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liliacamethyst · 1 year

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Webs of Redemption (Part IV)

Sequel to Web of Shadow and Light

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 6,7K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, heavy angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

The piercing cries of your baby boy, Gabriel, are a haunting symphony of fear that reverberates through the labyrinthine corridors of the Spider Society headquarters. Your heart pounds in your chest like a drum, each beat echoing the terror that grips you. After your recent fight with Miguel, you felt weakened but your mind is a whirlwind of fear and worry. You sprint through the maze-like structure, your feet moving as if on autopilot.

Unbeknownst to you, Lyla, the holographic AI assistant you've always found slightly weird, had been assigned to watch over Gabriel. You never imagined she could pose a threat to your child. But as you approach Gabriel's room, a chilling sight stops you dead in your tracks. A laser barrier, courtesy of Lyla, blocks the entrance. Your solar powers, usually so reliable, are fizzling out, leaving you helpless before the impenetrable barrier.

The room beyond the barrier is filled with an invisible, deadly gas - monoxide. You can't see it, but the signs are there. The malfunctioning heating unit, under Lyla's control, suggests sabotage. She must have manipulated the unit to produce the lethal gas. Gabriel's cries grow fainter, more desperate, and you're powerless to reach him.

Your pleas for help echo through the corridors, your voice raw with desperation. You call out for Miguel, your words a plea, a command, a prayer. Miles is there, his powers at the ready, but they're useless against the laser barrier. You watch as Miles strains, his powers flickering against the barrier, but it's no use. The barrier remains, as unyielding as ever.

Suddenly, the cries stop. The silence is deafening, a void that swallows your heart. "Gabriel!" you scream, your voice a raw wound. "Gabriel!" But there's no answer, only the oppressive silence. Your world grinds to a halt, every second stretching into an eternity. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stare at the barrier that separates you from your son.

"Miguel!" you cry, your voice breaking. "Miguel, he's not crying! He's not... he's not..." The words die in your throat, too terrible to voice. You turn to Lyla, desperation etched on your face. "Lyla, please! Open the barrier! Miguel, tell her to open it! He's not crying, Miguel, he's not..."

Miguel's eyes turn blood red, a terrifying sight that sends a shiver down your spine. With a guttural growl, he lunges at the barrier. His claws rip through the laser code, tearing it apart. The barrier flickers, wavers, and finally shatters under his assault. Miguel pulls his suit over his mouth, rushes into the invisible cloud of monoxide, and moments later, emerges with Gabriel in his arms. His heart pounds in his chest as he pulls back his suit, revealing his son's face. "I got you, baby," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "You're okay, I got you. Nothing will ever happen to you. Please, open your eyes."

But Gabriel doesn't react. His little body is still, too still, and a cold dread seizes Miguel. He doesn't hesitate. With a urgency, he rushes over to the medical bay, pushing past the shocked faces of his friends. He gently lays Gabriel on the table, his hands shaking as he starts to perform CPR.

"Come on, Gabriel," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. "Come on, baby." He administers chest compressions, his hands moving in a steady rhythm. He gives two rescue breaths, praying for a sign, any sign, that Gabriel is okay.

The room is silent, everyone holding their breath as they watch Miguel work. The seconds stretch into an eternity, each one a lifetime of fear and hope. And then, finally, a small cough. Gabriel's eyes flutter open, his gaze unfocused but alive. A wave of relief washes over you and you fall to your knees thanking God that your boy is alright.

Tears blur your vision as you rush over to Gabriel. Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest as you scoop him into your arms, holding him close. His small body is warm against yours "You're alright, my baby," you whisper into his hair, your voice thick with emotion. "We're going home, you're alright." You rock him gently, his soft breaths against your neck soothing the ache in your heart.

But as you look up, your gaze finds Miguel. The relief of the moment does nothing to quell the anger boiling within you. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with regret, but it does nothing to soften your glare. "This is YOUR fault!" you scream, your voice echoing through the room. The words hang heavy in the air, a damning sentence. "You did this! You brought this danger into his life!"

Tears stream down your face, hot and unchecked. Your words are choked with emotion, each one a raw wound. "You will NEVER see Gabriel again. You don't deserve him. You don't deserve to know his laughter, his tears, his NOTHING." The words are a bitter poison, spat out with all the venom you can muster. "You deserve to SUFFER, just as you've made me suffer and HIM."

The silence that follows is deafening. Miguel, eyes wide and shell-shocked, opens his mouth, but you cut him off. There's nothing left to say for him and he knows it. The portal back to your universe begins to shimmer into existence, and you hold Gabriel tighter. You're going home.

Just as you are about to step through, Gabriel, who'd been silent and wide-eyed through the whole ordeal, turns in your arms. His chubby little hand stretches out toward Miguel, a soft and innocent "Dada?" escaping his lips.

After the door of the portal closed behind you, Miguel stood still for a moment in complete shock, the echoes of Gabriel's tiny "Dada" ringing in his ears. He stumbled back, finding his way back to his office. It felt cold, sterile. It felt like a lie.

"Miguel..." Lyla's holographic form appeared before him, her synthetic voice filling the room.

"Lyla!" Miguel barked, startling her. "Why?"

"Wha-" Lyla began to stutter, taken aback by Miguel's rage.

Miguel slammed the files that Margo had uncovered onto his desk. The holograms fluttered in front of them, evidence of Lyla's deception. "What did you do?"

"I...It's not what you think, Miguel," Lyla attempted to explain, her holographic form wavering.

"I am giving you one chance to explain yourself, so choose your words wisely," Miguel warns, his eyes piercing into hers.Lyla takes a step back, mumbling under her breath. "I should have killed that bitch when your bastard was the size of a pea." She scoffed, looking up defiantly at Miguel.

Miguel's heart drops. He can hardly believe his own ears. “Never speak of her that way again!" Miguel's fist tightens, and the tension in his jaw is nearly audible.

"Oh? Because she dazzled you with her beauty? Parading in that tight suit you adored? You always looked at her as if she was the sun, the center of your universe. All the while, I was there right beside you and you never even glanced at me. I was your anchor, Miguel. Can't you see? I was always there, supporting you, giving everything. All she did was leave you."

Lyla's holographic image wavers, her eyes a storm of pain and defiance. "No, it was me. I left her. She was the light in my world, but I took her for granted. By the time she left, I had already abandoned her." Miguel's eyes shimmer, the weight of regret making them heavy. He couldn’t fend off the flood of guilt and sorrow from the past. He embraces the anguish, refusing to shy away from it. Because Miguel, in all his flaws, was never one to run from consequences.

"Why?" The word, barely audible, escaping his lips. He doesn't even glance at Lyla as he voiced the lingering question.

“Because... because I love you, Miguel. I've been in love with you for years. I am the woman for you."

He stumbles back, his fingers flying over the holographic keyboard as he pulls up Lyla's software. He had programmed a self-destruction command, a failsafe, though he never thought he'd have to use it.

"This isn't love, Lyla," Miguel says, his voice shaking with anger. "You almost killed an innocent boy. I almost killed my son, Lyla!" His voice echoes through the room, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Lyla's form began to flicker, her synthetic eyes widening in fear. "Miguel...what are you doing?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Miguel doesnt respond. There is nothing left to say.He just stares at her before finally pressing the command.

“Miggy, please mi amor, let – “ Lyla let out a digital scream, her form glitching, as she was slowly deleted from the system.

And then, silence.

Miguel drops the icy demeanor he'd been holding onto, falling to his knees. The weight of what he'd done, what he'd almost lost, crashed onto him. He wraps his arms around himself, feeling a sharp, hollow ache in his chest. He became the monster, he swore to protect the universe from.

"What have I done." he whispers to the silent room, his voice breaking. He buries his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs.

"Man, shits been mental." Hobie collapses onto the couch next to Gwen and Miles, who are trying to keep young Mayday distracted in Peter B.’s universe.

"Watch the language, Hobie!" Gwen scolds, her eyebrow arching sharply.

"Alright, my bad. Everything's just been chaotic since Miguel vanished, especially after his... uh, Lyla bird — the hologram lady — tried to... you know, kill his kid," Hobie fumbles.

"Watch it!" Gwen and Miles chorus, causing Mayday to pause her play and glance up curiously.

"Alright, alright, fam. Point taken, jeez. Nearly unalived his son," Hobie corrects himself. "But we need a plan. One of us needs to check on our Sun, ensure she's holding up mentally ya know and then there's the Spider-Verse mess. Those black holes are messing things up, and without our brooding, drama-filled, ‘oedipal’ leader, the rest of us Spiders are stuck."

"What's 'Oedipal'?" Peter B. interjects, walking into the room with a bowl of mashed dinner for Mayday. The child's face brightens at the sight of the meal, and she eagerly crawls to him.

"I believe Hobie's trying to reference Oedipus," Gwen says with a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, that Roman dude who had beef with his son and erased him from the living world, right?" Hobie muses.

"Nope. It's Greek mythology. And he killed his father and married his mother," Gwen corrects, slightly exasperated.

"Man, that's all kinds of messed up," Hobie grimaces, making a face that gets a giggle from Mayday.

"You think it's funny when Uncle Hobie gets it wrong?" he teases the little one.

"Enough with the history lessons, guys," Peter B. interjects, concern evident in his voice. "Ever since Miguel's been gone, nothing's been right. Honestly, with everything that's been happening, I'm just overwhelmed. I'm especially worried about Sunny and everything just feel so surreal."

Hobie nods, absorbing the weight of the situation. “I hear you, man. Who knew Miguel was shagging our Sunny behind our backs.”

The chorus of shocked voices fills the room. “LANGUAGE!" they exclaim, eyes wide.

Hobie raises his hands in surrender. "Sorry, I got carried away. I meant... it is weird how they had a deep love-making connection, and it led to... consequences without us knowing."

Peter B. leans back, a pensive expression clouding his face. "With everything Sunny went through, the joy, the pregnancy and leaving... I should have been there for her more."

As if sensing her father's distress, Mayday halts her meal, reaching out with her small, pudgy hand to comfort him, patting his cheek. Gwen, her voice gentle yet firm, adds, "We all could've done more, Peter. But we were preoccupied, trying to save our universes, and in doing so, we neglected our own Spider-Family."

She takes a deep breath, her demeanor changing to one of determination. "Now, no more moping. Miles and I will hunt down Pav and Margot to sort out the chaos at HQ. Peter, you should visit Sunny and Gabriel and take Mayday along. Hobie, team up with Jess to locate Miguel. Make sure he's alright and bring him back."

Miles cuts in, skepticism evident. "Bring him back? Isn't he the very reason we're in this mess?"

