viserys smells strongly of herbs and rotting flesh. It’s putting you off your appetite.

Lately, the Queen confesses, he seems lost in the past. He seems to have a hard time remembering your latter letters, instead having a fixed image of you as his little niece who sent him drawings and questions about Valyrian history. You do not mention further letters do not exist.

Your father sits with his new family, studiously avoiding your eyes. He has chosen a seat on the same side of the table you are in. Your heart aches. You wonder if after all these years, he has given any thought to what he had done.

The day he killed your mother, she was just two moons shy from birthing you. Had he known, you wonder? Did he intend to kill the both of you, or just her? After robbing you from your mother, he had fled the Vale, and married another woman. He had had two girls not even a couple of years later, the ones that now sat with the Strong boys.

They had the Valyrian coloring you lacked. You wondered if he loved them more because of it.

You have zoned out enough that when you come to be, King Viserys has grabbed your hand. His head is lowered, as if about to pray.

You imitate him.

“Don’t worry, niece.” He whispers, kindly. “I didn’t know how to pray before either.”

Queen Alicent grabs your other hand, gently.

“The Gods listen to us regardless.”

Someone snorts. Your other cousin, the uninteresting one. Aegon, you think he is called. As you look around the table, you notice only the Lord Hand and your cousin Aemond have bowed their heads. No one else is a believer here.

You lower your head.

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.” The Queens says, and you try not to think of how unlikely her words are.

Your bond with your father cannot be fixed. He is a murderer. Your bond with your uncle cannot be fixed either. He has protected the man who killed your mother, and weakly tried to make amends during the first years of your life.

As for your father’s new wife, new sons, new daughters, you look around and all you see is weakness. They are pathetic. Lowly. Baseborn. You despise them all. Had you owned a dragon, you would watch them all burn.

Your teeth make an awful, creaking, sound. You cannot burn them, but oh, how you wish to.

Someone is watching you. You know it instinctively. There is an odd prickling on the back of your head, you cannot sit still. You try not to look up, knowing it is not your father, but soon it feels like the stare is boring a hole through your skull, opening it up. Watching your most secret and inner thoughts leak out.

You shift on your seat. As you look up, Aemond meets your eyes without shame. He gives you a smirk.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Princes… and their betrothed.” The King toasts. You raise your cup, feigning a smile.

“Hear, hear!”

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.” Aegon whispers, but not low enough for you not to hear. You have to take a sip from your cup to hide your snort. You look towards your father, but he avoids making eye contact with you, eyes firmly ahead.

“Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys… the future Lord of the Tides.” The King continues, and you return your attention towards the dramatics taking place in front of you. The Strong boy is starting to look offended.

“You do know how the act is done, I assume?” Aegon leans in, a mean little smile on his face. He is a cunt, but an entertaining one. “At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that.”

“Let it be, cousin.” One of the new daughters interjects. You do not know which one she is, and frankly, you do not care to learn. They are named something ridiculous, like Bela and Rhaela or Rhaenys and Laena, you are not sure. It’s some sort of Valyrian name.

“You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.” The Strong boy threatens. You fight your smile. While Aegon looks smug, the Strong boy looks ready to fight. His hands are formed into fists, his face red with a mixture of humiliation and rage.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world… yet grown so distant from each other… in the years past.” The mask the King is wearing falls down, and you wince. His face is a ghastly sight, full of holes left behind by festering wounds. The illness has claimed his eye, leaving an empty eye socket behind.

Your eyes dart towards Aemond. Does he look like that under the eye patch too? Perhaps you should reconsider your thoughts on his attractiveness.

He lifts an eyebrow at you, amused to be the one catching you looking this time. You feel your face heating up, but force yourself to lift an eyebrow back at him.

He smiles, and lifts his cup to you, almost imperceptibly.

“My own face… is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight… I wish you to see me… as I am. Not just a king… but your father. Who may not, it seems… walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown… then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

This time, you roll your eyes. It’s an unavoidable reaction to hearing someone spit such bullshit. The day you died was the day you forgot all the slights committed against you. The only way of erasing them was getting your pound of flesh from each of them.

You cannot believe what you are hearing. Only Aemond and the Lord Hand seem as resentful as you are. Everyone else seems either neutral or taken by the words of the King.

To your astonishment, the most taken are the Queen and Princess Rhaenyra. You grab your goblet, and chug your wine like there is no tomorrow.

“Everything alright, Lady Royce?” The Strong boy asks you, very politely. You want to grab him by his awful chamberpot-shaped haircut and smash his face against the table until his mouth is bloody.

Instead, you banish the violent image from your head and smile, as fake as you can.

“Just thirsty. Pass me the pitcher?”

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood… more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.”

You sigh. These people are delusional, and it makes you fear for the future of the realm. You have no idea what you were thinking by coming here. The hopes for a confrontation with your father seem absurd now, when he has done his best to hide from you and avoid you during your stay in the Red Keep.

He had never answered your letters, either.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

Aegon leans towards the replacement daughter, whispering in her ear. If someone has drank more than you tonight, it’s him.

“I, um… I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

The Strong boy springs up from his seat as if his pants were on fire. He clears his throat.

“To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles. To you as well.”

“Beware… beneath the boards.” You don’t quite catch what Helaena says.

“Well done, my boy.”

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.” Helaena makes her own little toast, and you frown. She is married to Aegon, if you recall correctly. She also seems… Quite odd.

Some laugh at her. You do not. You cannot wait for this dinner to be over.

“Good. Let us have some music.”

Much to your dismay, the Strong boy asks Helaena to dance. His brother looks at you, and you give him such a murderous glance, he doesn’t dare rise from his seat.