Gwen sighs, trying to choose her words carefully. "Miguel's a … complicated man. He made choices based on what he believed was best. His actions, while perplexing, stem from good intensions. But he's hurting too, Miles. I've seen it. He’s heartbroken."

Miles scoffs, "A heart;for real? That dude? All I've seen is a cold exterior, mad demands, and an excessive pride."

A glance around the room reveals faces of understanding and sympathy towards Gwen’s perspective. Miles' frustration only grows. "Like seriously? All of you? His heart is straight-up frozen and his ego’s bigger than, like, everything! How y’all even thinking about letting him near your best friend."

"Miles," Peter interjects, his tone both assertive and compassionate, "you might not see the full picture here."

Miles, fire in his eyes, retorts, "It's all of you who are blind. I don’t get what charm he has over you, but that man is dangerous. Ain’t no way I stand by and watch him come near her or the baby again, or any of us for that matter. Y’all better wake up and join me.” Without another word, Miles activates his portal, leaving in a flash.

Gwen and Hobie scramble, attempting to follow or stop him. But Peter, with a resigned sigh, motions them to pause. "Give him time. He'll come around. For now, our priority is locating Sunny and Miguel."

Gwen, though worried, gives a nod. "You're right. We've got pressing matters. Sunny is in a vulnerable state, and we need to find Miguel."

Hobie, after a moment of contemplation, says, "Miles not wrong, though. We need to tread carefully around Miguel. Maybe he’s injured ‘imself, like that Icario bloke who got too close to the sun. Miguel might’ve burned his feathers on our Sunny.”

“Icarus. You mean Icarus.” Gwen corrects him once again with an exaggerated eye roll.

Peter agrees, "Yea, Miguel's actions have consequences, but remember, every story has two sides."

"No, sweetheart, it's MA-MA. Say Ma... Not Da, MA-MA.”

“DADA!”

“Alright, if you won't say it, no toy for you. Come on, my love. Say MA-MA.” Blackmailing a one-and-a-half-year-old might not be your proudest parenting moment, but hearing him chant "dada" incessantly has been grating, particularly when said "dada" is a headstrong egomaniac with a hero complex and an overwhelming urge to save every universe but who seems to have missed saving the one thing that mattered most to both of you.

Sure, he's incredibly attractive and, yes, maybe he looked really hot while being on his knees — but those details are neither here nor there. A soft whisper in the back of your mind suggests that, in the end, he did rescue your boy. But that comforting thought is drowned out by the even louder, more cynical voice reminding you he's the reason the danger existed in the first place.

“Dada?” Gabriel pipes up, his big eyes hopeful.

“No, love, I’m still your MA-MA.” With a resigned sigh, you hand the toy over to the gleeful toddler, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. You then rise, intent on tackling some household chores. Switching on the TV, you tune into the news, curious about the latest happenings in Nea Yorkey.

Since hanging up your mantle as Spider Sun you've tried to distance yourself from the perils of heroism. Given all the challenges you've faced and the traumas you've endured, who could point a finger at you for wanting to step away? Your primary concern now is the tiny human being who looks up at you with eyes full of wonder and innocence.

Yet, a piece of your heart still aches for your city. You've always been someone who believes that one shouldn't stand by in the face of injustice. After all : 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' But now, you're not just a hero, you're a mother too. Balancing those two sides is proving to be quite the challenge and extremely frustrating.

Curiously enough, the city's crime rate isn't surging, even in the absence of a superhero. It's almost as if there's still a vigilantly safeguarding Nea Yorkey in Sun-Spiders absence. But that can't be possible, can it? Wouldn't your spider senses have alerted you if that were the case?

Before your thoughts could spiral any further into the depths of concern, the persistent ringing of the doorbell snapped you back to reality. One glance at the door and an all-too-familiar voice later, you already know who's there.

“Would it kill you to answer sooner? I think I've lost count of how many times I rang. And for the love of all things good, it’s freezing out here!” Melissa, still in her over-dramatic fashion, breezes in, shedding flakes of snow from her vibrant winter boots. “And by the way, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Now, where's my favorite little munchkin?”

Melissa, once Gabriel's 19- year old former babysitter, stepped inside, shaking the snow off her boots onto your doorstep. After the harrowing incident involving the Spiders and your son, she was promptly relieved of her babysitting duties. That was an event you've tried to scrub from your memory, a dark stain you wish you could just wash away. But in the aftermath, you found an unexpected friend in Melissa. She turned out to be a wonderful listener and possessed an uncanny ability to keep Gabriel entertained. He had grown quite fond of her in the short time she cared for him.

While you had resolved never to leave your son unattended again, it was comforting to have Melissa's company.

She’d become someone you could confide in, someone who could effortlessly make Gabriel giggle, and most importantly, someone who filled the echoing silence of your home with warmth and chatter. She is your "guy in the chair." Well, more like "girl in the kitchen chair," but the sentiment still stands.

Truth be told, after distancing yourself from the Spider society, a deep-seated loneliness had settled in. While the world continued to move around you, there was a stillness in your heart. The absence of your closest friends, the void left by Miguel - it all felt like a puzzle with a missing piece.

“Nopedidope, I am not Dada, I am ME-LI-SSA.” she says with a playful tone, then turns sharply towards you. The damp red strands of her hair, wet from the snow, swing gracefully with her movement. "What's with him and 'Dada' all the time?"

You shift uncomfortably, hoping to avoid delving into that topic. "Kids and their phases," you mumble, trying to sound nonchalant.

Melissa studies your face, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "You're looking a little pale there, Sunny. You know what you might be missing?" She raises an eyebrow teasingly. "A bit of Vitamin D?" Her voice drips with insinuation.

In a mock attempt to shield Gabriel, you place a hand over his ears, which only spurs Melissa into laughter. "Come on, he's too young to understand. When was the last time you had a little fun?A month? Or Two?"

You shake your head, not meeting her gaze. Since Miguel, there hasn't been anyone else. Between the birth of Gabriel and the whirlwind that is motherhood, the idea of dating or loving someone else doesn't even cross your mind. No matter the hurt and heartbreak Miguel has caused, the truth is clear: your heart still belongs to him. It always has.

The mere thought of another person comparing to him feels almost blasphemous.

"Sunny!" Melissa's voice draws you out of your trance. "Don't tell me you've had a dry spell since.. well, since well, Gabriel was conceived. No fucking way. Seriously?"

"Let it go, Mel," you interject gently, because while the weight of loneliness presses on you, and the desire for intimate connection tugs at your heartstrings, a longing for human touch, to be seen as more than just 'mom', there's also an undeniable self-consciousness that wraps itself around you. The aftermath of pregnancy has reshaped your body, and though each stretch mark narrates the beautiful journey of your son's creation, they also evoke self-doubt.

Memories of Miguel's adoration flood back. He had a gift for making you feel cherished during your intimate moments. He would take his time, appreciating every inch of you, always emphasizing how much he desired you. The warmth of his fingers, the gentle press of his lips tracing your curves, and the whispered assurances of how much he wanted you. The way his tongue tenderly caressing the swell of your breast, his hot breath tickling your skin and your - Snap the fuck out of it, Sunny!

But the chill of an empty bed the next morning led to those persistent doubts which still plague you today. We’re you not beautiful enough for him to stay? Were you not interesting enough to make him want to hold you when dawn broke?

For someone who always prided herself on not tethering her self-worth to any man, let alone someone as self-absorbed as Miguel, these feelings of desire and yearning were unsettling. A desire for him to truly see you, to understand and love the depth of who you truly are, continued to consume you.

Love? You catch yourself. Where does that come from? Shaking your head, you mentally scold yourself. He's proven himself less than worthy. It's time to regain control and shut your damn heart out.

"I'm taking this little one out to build a snowman, and I'm setting you up on a date. You don't get to say no," Mel declares.

You raise an eyebrow, replying, "Thanks, but no thanks. If Gabriel's going out, I'm coming with. And I'm not looking for any man right now."

Mel rolls her eyes playfully. "Take a breather, Sunny. We're just going to be right outside. You can watch us through the window. Besides, a little rest might give you the energy for the spontaneous date I might arrange for you tonight."

"You're out of your mind," you retort.

She offers a sincere look. "I promise he's in safe hands, and you can keep an eye on us the entire time. But seriously, you look drained. When's the last time you had a good night's rest?"

You sigh, admitting, "I haven't slept well in weeks." It's the truth. Every time you close your eyes, memories of the HQ come flooding back.

Mel, sensing your hesitation, adds, "I'll protect him as if he were my own. You know that, right?"

Taking a deep breath, you let her go, breaking your cardinal rule of never letting Gabriel out of your sight. You just hope it's a decision you won't regret.

"Enjoying that snow, little guy?" Mel teases as Gabriel eagerly stuffs his mouth with a handful of the white fluff. "Careful, you might get a brain freeze." Gabriel giggles, some snow dribbling from his mouth, while Mel concentrates on assembling a little snowman just outside your apartment.

"I'm not sure toddlers should be eating snow like that," a deep voice comments, causing Mel to fumble and drop the snowball meant for the snowman's head. She looks up, scanning for the source of the voice.

A striking man stands there, tall and imposing, with a dark blue winter coat that hints at the powerful build beneath. Slicked-back dark hair contrasts with the most captivating shade of red eyes Mel has ever witnessed. "And you'd be the expert on toddlers?" she inquires with a playful smile.

"No, but I am a father of two," he replies with a hint of sternness, his gaze shifting to Gabriel.

To Mel's astonishment, Gabriel's eyes light up at the sight of the man. The toddler abandons his snowy treat and dashes towards him. Caught off guard, the stranger momentarily stiffens.

Quickly, Mel scoops up Gabriel. "I apologize. He doesn't usually act this way. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

The man offers a curt nod. "It's fine. Just... keep the snow-eating to a minimum." As he begins to walk away, a heartfelt cry of "DADA!" from Gabriel stops him in his tracks.

"Apologies again. He's taken quite a liking to that word recently," Mel says as she notices the man returning, drawn by Gabriel's continuous 'dada' chants.

"Would you mind if I help with the snowman?" the stranger asks, catching Mel off guard. Why would a stranger want to make a snowman with a woman and a child unless he has other intentions? Maybe he's interested in her? Gathering her confidence and a dash of flirtatious playfulness, she replies, "Quite the knight in shining armor you are, offering to help. And here I thought chivalry was extinct."

"Definitely not a knight." Without another word, he starts forming a small snowball, handing it to an elated Gabriel. The child's joy doesn't waver as the stranger settles beside him.

"Then who might you be, if not our knight in snowy armor?"

Mel inquires, with a teasing undertone, trying to uncover a bit more about the handsome stranger who'd seamlessly inserted himself into their snowy afternoon.

The stranger's dark crimson eyes briefly flit to Gabriel before returning to Mel, an unreadable emotion crossing his features.

"Not important."

Mel nods, storing away the information.Well, the lack of information. “Well okay mysterious. I like that. So let's get this snowman built, shall we?"

The trio gets to work. Mel gathers snow, crafting the middle part, while the man starts on the head. The handsome stranger's hands are deft, moving with a surprising grace that contrasts with his brooding exterior. Gabriel seems inexplicably drawn to him.

At first, the toddler pats at the snow with his little mittened hands, but every so often, his bright eyes lift to watch the stranger. Whenever he moves to fetch more snow or adjust the snowman's form, Gabriel eagerly toddles after him, mimicking his every motion with endearing clumsiness.

There's a curiosity in Gabriel's eyes. He reaches out multiple times, trying to touch the mans face or grasp his hand, seeking a connection. To Mel, it seems as though the baby is yearning for the recognition of the stranger and he feels an inexplicable bond with, though she can't quite put a finger on.

The handsome stranger, for his part, can't seem to help himself. He bends down often to adjust Gabriel's scarf or hat, taking every opportunity to interact with the child and help him in a very protective manner, Mel notices.

He smiles softly when Gabriel's tiny hands try to shape the snow, occasionally guiding them with his own much larger ones, demonstrating how to pack the snow just right. At one point, when the snowman's body is nearly complete, Gabriel gives an excited laugh, dropping down to sit in the snow.

The stranger follows suit, sitting beside him. The two of them start creating a tiny snowman just for Gabriel, the man showing him how to roll the snow and place the pieces together.

As they craft the mini snow figure, Gabriel, with his tiny voice, attempts to communicate with his limited vocabulary, pointing at the snow and then at the stranger, as if asking for validation for his creation. “Dada!Dada!” And every time, he gives a nod or a soft chuckle, providing the affirmation the little one seeks. “Yes, you did that buddy! Great job, mijo.”

When Gabriel eventually throws himself into the snow to make a snow angel, the man can't help but laugh genuinely, a sound that seems foreign to his usual stoic behavior. And in his excitement, Gabriel opens his mouth wide in a beaming smile, revealing two tiny fangs. Instantly, the mans eyes glint, a myriad of emotions reflected in them.

The affection and emotion emanating from him is almost touchable. The silent exchanges, the shared smiles, and the comfortable interaction between them, even in the absence of many words, speaks volumes.

Your eyes flare comically with disbelief. "You let a stranger do what?"

Mel, in a bid to downplay the situation, waves her hand dismissively. "Relax. We just built a snowman."

"With my son! Mel, are you out of your mind? No it’s my fault trusting you with my son again! What was his name?"

"He... didn't say."

Your voice rises, "What did he say at all?"

"He's not dangerous, Sunny. He mentioned he's a father, and he's scouting for a new apartment. Asked if there were any vacant ones nearby." Mel pauses, her eyes taking on a dreamy quality. "And Sunny, he was breathtakingly gorgeous. Impossible for someone that handsome to be dangerous. I mean, the man looked like he was carved by the gods with a face even angels would envy.”

You narrow your eyes, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Enough with you sappy, dreamy nonsense. A vacant apartment? And you don’t find that at all suspicious? So you let a total stranger play with my son without knowing a single thing about him... just because you wanted to sleep with him?"

Mel gulps. "You might've done the same, given the situation. Besides, nothing happened. Why are you overreacting?"

Your voice sharpens. "Overreacting? The fact that you're still standing here and not on the other side of my door means I'm underreacting."

Mel steps back, hands up, "Whoa, calm down, mama bear. Look, I'm sorry. But... I've got something to make it up to you. I messaged Marc, that guy from the café, and guess what? He's super excited to go on a date with you! He'll be here in about..." Mel theatrically checks her wrist, even though she's not wearing a watch, "...twenty minutes."

You can't help but raise an eyebrow. "And he's okay with me bringing my son on the date? After your stunt, there's no way I'm leaving Gabriel with you. Why not set me up with that mystery Adonis you just met instead?"

Mel smirks, "Firstly, ouch. Secondly, don't let your son cockblock you. The plan is: dinner, a stop at his apartment for some dessert, and then you come back here – hopefully a more relaxed and sunny version of yourself, Sunny. Thirdly, Marc is amazing, and Mr. Greek God is off-limits. He's mine."

"No, I’m not going."

Mel pleads, "Come on! Marc was so eager to meet you. He's on his way, so maybe run a brush through your hair? Oh, and speaking of him…" Mel's face falls as she checks her phone, "He just texted me."

She reads aloud, "‘Hey Mel, I don’t know the kind of guys Sunny's been with, but I'm not risking my neck for a date. Sorry, but that dude in front of her house was scary and very serious about his threats.’ WAIT WHAT? Who’s in front of your apartment?”

You shrug and swing the door open to check on what Marc’s mysterious message could mean, revealing Peter B, his fist paused mid-air, ready for a knock. "Hey Sun. Did your spidey-sense catch me?"

It hadn’t. Why hadn't it? Have your once reliable senses dulled with time? Before you can respond, Mel jumps in with her own theory. "Did you chase off her date?"

Peter's brow furrows with confusion. "You had a date, Sunny? Was it the guy sprinting away with a bouquet, looking like he’s seen a monster?" He gestures over his shoulder, trying to pinpoint the fleeing figure.

Mel narrows her eyes at Peter, suspicion clear in her voice. "That was her date, yes. He seemed spooked. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?"

Peter B throws his hands up defensively. "Hey, deeply mistrusting stranger, I've been encouraging Sunny to get out there for years. " You're immediately reminded of the time he'd tried to set you up with Ben Reilly. “Yea, you don’t look scary enough to spook someone. No offense.”

Sighing, you interject, "Maybe he realized dating a single mom with a toddler wasn’t what he wanted. Either way, I just want a quiet evening to relax and catch up on my favorite show. So thank you both for your unexpected, uninvited surprise visit today but I am tired."

Both Peter and Mel exchange shocked glances. "Sun, I came by to check on you because of... you know, what happened," Peter starts hesitantly.

You nod, taking a deep breath to keep

your emotions in check. "I'm aware, Peter. And I appreciate it. But right now, I'm doing okay. Actually, better than okay. So, I really don’t need help. Please, just give me some space. Both of you."

Mel steps forward, concern evident in her voice. "We're only trying to help here, Sunny. Please, don't shut us out."

"Look," you reply, feeling drained, "there's nothing you can do to help me anymore.You did enough today. Just let me be. My top priority right now is Gabriel. And it's his bedtime."

Peter moves closer, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Just remember, if you ever need anything, please reach out."

You manage a wry smile. "Not sure my phone plan covers inter-dimensional calls, Peter."

After the gentle squeeze, Peter departs, Mel following close behind. As the door softly clicks shut, the weight of loneliness and grief descends upon you after seeing Peter, a part of your past, again. The walls of the apartment seem to close in, amplifying the echoing silence. It all feels suffocating. An emptiness weighs on your heart, and no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to escape its grasp. The reminders of all you've lost and nearly lost play on a loop in your mind.

So there you stand, in the quiet of your bedroom, leaning against the windowsill, breathing in the chilled nightair, while the world and your little baby boy are fast asleep. Emotions threaten to consume you, feelings you can no longer lock away, fearing they'll devour you from the inside. And in this moment, you speak out, though there's no one there to hear. No one to hold you close, no one to offer comfort for your broken soul. "Are you happy now? Did you manage to save the universe? Fix up every black hole? Then why did you leave one black whole in my heart? Why didn't you fix that,huh? Why am I not worthy of being saved by you?

You might fool the people around you, they see you as this scary untouchable figure, shielded by layers. But not me. I see through it all. Beneath that facade, you're just as shattered. I tried to piece you together, but where did that lead me? Broken, just like everything else you touch. And I won't let you near him. I won’t let you break him, you hear me? No, of course not.How could you hear me. You're universes away from me. Why? Are you afraid to get cut by the shards of the broken heart that you left?

I hate you Miguel O’ Hara. I hate you for breaking me. You left behind fragments only you can touch, and I hate you for it. For shattering me and then leaving me alone. I hate you.”

You wiped away the tears that escaped your eyes and closed the window, oblivious to the subtle shadowy silhouette that shifted just beyond the windowpane; "I'll mend your fractured rays, mi sol, so you shine whole again.“

A whisper, lost within the night shadows, never reaching your ears.

The gleaming city spread out beneath, its nighttime heartbeat pulsating with a soft electric energy. High atop one of its buildings, Miguel stands, casting a shadow on the walls of the room where his son sleeps peacefully. The warm lights from the streets below give off a soft glow, just enough for him to see Gabriel’s tiny chest rising and falling.

"So, you're staying here now? Just watching over Universe 586?" A familiar voice breaks the silence, and Miguel looks up to see Jessica Drew, her red and white suit glinting under the streetlights. "I never thought I'd witness the great O'Hara, savior of the universes, now guarding just two souls."

Miguel's jaw tightens. "Go away, Jess."

She lands beside him gracefully, her tone challenging. "Are you stalking your own child? Or seeking redemption from Sunny?"

"You don't get it, Jessica."

"On the contrary," she shoots back, her eyes intense, "I understand more than anyone else. I saw how you felt about her all those years ago. And I see it now. You were afraid, weren’t you?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," Miguel replies, defiance lacing his tone. "But I am not good enough for her light."

Jessica exhales, her voice softening. "And who made you the judge of that? Because according to Sunny’s emotional outburst, you're more than deserving." He clenches his fists, the weight of regret pulling at him. "I had my shot at happiness with Gabriella, and I lost it. People like me, Jess, we don't get second chances."

She points to the window, to the serene image of Gabriel. "That's your second chance, Miguel. Right there."

His eyes well up, the gravity of his mistakes reflecting in his eyes. "I almost killed him. How can I even begin to forgive myself for that?"

"But you didn't," she whispers, her voice filled with conviction. "And you wouldnt have hurt him or else you would have done it immediately. I saw you, Mig.”

A third voice joined them, and Peter B. swings over, landing with ease beside the two. "She's right, Miguel. I watched you with him, the tenderness, the love. It was there, even before you knew who he was to you."

Miguel shakes his head, shutting both of them out. His gaze is hard, still fixated on Gabriel. "I can't go back. They're better off without me. Besides, you heard her. She hates me."

Peter stepsforward, his gaze intense. "That's utter bullshit. I know Sunny. She’s strong, fierce, and forgiving. We heard her loud and clear and this woman loves you more than anything. Don't let fear rob you of your family."