You engage in quiet conversation with your uncle and the Queen. He calls her Aemma several times.

“I have a niece.” Viserys tells you, very softly. “She has hair like you. Dark. One day, she will grow to rule the Vale. We write letters.”

You don’t mean for it to happen, but a sudden wave of pity for the old man hits you. He is lost in memories, thinking Alicent is Aemma, and you are still a young girl. He had seemed so lucid before, even like he was doing well. Happy, with the merriment taking place around him. And then, a switch had been flicked, the conversation had started to become more stilted, and he was winded and lost.

“Guards.” Alicent calls out, and they rush to assist the King, who groans. They take him away as he orders for you to go back to dining.

You do, chewing your food in absolute silence. You can feel eyes on you. The conversation is stilted, the people gathered at the table both uncomfortable with your presence and with each other.

The awkwardness doesn’t deter you. You relish on it. You want them to suffer in your presence. Want the replacement daughters to feel guilty for getting to have a father, the Strong boys to be frightened by you, the whore he has for a wife to wonder if she will die next.

And your father? You want him to die a slow, agonizing death. But you will settle for his wife having a massive row with him tonight.

As the main course is placed on the table, the Strong boys and your male cousins exchange glances. Suddenly, Aemond slams his fist on the table and gets up. His expression is icy.

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong.”

You snort. The Queen doesn’t seem to think it as amusing as you do.

“Aemond.” She complains.

“Come… let us drain our cups to these three…Strong boys.” Aemond smirks, and you lift your goblet, eyes full of malice. Anything that hurts them seems nice to you.

“I dare you to say that again.” The eldest Strong boy, the one with the awful haircut, jumps up.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” Aemond goads, emboldened by your attention. “Do you not think yourself Strong?”

The boy lunges and punches Aemond. Rhaenyra screams. Aegon gets up and slams the other Strong boy into the table.

Queen Alicent and Rhaenyra try to separate them. So do the guards.

“Jace!”

“That is enough!”

You want to jump in, want to smash a wine jug on his face. Break a plate, strangle your father. But as you are reaching forward, ready to seize one of them, someone grabs your wrist.

The hand is warm, and holds you gently but firmly. A man’s hand.

Your father’s.

You look at him. His eyes are dark. This man, who you once thought larger than life, who killed your mother, who almost killed you. His eyes are dark, and wide, and so much like yours.

His other hand goes to your jaw. He brushes it, tenderly. For a second, you lose yourself in the thought. You are no longer the angry woman, but the little girl who wanted her father so desperately.

“You have…” His voice breaks your spell. Grown? Your mother’s eyes? Face? Hair? You never got to meet her, thanks to him.

You jerk out of his grip and flee the room.

THE PAIR OF breeches and a shirt feel much more comfortable against your skin than the dress you had worn to dinner. It wasn’t one of your modified styles, and so, had felt suffocating against your body. Too tight on your ribs, too heavy against your legs. You had not noticed it when wearing it, but taking it off had been an immediate relief.

Unfortunately, your anger doesn’t subside as easily. Your shoulders ache from swinging Lamentation over and over again, but you still want to scream. Scream and scream, until you wake the whole Keep.

When the moonlight illuminates a tall figure, you only feel more anger. Aemond’s face now has a bruise, a mark left by Jacaerys’ fist. You hate when other people dare touch what is yours. Much less, when they dare mark it.

He has no claim to him, this Strong boy that can barely lift his sword. Aemond is yours. The audacity astonishes you.

“My lady.” Aemond bows his head to you. He carries his sword on his hand. “Shall we dance?”

“I fear I might have gotten enough disappointments for a day.” You set Lamentation down on a bench. In truth, your arms are too sore, and you fear you might lose if you face him. Aemond is smart. He will not underestimate you a second time, and while you are good, you lose your advantage when exhausted. “Your brother has the smallest cock I've ever seen, and you are a poor swordsman. Are the Strong boys really the best House Targaryen has to offer?”

Aemond’s mouth falls open. He stares at you in disbelief, a hint of anger briefly crossing his features, before barking out a laugh. He sets his own sword aside.

“You wish to goad me again. It won’t work.”

“Goad you into what? Mud wrestling?” You say, gesturing to your lack of a sword.

“Don’t jest.” Aemond rolls his eye. “There is no mud here.”

“Plain wrestling, then?” You arch an eyebrow.

“You are infuriating.”

“I live to please.”

“Have you given marriage any thought?” His voice is casual. Far too casual.

“No.” You say, plainly. “I wish to never marry, and let Tobar’s brats inherit everything.”

“Your abilities with the sword do not correlate to your abilities with deception.”

“You think very highly of yourself, don’t you?” You step closer to him, feeling your amusement ebb into annoyance.

Aemond smirks. He is a bit taller than you, and seems to enjoy that fact greatly.

“I am a good prospect.” He captures your chin in his hand, and makes you tilt your head up.

You despise that you get a bit unfocused by how warm and big his palm feels against your face. It feels so good, you could close your eyes and melt into it. But instead, all that comes out of your mouth is…

“Your blood is unsavory, your manners lacking, and your skill with the sword could use work.”

“My, that almost sounded like a compliment.” Aemond laughs.

“It wasn’t.” You complain because you hate that he is starting to understand you. How when you feel scared about the too big feelings in your chest you lash out, and say things you do not mean.

He grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles.

“I’ll ask for your hand in the morrow.”

“Do try.”

He does. Much to your dismay, Aemond asks his father for your hand, openly slighting yours. King Viserys finds the whole thing delightful. No one else but you seems to share his joy.