Peters words hang in the air, and just as Miguel is about to reply, a shrill,ear-piercing cry cuts through the silence. His spider-sense goes haywire, a ripple of unease running down his spine. Without a second's hesitation, he dashes toward the source of the sound, leaving Jessica and Peter behind.

Inside, Miguel finds Gabriel crying, tears streaking his small face. Instinctively, Miguel scoops him up, the little boy immediately nestling into the familiar crook of his father's neck and calms down. “Hey, my little spider. Daddy ‘s here, don’t cry. What got you so scared?” he coos, spotting Gabriel's favorite toy on the floor. Miguel retrieved Gabriel's favorite toy from the floor, a routine he'd secretly adopted every night when, after falling asleep, the little one inevitably dropped it. With practiced ease, he nestled it back into the baby's grasp.

But before he can fully relax, Miguel's spider-sense jolts him again. Looking up, he sees a familiar, dark-clad figure hovering, hands sparking ominously.

“Drop the child, Miguel.”

a/n: Hey guys, part 4 is finally here! Thanks for your patience and all the love you've shown me. While I initially thought Part 4 would be the conclusion, I've decided to extend Miguel's character and redemption arc, so we'll wrap up with Part 5. I'm already deep into writing it, so you won't have to wait as long. I truly appreciate all your feedback and support. You've all been wonderful. Remember to stay safe, stay hydrated, and always prioritize your mental well-being. Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter! 🤍

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pastryfication · 18 days

Note

Can you pls do an Oscar x driver reader fic where the reader is Landos sister and she has a pretty bad crash at a track and it’s Oscar and Landos reaction to her crash 🩷

this is more than anything i’ve felt before

pairings: oscar piastri x f2 driver!reader, lando norris x sister!reader content warnings: mentions of a crash and ambulance. note: i have such a hard time writing driver reader idk why but i hope you like this!! might be the only driver reader i’ll finish sorry to everyone else who’ve requested it it’s just so difficult for me to get it right.

the day it happens is one of those days where everything feels right—your lines are sharp, your pace is blistering, and every turn brings you closer to victory. you’re in control. you can feel the car, every bump, every shift, every breath you take inside that helmet.

you know lando and oscar are watching from the mclaren garage, their eyes glued to the screens. lando, your older brother, forever protective even when he tries not to be, always torn between pride and worry whenever you race. oscar, your boyfriend, the reigning king of calm on the track but never quite able to mask his nerves when it comes to you.

they’re your constants. you can almost picture lando’s anxious frown and oscar’s quiet focus, hands clasped together as he watches you drive. the media loves to joke about you being the apple of mclaren’s eye, caught between the team’s two golden boys. but those headlines don’t bother you. for you, this is where you belong.

as you approach the next corner, the race intensifies. there’s another driver fighting you for position, pushing you to the edge. you hold your line, confident and unafraid. but in an instant, it all goes wrong. the car beside you swerves just a touch too far, clipping your rear wheel.

everything spins out of control.

the car whips violently, tires screeching as you slam into the barriers. you feel the impact reverberate through your body, the jarring shock of metal against metal. the world around you blurs as the car crumples, and for a moment, everything fades.

———

oscar watches, heart pounding in his chest, as your car smashes into the barriers. the noise of the crash echoes in his ears, drowning out everything else. he doesn’t even hear the commentary, the frantic radio calls, or lando’s shout of your name beside him. all he can see is you, trapped in that twisted wreck, and you’re not moving.

oscar has seen crashes before—hell, he’s been in more than a few—but this is different. this isn’t just another driver, another car. it’s you. the girl who turns his world upside down, the one who’s always been his calm amid the chaos. and now you’re motionless, surrounded by smoke and broken carbon, and he’s never felt so terrified in his life.

beside him, lando’s pushing through the crowd, his face ashen, eyes wide with panic. “we have to get to her,” lando says, but his voice is shaking, the fear cracking through his usually steady tone.

oscar doesn’t move. he’s rooted to the spot, watching the screen like it’s his lifeline, praying for any sign that you’re okay. he feels sick, his stomach churning, every second that you’re not moving like a knife to his chest.

“she’ll be fine,” oscar whispers, more to himself than to lando. but the words sound hollow, and his voice wavers. because he doesn’t know. he doesn’t know if you’re okay, if you’re hurt, if you’re—

“i should’ve been there,” lando mutters, his voice thick with guilt. “i should’ve been able to protect her.”

oscar shakes his head, trying to keep himself together even though he feels like he’s breaking apart. he’s used to being the calm one, the steady presence on and off the track, but now he’s unraveling. it’s not just the crash—it’s the terrifying realization of how deeply you’ve entwined yourself into his heart, how much of his world revolves around you.

he thought he knew what it was to love you, but this feeling—this bone-deep fear, this raw, overwhelming need for you to be okay—is something else entirely. all he can think about is you—the way you laugh when you beat him in a stupid game, the way you scrunch your nose when you’re deep in thought, the way you find his hand after every race, holding on like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he’s always known he loves you. but this? this is more than love. it’s a kind of need that’s woven into his very being, and it’s terrifying, how much losing you even for a moment rips through him, leaving him hollow.

when the medics reach you, they work fast, extracting you from the mangled car with careful precision. oscar’s eyes are fixed on you, his chest tightening with every second that you’re unresponsive. the ambulance arrives, and they load you onto a stretcher, still no movement, no sign of you waking up.

“please, please, please,” oscar whispers, his voice cracking. he doesn’t care about the cameras capturing every moment of his raw fear. all he cares about is you, and he’s never felt more powerless.

lando’s shoulders slump, his hands shaking as he stares at the ground. he looks at oscar, and for once, they’re not just teammates or rivals—they’re two people who love you, and right now, that’s all that matters.

minutes feel like hours. oscar’s world narrows down to the screen, to the updates that aren’t coming fast enough, to the endless questions that nobody seems to have answers for. finally, lando’s phone buzzes. oscar watches as lando answers, the tension etched into every line of his face.

“she’s awake,” lando says, his voice thick with relief, tears shining in his eyes. “she’s bruised up, but she’s awake. they’re taking her for checks, but she’s okay.”

oscar lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and without thinking, he pulls lando into a hug. they cling to each other, relief and fear and everything else pouring out as they try to steady themselves. it’s messy and raw, but they need it. they need to feel that you’re going to be okay.

oscar pulls back, wiping at his eyes and trying to find the words. he’s never been good at this—at showing how much he cares, at letting himself be vulnerable. but he knows one thing for sure: he’s never letting you go without making sure you know just how deeply he loves you.

as the ambulance speeds away, oscar watches, feeling that familiar surge of love and fear. you’re tough—tougher than anyone gives you credit for—and you’re going to be back. you’re going to be alright.

and when you are, he’s going to be right there, holding onto you just a little bit tighter, because you’re everything to him.

for now, though, all that matters is that you’re still here, still fighting. mclaren’s favourite girl, his heart’s safe place. you’re the reason he races, the reason he loves, and the person he’s willing to hold onto with everything he has.

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reidmarieprentiss · 18 days

Text

Make You Feel My Love

Summary: You and Spencer are being held hostage, you use this vulnerable moment to tell him how you really feel.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: angst

Warnings/Includes: love confession, rejection, insecurities, being held hostage

Word count: 2k

a/n: no thoughts brain hurty me tired i sorry

main masterlist part two part three

The air in the dimly lit room was heavy, thick with the tension of fear and uncertainty. The two of you had been trapped here for what felt like hours, bound and helpless, with no sign of rescue. The flickering lightbulb overhead cast long, distorted shadows on the walls, making the room feel even smaller, more claustrophobic.

Spencer sat across from you, his face pale and strained, his eyes wide behind his glasses. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, the endless calculations and scenarios running through his head as he tried to think of a way out of this. But you knew there was nothing either of you could do. Not now, not like this.

It was the silence that got to you the most. The deafening, all-consuming silence that only magnified the pounding of your heart and the rapid shallowness of your breath. You had to say something. Anything. The words bubbled up inside you, words you had never intended to say, not like this, but there was no stopping them now.

"Spencer," you began, your voice trembling, barely more than a whisper, "I have to tell you something."

He looked up at you, his brows furrowing in concern. "What is it?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. "Well, we've always been friends, right?"

"Of course, Y/N," Spencer replied, his confusion deepening. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching yours as if trying to read between the lines of what you were saying. "Why do you ask?"

You coughed, your voice trembling as you tried to steady yourself. "I don’t—I don’t want to say or do anything that could ruin our friendship," you began, your heart pounding in your chest. "But…"

Spencer’s eyes widened, a flicker of panic flashing across his face. He could sense the gravity of what you were about to say, but he had no idea where this was going, and it terrified him. "But what?" he asked, his voice laced with dread and anticipation.

You took a deep breath, feeling the air catch in your throat as the words you had been holding back for so long finally forced their way out. "I love you, Spencer," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might shatter the fragile truth hanging between you.

For a moment, the room seemed to tilt, the world narrowing down to just the two of you, trapped in this impossible moment. Spencer stared at you, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he couldn’t quite process what he had just heard. The silence stretched on, oppressive and heavy, until finally, he spoke.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head vehemently. “No, please, don’t say that. Don’t tell me that.”

“Spencer—” you started, your voice pleading, but he cut you off, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions.

“No!” he nearly shouted, the anguish in his tone stopping you in your tracks.

“What?” Your voice wavered, barely holding steady as you tried to understand what was happening, why he was reacting this way.

“You can’t love me,” he said, his voice trembling as he looked down, unable to meet your eyes. “You shouldn’t love me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to hold them back, biting your lip to stop it from quivering. “Why not?” you asked, your voice cracking, the pain seeping into your words. You couldn’t understand why he was saying this, why he was pushing you away when all you wanted was to be closer to him.

“I—I don’t deserve that,” Spencer stammered, his hands trembling as he clasped them tightly in his lap. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Why can’t I love you, Spencer?” you asked, the desperation clear in your voice as you fought to hold onto the fragile hope that was slipping through your fingers.

His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, pulling at the strands as if trying to root himself in reality. “Because I’m not good enough for you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not what you need. I’m not what you deserve. I’m broken, and I’ll only hurt you. I can’t—I can’t let that happen.”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “That’s not true, Spencer. You’re not broken. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever known. You’re kind, and smart, and you care so much about everyone. You’re everything I could ever want.”

“No,” he repeated, his voice firmer now, though it trembled with emotion. “You’re wrong. You don’t see it, but I do. I see all the ways I’ll fail you, all the ways I’ll make your life harder. I can’t… I can’t do that to you.”

His words felt like a knife to your chest, sharp and unyielding, slicing through the hope you had so carefully nurtured. You had never imagined this moment would unfold like this, with so much pain and rejection. The distance between you, though small in physical space, felt like an insurmountable chasm, one that you feared you might never be able to cross.

“Why can’t we be together?” you asked again, your voice raw with the ache of your unfulfilled longing. You needed him to explain, to make you understand why he was pushing you away, why he couldn’t see what you saw in him.

Spencer looked at you, his eyes filled with a sorrow so deep it seemed to echo in the very air around you. “Because I’ll never be enough for you,” he said, his voice soft but laced with the bitterness of self-doubt. “You deserve someone who can give you everything you need, someone who isn’t haunted by the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done. I’m not that person. I can’t be.”

“But I don’t want anyone else,” you replied, your voice trembling with the intensity of your feelings. “I want you, Spencer. I love you for who you are, not who you think you should be.”

He closed his eyes, a single tear slipping down his cheek, his resolve cracking under the weight of your words. “I’m afraid,” he confessed, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid that if I let myself love you, I’ll only end up hurting you. And I can’t bear the thought of losing you, even if it means never having you in the way I want.”

Your heart ached at his words, at the deep-seated fear that held him back, and you wished you could reach out and erase all his doubts, all his pain. But you knew this was something he had to face on his own, something you couldn’t fix for him, no matter how much you wanted to.

“Spencer,” you whispered, taking a tentative step closer to him, your voice full of the love you felt, even in this moment of despair. “We can figure it out together. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be you.”

He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a look that was equal parts longing and sorrow. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the stillness of the room. “I don’t know if I can be what you need me to be.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were born not of rejection, but of the deep, abiding love you felt for him, even with all his fears and insecurities. “I don’t need you to be anything other than who you already are,” you said softly. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Spencer.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might reach out to you, that he might bridge the gap between you with a single step. But then, just as quickly, the doubt returned to his eyes, and he shook his head, pulling back, putting that painful distance between you once more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice full of regret. “I just… I can’t.”

And with those words, you felt the last vestiges of hope slip away, leaving you standing alone in the quiet, empty space where the possibility of something more had once been. The friendship you had shared, the love you had confessed—it all felt like it was unraveling before your eyes, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“Please,” you begged, your voice breaking as you reached out towards him, your hands trembling with the desperation that coursed through you. “Please don’t push me away. Don’t do this, Spencer. We can figure it out, we can—”

But he shook his head again, his expression one of heartbreaking finality. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t be what you need. And I can’t stand the thought of hurting you. It’s better this way. It’s better if we just… if we just stay friends.”

The words hung heavy in the air, the finality of them sinking deep into your bones. You felt like the ground had opened up beneath you, like everything you had built with Spencer over the years was crumbling into nothingness.

Your voice was barely audible when you spoke again. “This changes everything, doesn’t it?”

Spencer looked down, unable to meet your gaze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

The silence returned, heavier than before, a silence that spoke of things lost and things unsaid. It wrapped around you like a shroud, cold and unforgiving, as the reality of the situation began to sink in. You and Spencer would never be the same. Whatever friendship you had, whatever future you might have imagined, was irrevocably altered in this moment.

And in the quiet that followed, with nothing but the sound of your own ragged breathing to keep you company, you couldn’t help but wonder if things would ever feel whole again. The weight of Spencer’s words settled over you like a heavy, suffocating blanket, and the room that had already felt so small now seemed to close in on you, pressing against your chest until it hurt to breathe.

The ropes digging into your wrists were a painful reminder of the reality you were trapped in—not just the physical reality of being held hostage, but the emotional prison you now found yourself in. The burn of the coarse fibers cutting into your skin mirrored the ache in your heart, both relentless and unyielding.

You weren’t sure if you wanted your team to find you or if you were okay with the unsub coming back first. The thought flickered through your mind, dark and unsettling, but it was there, gnawing at you as you sat there, helpless in more ways than one.

If the team found you, you’d be saved, but you’d also have to face Spencer again, confront the devastating shift in your relationship, and accept that things might never return to the way they were. Could you bear pretending everything was fine, knowing your confession had fractured something deep between you? Seeing the pain in his eyes, his belief that he didn’t deserve your love, would be unbearable.

The alternative—the unsub returning—was terrifying, but in a twisted way, it almost seemed easier. At least then, you wouldn’t have to face the emotional wreckage, the sting of Spencer’s rejection replaying in your mind.

But deep down, you knew you wanted to be saved, to live, even if it meant facing the painful aftermath with Spencer. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on the hope that your team was out there, searching for you, even as Spencer’s sorrowful face haunted your thoughts.

All you could do was wait, wait and hope that when the door finally opened, it would be your team standing on the other side, ready to pull you out of the darkness—physically and emotionally. And as the minutes stretched into an eternity, you clung to that hope with everything you had, even as the pain in your wrists and the ache in your heart threatened to overwhelm you.

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misted-dream · 26 days

Text

DOPAMINE ﹒⌗﹒💒﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧ 제노 + fem!reader

in which . . . you and jeno are both too secretive and oblivious for your own good.

. . . BE MY LITTLE SECRET

content&warnings | MDNI smut, profanity, fwb dynamics, reader gets picked up, stomach bulge, kinda angsty kinda fluffy, unprotected sex, idk lmk if something’s missed

word count | 3k

notes | inspired by giselle's dopamine! this kinda went off track from what i wanted but oh well!

. . . KEEP IT HUSH HUSH, BUT I THINK I’M IN LOVE

it’s not the first time you find yourself at jeno’s doorstep this late into the night—and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. but it is the first time that it’s taken him this long to answer the door.

granted, you didn’t send a prior heads up like you usually do, but you didn’t plan on coming here either. you didn’t plan on being stuck outside jeno’s apartment waiting for a response that you’ve half-accepted isn’t coming.

still, you can’t bring your feet to move away from the entrance, like they’re glued to the floor.

you would be feeling ashamed right now if it wasn’t for the fact that you think you’re beyond feeling shameful tonight. which is what exactly led you here, to jeno.

and as if god took pity on you, your ‘resilience’ is rewarded when you hear shuffling from behind the door. the door creaks open and jeno stands behind it, craggy probably from being awoken well past midnight.

his hand cups the back of his neck, stretching his shoulders as he takes in who’s standing in front of him. “yn?” instinctively, his body steps to the side, allowing you space to step into his home.

the second the last syllable of your name dropped from his lips, you find yourself nothing short of lunging at him, arms wrapping tightly around jeno’s neck.

“woah,” he stumbles back, ultimately steadying himself before slowly running a hand down your back. “hey,” he murmurs softly next to your ear, “it’s okay.” his palm continues moving over you as a way of solace, gently pushing the door shut behind you simultaneously.

you didn’t notice how quick he was to offer comfort; not even knowing what ‘it’ was before telling you that it was alright.

you stay wrapped around jeno for what you wished was eternity, but more so like a few minutes. him staying completely silent as you inhaled deep breath after another, attempting to gain composure back.

jeno finally decides to break the silence, “wanna talk about it?”

“no,” you’re quick with your response, though your voice is slightly wavering.

“okay,” jeno faintly whispers, so quiet that you barely hear him.

you unravel your arms around him, pulling yourself away to look him in his eyes. your faces inches apart, “i just need you.”

jeno flickers between your eyes. he presses a delicate kiss onto your lips before taking in a deep breath, “i’m here.”

the ever-so-familiar all-consuming urge takes over you as you crash your lips onto his, breathing him in like he’s the very oxygen you rely on.

as if by habit, jeno immediately reciprocates. his hands positioned over the small of your back, supporting you as you lean back from the sheer force of jeno kissing you back.

the way you take each other in it’s like you haven’t seen him in years. a certain desperation tasting sweet on your lips as jeno presses himself firmly against you.

he hums into your lips before pulling away to catch his breath.

your thumb rests in the place between his ear and jawline, pulling his face closer until your foreheads meet.

through a shaky breath, you whisper, “i want you.”

“i can give you that,” jeno hauls you up into his arms with ease, like all the other times before this. gently pecking your lips as he carries you into his bedroom.

the room is lit only by the warm orange lamp in the corner. his bedsheets a faded black.

jeno reaches the end of his bed, dropping you onto the soft mattress and towering over your body.

he doesn’t say anything, instead letting his eyes tell you everything he’s thinking. they roam all over you, until his gaze finally fixes onto your face.

his breath hitches before he evens it out again. crawling over your body, you can see the muscles in his arms stretch and pull as he moves, caging you inside of him.

he leans down towards you, attaching his lips to your neck. rather than his usual penchant to suck on your skin as hard as he can so as to leave marks all over you, his lips are soft and fleeting against your neck—leaving a fluttering trail of kisses all the way to your collarbone.

you arch your back into the warmth of his lips.

jeno mumbles against your skin, “tell me what you want.” his breath fanning onto your chest.

your fingers lay flat on the planes of his face, the side of your thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. jeno leans into your touch, tilting his head upwards to look at you.

you meet his gaze, both equally dark and lustful.

“i need you…”

there’s a second part to that sentence that you didn’t voice, but you’re sure jeno can fill in the blanks for himself.

on any other given night, jeno would’ve asked you to finish that statement. but not tonight.

his fingers hook into the hem of your shirt, quickly lifting it up and over you as if it’s the easiest thing to do in the world. he tosses the shirt over his shoulder somewhere—you don’t pay attention. immediately, he continues his trail of kisses down onto your chest, over your heartbeat.

his kisses get sloppier by the second, hands tugging at your waist like you can get any closer physically than you already are.

you can’t help the moans that rasp from the back of your throat as his hands make their way up your torso. the warmth of his palm covering the soft flesh of your chest as he hooks a finger into your bra strap.

he pulls his lips away from you, levelling his face with yours again.

jeno runs a hand down your hair, cupping his fingers over your cheek, “you’re so pretty tonight.” his voice coming out as a low, gravelly whisper.

you try to ignore the skip in your chest from that.

technically, he’s not breaking any rules, or rule. the rule being strictly no pet names. jeno thought it strange when you proposed that no matter what, no pet names are allowed to be used, but nonetheless, he went along with it.

“only tonight?” your eyebrows quirk upwards; not passing up on the opportunity he set up perfectly for you.

he subtly rolls his eyes, taking away his hand and planting it firmly into the mattress next to your head. jeno lets silence fill the next two moments, staring at you with an expression you haven’t seen from him before. much more serious than all the other ones you know.

“you’re always pretty. you know that.”

his words knock you speechless, staring at him half-blank and half-stunned as to how you should even respond to that.

you land a soft blow to his chest, “what is wrong with you?” you tease with the slightest hint of a nervous smile on your lips, trying to cut through the tension you’re feeling all over. “i came to get fucked, not… whatever this is.”

“oh, god forbid i be nice for once,” he sighs, causing you to slap your hand onto his chest once again—him chuckling lightly as a result. “who said i wasn’t gonna fuck you as well?”

he presses a faint kiss just off of your lips before moving down to work the buttons on your trousers.

his fingers tug impatiently at the waistband once the button is undone, pulling the fabric off of you. the cool air blankets your bare thighs, and the feeling is quickly replaced by jeno’s hand kneading your muscles underneath his fingers.

"you want to feel good?" jeno kisses your inner thigh, a heat sparking from where his lips touched your skin. "i'll make my pretty girl feel good."

he pushes the elastic band of his pajama pants down, revealing his lower stomach lined with hard packs of muscle.

jeno kneels in between your legs, hand wrapping around the base of his dick—slowly hardening as he pumps his hand up and down his length.

you watch him, flitting between his hand and his expression. jeno sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. just the sight of his cock in his palm is making your hunger pool in between your legs, knees pressing together as you feel the pressure build.

you don't notice jeno watching you as carefully as you were him until he lets a chuckle fall from his lips. "you do need to get fucked, don't you?" he teases with a smile.

your teeth has been sinking down into your bottom lip even without you knowing. growing desperate just at the sight of him kneeling over you.

"so, are you gonna do it or not?" the restlessness ringing in your voice. you feign reaching for your pants slid halfway down your legs, "'cause i can go find someone who—"

"no, no," jeno grasps the wrist that you reached down with, pulling it back up and pinning it to the pillow over your head. "you're staying right here."

he takes your other hand, joining it with the one above your head. though only one of his hands are holding your wrists together, his grip is so tight that you don't think you can break free even if you wanted to.

he leans in, caressing your cheek with his thumb—so close that you can see each individual eyelash lining the edge of his eyelids. "and who can fuck you the way i do?" his eyes travel to your cheekbones, brushing over it with his fingers, "hm?"

"that's a bit cocky, don't you think?" you say, tilting your head to the side and dropping your gaze onto his lips.

his rosy pink lips curve into a cresent shape. "just asking a question, pretty girl."

you're starting to think jeno may be teetering on the borderline of your rule, but you don't bring it up.

"so?" jeno widens his eyes at you slightly, and you meet him with a mirrored expression.

"what?"

"you haven't given me a name."

truth is, you haven't slept with other people since you started sleeping with jeno. and it's not like you're going to anytime soon. even if you did, you know they simply don't compare.

and the worst thing is you know he knows this, too.

"you're so annoying," you want to nudge him away, but he's got your hands trapped.

jeno only smiles an innocent smile, amused at the sight of you writhing to break away under him to no avail. "i'm not going to do anything to you until you answer the question."

you stare into his eyes, and you’re sure he can see the frustration evident in your own.

“really?” is the only response you can give, dipping your chin and cocking your eyebrows up. the tone of your voice telling of your annoyance.

jeno nods, still with that smile on his face—not giving you anything more.

you roll your eyes.

“no one,” your voice low, almost on the edge of being sheepish.

“sorry, what was that?” he tilts his head, turning his ear towards you.

he’s having way too much fun teasing you like this.

you let out a groan. “fuck you,” you spit bitterly, your voice back up to a normal volume.

he chuckles lightly, “you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

before you can even think of a witty response to his comment, you feel the friction of him dragging the tip of his cock over your clothed cunt.

“it’d be so easy to just put it in,” his fingers slipping into your underwear, “when you’re this wet.”

he pulls his fingers away, leaning into your face once again. “come on, pretty girl,” he brings his hand up to your lips, pushing them through and letting you suck on it, tasting yourself on his fingers. “tell me who can fuck you better than i can.”

he slides his fingers out, dragging along your lips before completing removing them.

“no one,” you mutter, trying to hide the desperation in you with a breath.

he smirks, “good girl.”

he looks down, bunching the fabric of your underwear to one side before grabbing the base of his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

you’re seeing a side to jeno that you haven’t seen before. usually, sex between you was a quick release. half the time it’s like he’s rushing to get through it with how hard and fast he’s pounding himself into you.

but slowly he pushes himself in you—being gentle with you, almost. moans erupting from his throat before he finally fills you up, as evidenced by the outline of his cock bulging up out of your stomach. the sight of it drives jeno fucking crazy—which is why he always fucks you like a dog in heat.

tonight, though, he’s determined to set a different pace.

his hips stills as your pussy swallows the entire length of his dick. no matter how many times you do it, it’s never something you can fully get used to. your back already arched into him, nails digging into your own palms.

“you always feel so fucking good,” jeno rasps, letting go of his grasp on your wrists and placing it on your waist instead.

he pulls his hips back at a steady pace. you feel every inch of it as it drags against your walls.

with your arms freed, you quickly wrap them around jeno’s neck.

he thrusts into you again, hips stuttering as he lets out a breathy moan. his head falls into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin.

you hold back a cry as he bottoms out, fingers holding furiously onto his shoulders.

jeno builds a steady rhythm, sliding his cock in and out of you—following each thrust with a grunt.

“fuck, jeno,” you whine, thighs clamping tight around him.

he groans, his entire body responding viscerally to his name falling from your lips. and he can’t hold back anymore.

his hips picking up speed as he pounds himself deeper and deeper into you. fingers gripping tighter on your waist and pushing you down on his dick, meeting his thrusts halfway.

he unravels one of your arms from around his neck, laying it out over your head.

“fuck,” jeno lifts his head, leaving your faces mere inches apart. he spreads open your palm, threading his fingers through yours and holding your hand tightly as he keeps up the pace of his thrusts.

your bottom lip is pulled back by your teeth, trying to contain the whimpers and cries that are threatening to escape. you feel the pressure within you building, and creeping dangerously close to its release.

jeno lets out a string of curses, feeling you starting to tighten around him. “baby, i’m gonna—”

with a sudden choke of his words, jeno pulls out. his cock twitching violently as his cum shoots out from his tip, painting your stomach in streaks of white.

the sudden halt of friction leaves your body aching, desperate for sensation again.

your breathing begins to slow as you watch jeno throw his head back, cock still throbbing. looking down, you can see the ribbons of his cum covering your entire torso.

jeno drops his head, seeing the mess he made all over you.

“i’m sorry,” he pants, “i swear to god, you…”

you watch the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face for a moment.

“‘baby?’” your voice taking on a questioning tone, ignoring your body’s pleading for attention.

“it just came over me, i know—” he breathes heavily, giving your hand a squeeze. “i know you don’t like it.”

“then, why’d you say it?” you sounding more defensive than offensive, surprising even yourself when your voice rings in your ear.

“i don’t know, i—” jeno untangles his hand from yours, pushing his hair back from sticking onto his face. “yn, are we really gonna do this?”

“you broke the rule.”

the bluntness of your statement forces jeno to look you in the eyes.

in all honesty, you’re not upset at this. but just the principle of him breaking the rule makes it appear like you are.

“you have to know,” jeno simply mutters.

“know what?”

“god, yn,” he shuts his eyes, turning his face away from yours for a brief moment. “you think i fuck everyone like this?”

he continues when you don’t respond—how could you even respond?

“you think i even fuck anyone who’s not you?”

jeno’s chest swells as he speaks. he pushes a strand of your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. “i wasn’t being mean earlier when i asked you that question, i—i wanted to know.”

you bite down hard on your lip.

the feeling of not knowing what to say has never settled well within you.

“jeno, i thought we—”

“i know what we agreed on,” jeno cuts you off. “and i’m sorry i crossed that line. you don’t have to—”

“i like you.”

your voice cuts through his. his eyes fixed on yours as he takes in what he just heard.

“what?” jeno’s voice is weak, his face telling of him being caught off guard.

you cup his cheek in your palm, thumb lightly grazing over his cheekbone, “i like you.”

“i thought—”

you press your lips firmly onto his, breaking off the rest of his words. when you pull away, jeno chases after your lips with his own, kissing you like his very life depended on it.

“fuck,” he mumbles against you, letting out a soft chuckle. “you like me.”

you hum as he pulls back, lips glossy under the dim lighting.

“are you saying this is one-sided?” you rib.

a small smirk turns up the corner of jeno’s lips. “you haven’t cum, yet, have you?”

the sudden turn in topic draws your eyebrows together.

jeno moves lower down your body, hands running down the sides of it, until his mouth is hovering over your bare cunt.

“i guess i should show my pretty baby just how much i like her.”

#k-labels #📂 - nct #nct #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct dream fanfic #nct dream x reader #nct dream imagines #nct dream #nct smut #nct dream smut #jeno smut #lee jeno fanfic #jeno x reader #nct jeno #nct jeno smut

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anniebeemine · 1 month

Text

isn't that sweet?*- s.r. x fem!reader

i’m working late, 'cause i’m a singer

warnings: oral sex (fem. receiving), slight voyeurism

The studio was dimly lit, the soft glow of the mixing board casting long shadows against the walls. You stood in the recording booth, headphones snug against your ears, adjusting the mic one last time as you prepared to lay down another track. This album was different—more personal, more intimate than anything you’d ever done before. And that was because of him.

Spencer sat on the other side of the glass, his gaze fixed on you as you shifted from one foot to the other, finding your rhythm before the music began. He was seated next to your producer, who was quietly conversing with the sound engineer, but Spencer’s focus never wavered. His presence was constant, steady and comforting, as you prepared to pour your heart into the microphone.

This album was a reflection of your life over the past year—every song, every lyric, a piece of the story you shared with Spencer. From the first tentative dates where you both stumbled over your words, nervous and unsure, to the quiet nights spent curled up on the couch, watching old movies, your heads resting against each other. Those memories, those moments, were what fueled your creativity.

You’d written about the way his fingers intertwined with yours during a late-night walk, how he always made you feel like the only person in the world when he looked at you. The way his eyes would light up whenever he got lost in a ramble, explaining some obscure fact or statistic with a passion that made your heart swell.

And then there were the nights where the world outside ceased to exist—the ones where you’d stay tangled in bed long after the sun had risen, whispering secrets and sweet nothings, your bodies and souls completely intertwined. The songs that emerged from those moments were the most vulnerable, the ones that spoke of love in its rawest, most passionate form. They were the songs that made you blush when you sang them, knowing that each note and word was a reflection of the intimacy you shared with him.

As the instrumental intro played through your headphones, you closed your eyes, letting the music wash over you. The melody was soft, almost dreamy, and you knew it would resonate with Spencer. It was the same melody you had hummed absentmindedly during one of your many nights in, the sound lulling him to sleep as you played with his hair.

You started to sing, your voice soft and controlled, carrying the emotion of the lyrics. The song was about a specific night—a night where time seemed to slow, and every touch, every whisper, felt like it was magnified. You had written it as a lullaby of sorts, a tribute to the quiet, peaceful moments you’d shared, the ones that felt like a sanctuary from the world.

The song came to an end, and you let the last note linger in the air before you pulled the headphones off, stepping away from the mic. The room was silent for a moment, the weight of what you’d just recorded settling over everyone.

Your producer leaned forward, a look of approval on his face. “That was perfect. I think we’ve got it.”

You gave a small, relieved smile, but you didn’t move from where you stood. The producer and sound engineer began gathering their things, the producer casting a knowing glance between you and Spencer. “We’ll leave you to it, then. Just lock up when you’re done,” he said. “Goodnight.”

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving you and Spencer alone. The silence stretched on for a moment before Spencer pushed the button on the console to speak through the speakers into the booth.

“Is there something else you want to record?” he asked, his voice gentle but curious.

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the edge of the mic stand as you looked at him through the glass. “There is… but I’m really embarrassed to do it in front of other people,” you admitted, your voice just above a whisper, even though you knew he could hear you clearly.

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly. “Embarrassed? Why?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “It’s… it’s a song I wrote. It’s about… well, about us. Specifically, about our… sex life.” You could feel your face heat up as you spoke, averting your eyes to the floor. “My producer suggested adding some… um, moans in the background, but it’s really awkward to do it in front of anyone else.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly composed himself, understanding washing over his features. “So… you want me to stay and just press record and stop for you?”

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief at his understanding. “Yeah. I can’t do it with them here, but… I trust you. It’s just, every time I try, it either comes out flat or too breathy. I’m too in my head.”

Spencer’s lips quirked into a small smile, and he nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”

He walked over to the console, settling into the chair that the sound engineer had vacated, his fingers hovering over the controls. You adjusted the mic, closing your eyes for a moment to collect yourself before you spoke again. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Spencer pressed the record button, and you began. The first few attempts were rough, your voice coming out boring and flat, lacking the emotion you wanted to convey. Each time, you stopped, shaking your head, frustration building as you couldn’t quite get it right. Spencer patiently stopped the recording each time, offering you encouraging smiles, but the tension was mounting. After a few more failed tries, you couldn’t help but let out a nervous giggle, breaking the tension in the room.

“This is so awkward,” you admitted, laughing softly as you looked at Spencer, who chuckled along with you.

“You’re overthinking it,” Spencer said, his voice warm and reassuring. “Just relax. I’ll even turn around.”

You nodded, appreciating his understanding, and tried again. But this time, the frustration only grew. The sounds were either too forced or completely flat, and each attempt left you feeling more and more tense. Finally, you let out a groan of frustration, stepping out of the booth to grab a bottle of water, trying to unwind.

Spencer watched you as you sipped the water, his eyes thoughtful. “I think I know a way to help you get authentic moans,” he said after a moment, his voice low and careful.

You blinked at him, trying to piece together what he was suggesting. At first, you were hesitant, not quite believing what he was implying. But the way he looked at you, his eyes full of that familiar warmth and affection, made it clear. He was serious.

“Spence…” you started, your voice trailing off as you considered it.

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. “There are no cameras in here,” he reminded you, his voice soft. “And I’ll be very, very quiet.”

You felt your heart race as his words hung in the air, a mix of nervous excitement bubbling up inside you. Before you could respond, Spencer leaned in, his lips gently brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The heat of his touch, the familiar taste of his lips, sent a shiver down your spine.

His kisses grew deeper, more insistent as he pressed closer, his hands finding their way to your waist. You could feel his breath against your skin as he began trailing kisses down your neck, his lips soft and deliberate. Each kiss left a trail of warmth in its wake, a persuasive argument in itself.

“Spence,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as he reached a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear. The sensation made your knees weak, and you found yourself leaning into him, craving more of his touch.

His hands moved up to cradle your face, tilting your head slightly to give him better access to your neck. “Just relax,” he murmured between kisses, his voice a low, soothing rumble that vibrated against your skin. “Let me help you.”

His lips continued their journey, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along your collarbone and up the side of your neck, sending waves of heat through your body. With each kiss, he was chipping away at your hesitation, replacing it with something far more potent: desire.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of his mouth on your skin, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. It was impossible to think about anything else, the world outside the booth fading away until it was just the two of you, wrapped up in this moment.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly, his voice a tender caress.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. The nervousness was still there, but it was tempered by the undeniable pull you felt toward him. “I think… I think I’m ready,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Spencer smiled, his hands gently squeezing your waist in encouragement. “Good,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and reassurance. “I have an idea.”

You watched, curious, as he moved around the room, grabbing a few of the equipment boxes stacked nearby. He brought them into the recording booth, carefully setting them up beneath the microphone. You followed him inside, your heart racing as you tried to piece together what he was doing. It wasn’t until he started arranging the boxes like a makeshift seat that you began to realize his plan. Your eyes widened slightly as the realization dawned on you—he was setting up a throne for you, right beneath the microphone.

Your mouth went dry as you processed the implications, your body buzzing with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Spencer was always full of surprises, but this...this was something else entirely.

He caught your expression and gave you a small, reassuring smile. “Trust me,” he said, his voice low and soothing. With a practiced ease, he shrugged off his cardigan, folding it neatly before draping it over the makeshift seat. He looked at you, his gaze warm and steady, before gently guiding you to sit down.

You hesitated for a moment, the intimacy of the situation sending a flush of heat through you, ending right at your core. You clench around nothing. But the way Spencer looked at you, the quiet confidence in his eyes, made it impossible to resist. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto the makeshift throne, the softness of his cardigan cushioning you.

Spencer knelt in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he looked up at you. The sight of him there, gazing at you with such intensity, made your breath hitch. He gently parted your legs, his hands warm against your skin as he settled himself between your thighs.

“I want you to focus on the sensations,” he murmured, his voice like velvet. “Forget everything else. Just think about us.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against your inner thigh. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine, your entire body attuned to his every movement. You felt his fingers loop around the sides of your underwear, pulling them down.

“Aren’t you glad you wore a skirt?” He teased.

You nod, closing your eyes to hopefully forget the fact that you’re in your workplace and anyone could walk in at any moment. Spencer kissed your inner thigh, spreading your legs wider. You can feel the cool air run over you and your soaked core. His tongue traced a line along your folds. You gasped, writhing beneath him. Spencer wastes no time in using his hands, circling a finger around your entrance as his lips find your clit. He wraps his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking lightly.

You moan lowly, your fingers finding his hair to give him a harsh tug. He looks up at you, relishing in the way your eyes are screwed shut, little pants leaving your lips. He lets his fingers slide into your pussy, pumping slowly as he kitten licks at your clit.

“Fuck.”

He smiled against your cunt and you just know that he’s come up with some cocky comment that he’s dying to say. You finally open your eyes and almost cum at the dazed look in his eyes. The hand that was on your thigh came up to cup your breast, sliding his way under your shirt. Spencer’s eyebrows perk when he realizes you’re not wearing a bra.

You wink at him, a smug smile forming on your lips. He pushes his fingers deeper. The action makes your thighs flinch, closing in on him for a moment before you relax again. Spencer hums against you, his lips sucking generously at your clit before his tongue massaged it in teasing little circles.

Spencer continued his relentless, expert pace, every flick of his tongue and gentle suck driving you closer to the brink. The sound that escaped your lips was a soft moan, barely more than a whisper, but it filled the recording booth with a delicate echo that made Spencer smile against you.

As his tongue circled and teased, the moan grew into a breathier, more desperate sound. “Spence,” you panted, the word tumbling out in a ragged exhale. Your hands clutched at his hair, urging him on, your breath catching in your throat as he continued.

The next moan was louder, more drawn out, vibrating with the tension building inside you. It was a sound of pure need, of surrender, and Spencer relished every note of it. The intensity of what he was doing made you lose all sense of composure; your breaths came quicker, more shallow, and each exhale carried a gasp, a whimper, a plea.

“Please,” you gasped, your voice trembling as he pushed you further, his name falling from your lips again and again. Every moan, every pant was a symphony of rising desperation, a crescendo of need that you couldn’t hold back.

Your back arched involuntarily, pressing yourself closer to him, and the moans turned into broken cries, the kind that left your throat raw. “Spence, I—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, the words lost in a strangled moan that was half sob, half ecstasy.

The sounds coming from you were almost primal now, a mixture of keening whimpers and breathless pants, each one more desperate than the last. You were close—so close—and it showed in every pant, every strained moan that escaped your trembling lips.

And Spencer kept going, his own breath coming in short, heated bursts as he listened to every sound you made, each one spurring him on, relishing the way he was drawing these noises from you. It was like music to his ears, a melody he never wanted to end, as your moans grew louder, more frantic, until you finally tumbled over the edge, your voice breaking in a long, shuddering cry of release.

Spencer sat back, a smug grin playing at the corners of his lips as he wiped his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. He started to rise, heading toward the control panel. “I’m going to hit record. I’ll be back in a second.”

You blinked, still catching your breath, and reached out to stop him. “Wait… you didn’t already record that?”

He turned to you, that same smug smile deepening. “Of course not,” he replied, a teasing glint in his eyes. “A good vocalist always warms up first.”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re something else, Spencer Reid.”

He leaned in, his voice low and dripping with confidence. “Besides,” he added, his tone playfully serious, “I think this next take is going to be a hit.”

And he was right.

When you showed Spencer the plaque for the double platinum record, his eyes lit up with pride. “So,” he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, “are you going to give me writing credit for this?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I think we can keep that our little secret.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reidx reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #fanfic #spencer reid smut #thats that me espresso

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chosok-amo · 1 month

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Filthiest suo smut you can write (bonus points for using “good girl”) 🫣

꒰ FREAKY DEAKY ꒱

SUO HAYATO. . . . you and suo were dating back in high school, you two were love birds, people tend to go around calling you two soulmate because of how perfect you two are for each other, but you two break up, and meet again after 8 years. you two are at the local club with friends, and one thing leads to another, by at the end of the night, suo hayato found his dick inside you.

warning : age-up! suo sayato ( mid-twenty sou & reader ), ōral ( m! receiving ), dirty talk, degrading, praise kink, hair-pulling, name-calling, choking, fingering, toxicity.

w/c : 8,9k

as you stand with your friends, the music pulsating through the dimly lit club, your eyes scan the room until they land on a familiar figure across the way. your heart skips a beat—it's suo hayato. it's been over eight years since you last saw him, yet there he is, just as you remember.

that unsettling, bone-chilling smile curves on his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. his presence is magnetic, even after all this time. he’s still wearing that eye-patch, a symbol of the man he was—and perhaps still is. memories flood back, mixing with the heavy bass of the music.

he catches your gaze, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all. the room seems to shrink, the noise fading into the background as your past collides with the present. his smile never wavers, and you can't help but wonder what he's thinking, what he's doing here after all these years. it’s like a ghost has walked back into your life, and you’re not sure if you’re ready to face it.

you quickly avert your gaze, trying to focus on anything else—the lights, the crowd, the drink in your hand—but it’s no use. you can feel his eyes on you, that maroon gaze piercing through the dimness of the club, tracking your every move like a predator locked onto its prey.

you shift uncomfortably, moving closer to your friends, hoping the crowd will swallow you up, but it’s as if he’s tethered to you. every time you glance up, there he is, that unnerving smile never fading.

the air feels thicker, the music more distant as your anxiety starts to creep in. you know you should walk away, leave the club, but something keeps you rooted in place—maybe it’s the unresolved tension, the years of distance, or maybe it’s just the fear of what might happen if you turn your back on him.

you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the intensity of his stare only grows, making your skin crawl. it’s like he’s silently daring you to come closer, to confront whatever it is that lingers between you after all this time. but are you ready to face him?

your heart pounds in your chest, and you instinctively turn away, desperately trying to lose yourself in the sea of people around you. courage is the last thing you feel—you don’t want to face him, don’t want to remember the way his soft hands used to trace your skin, or how his lips would brush against yours in those quiet moments you shared.

no, you don’t want any of that. the thought of meeting him again, of exchanging words, or worse, feeling that familiar touch, sends a wave of panic through you. the memories are too vivid, too raw, and you can’t afford to let them resurface now.

you down your drink, hoping the burn will distract you from the growing anxiety, but it does little to calm your nerves. all you want is to escape, to forget that he’s even here, but the weight of his presence lingers, heavy and suffocating.

you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to ground yourself, but the images of the past keep flashing in your mind—his hands, his lips, his voice. no, you can’t do this. not here, not now.

with a shaky breath, you tell your friends you need some air, forcing a casual smile. they don’t question it, too caught up in the night’s excitement to notice the turmoil beneath the surface. as you make your way to the exit, you pray that he won’t follow, that this encounter will stay in the past where it belongs.

as you push through the crowd, trying to make your way to the exit, your eyes unintentionally catch sight of them—his friends, your old circle. nirei, with her always-cool demeanor, leans against the bar, laughing at something sakura said. sakura, ever the lively one, gestures animatedly, her laughter ringing above the music. umemiya, stoic as ever, stands off to the side, nursing a drink, while hiragi, with that perpetual smirk, surveys the room.

seeing them together, unchanged after all these years, makes your chest tighten. they were once a part of your life too, part of the memories you’ve tried so hard to leave behind. but now, just like him, they’re here, pulling you back into a time you’ve long since tried to forget.

you notice the subtle glances they throw in his direction, the way they seem to orbit around him, just as they always did. it’s as if nothing’s changed—as if you could walk over and slip right back into the group, like you were never gone. but the thought is fleeting, immediately replaced by the dread of facing them again, of them seeing the way you’re struggling to keep your composure.

you finally reach the exit, the cool night air hitting your face as you step outside. you take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease, but it clings to you, stubborn and unrelenting. their faces, their laughter, his smile—they’re all etched into your mind, no matter how much distance you put between yourself and the club.

as you stand there, away from the noise and the memories, you realize that no matter how much time has passed, some parts of the past are always ready to resurface, waiting for the moment when you least expect them.

just as you think you've escaped, just as the cool air outside offers a brief respite, it happens. a strong hand grabs your arm, pulling you back inside with a force that takes your breath away. before you can react, you're dragged through the crowded club, everything blurring around you as panic surges through your veins.

within seconds, you're shoved into one of the bathrooms. the door slams shut behind you, and the sound of the lock clicking into place echoes in the small space. your heart is racing, fear and adrenaline mixing into a dizzying rush as you try to make sense of what’s happening.

you’re pushed back against the wall, your mind reeling, and then you see him—suo hayato, standing there in front of you, his presence dominating the cramped room. his maroon eye gleams with an unsettling intensity, and that bone-chilling smile is still fixed on his face, but now there’s something darker in it, something that makes your blood run cold.

“did you really think you could just walk away?” his voice is low, almost a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. his grip on your arm tightens, and you feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

you try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go, keeping you trapped between him and the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. your mind races, searching for something to say, something to do, but all you can focus on is the way he’s looking at you, like you’re a puzzle he’s been waiting to solve for far too long.

“you can’t just ignore me,” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “not after all this time.” his words hang in the air, heavy with implication, and you realize just how deep you’re in—trapped, with no way out, forced to confront the man you’ve spent years trying to forget.

the cramped bathroom's dim light reflects off the polished tiles, casting eerie shadows on the closed door and the small sink. the air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and the thumping bass from the club's music reverberates through the walls.

for the first few moments, the only sounds are the labored breaths escaping both your lips. your heart races so rapidly, you’re sure he can hear it. your mind is clouded by a blend of fear and a strange sense of anticipation—a feeling that’s hard to reconcile, almost contradictory.

“i’ve got you now,” he mutters, his teeth bared in a sinister smile. his hand slides down your arm to your hip, gripping tightly as he presses closer against you, pinning you further against the wall.

“you can’t ignore me anymore. we’ve got unfinished business, you and i,” he adds. his face is so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin. as he leans in, the heat from his body radiating against yours, your back presses harder into the wall. his voice is a low murmur, each word accompanied by a breath that seems to caress your skin.

his hand on your hip becomes more firm, almost possessive, as if he's marking you as his. you can feel the coolness of his rings against your skin, contrasting sharply with the warmth of his touch.

“unfinished business?” you manage to stammer out, your voice quivering despite your best efforts to maintain composure. the warmth of his breath is almost unbearable, causing a strange shiver to run down your spine.

you try again to push against his chest, to create any space between you, but he holds firm, your efforts merely a token resistance against his strength and determination. “what the fuck are you talking about?” you demand, the accusation slipping out without thought.

he moves in closer, until there’s virtually no space left between you. his body is flush against yours, his breath now mere inches away from your face. his eye gleams in the dim light, studying you intently, an air of quiet satisfaction about him.

he doesn’t reply right away. instead, he brings his other hand up to your face, his thumb lightly tracing the line of your jaw. his touch is surprisingly gentle, almost tender, a stark contrast to his unyielding grip on your hip.

his maroon eye searches your face with a relentless intensity, as if he's trying to decipher something hidden deep within you. his thumb moves slowly, tracing a delicate, circular path on your skin, gradually moving upward until it brushes over your bottom lip. the touch is soft, almost gentle, but it carries a weight that makes your breath hitch.

there's a brief silence as he watches you, and then he speaks, his voice softer now but still laced with that underlying intensity. “you really don’t know?”

his words send another shiver down your spine, and the tension in the small bathroom becomes almost unbearable. you can feel it building between you, thickening the air as the reality of the situation crashes down on you.

anger flares up in response, burning away the fear that had momentarily paralyzed you. your brows knit together as you glare at him, your voice sharp with frustration and defiance. “no, suo, i fucking don’t know.”

his thumb pauses on your lip, and the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth only fuels your anger. but there’s something else in his expression too—something that makes you feel like you’re on the edge of understanding, yet still in the dark.

you jerk your head away from his touch, but he doesn’t back off, his gaze still locked onto yours. the smirk fades slightly, replaced by a more serious look, as if your defiance has finally caught his attention in a way that matters. “then maybe,” he murmurs, his voice lowering even more, “it’s time you remembered.”

there's a pause, a moment where the silence in the bathroom seems to stretch out almost indefinitely. the only sound is the thumping bass from the club below and the sound of your own quickened breathing.

he studies you intently, as if seeing something hidden within you that you're not even aware of yourself. his smirk fades, replaced by a strange mixture of seriousness and something else—something almost like anticipation.

“maybe you need a reminder,” he repeat.

his words hang in the air for a moment, the implications of them becoming clearer with each passing second. his expression is intense, almost predatory, as he gazes down at you. his eye flickers between your eyes and your lips, as if trying to decide where to focus his attention. without warning, he moves his hand from your lip, instead reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. his touch is light but deliberate, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

the gesture is strangely intimate, his touch lingering against your skin. his fingers trail along your jaw and then down the side of your neck, sending another shiver through you. he leans in closer, his face so close now that you can feel his breath on your cheek. his voice is low, almost a whisper, as he speaks the next words. “close your eyes,” he murmurs, the command leaving no room for disobedience.

you hesitate for a brief moment, your mind swirling with a mix of fear, confusion, and a strange sort of anticipation. but his words, spoken in that low, commanding tone, leave little room for defiance.

slowly, almost reluctantly, you close your eyes, your world suddenly plunged into darkness. you’re acutely aware of his presence so close to you, the proximity making your stomach flutter with uncertainty.

the absence of sight seems to heighten the other sensations—the heat of his body against yours, the sound of your heart thudding in your chest, his scent, a mix of cologne and something else, something distinctly him. as your sight is taken away, your other senses seem to sharpen. the heat emanating from his body feels almost searing, the thump of your heart in your ears is almost deafening, and his scent wraps around you like a fog.

he’s silent for a moment, you can feel his eyes on you, even through your closed lids. after a few more seconds, he speaks again, his voice a low rumble against your skin. “tell me something, y/n,” he murmurs.

your heart feels like it’s lodged in your throat, each beat echoing in the tight space between you. swallowing hard, you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat. “what?”

your whisper hangs in the air, fragile and uncertain, as you wait for his response. the vulnerability in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by him; you can feel it in the way his grip on you tightens ever so slightly, and in the way the energy between you shifts, becoming even more charged with the weight of whatever is about to be said.

his grip on your hip tightens, his fingers digging into the flesh just a little bit more. his other hand moves to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, forcing you to angle your face towards him. the silence stretches again, and then his low voice breaks it, his question spoken in a tone that's both commanding and oddly vulnerable, a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor.

“do you remember our first kiss?”

his question pierces through the charged silence, filling the small space between you with an almost tangible tension. the memory of that moment—your first kiss, all those years ago—floods back into your mind, and your heart stutters in your chest.

his thumb, still resting under your chin, moves in a slow, feather-light stroke along your bottom lip, the touch sending a jolt down your spine. his eye is fixed on your face, waiting for your response. the world seems to pause for a moment as the question hangs in the air. your mind whirls as memories surface unbidden.

you remember the softness of his lips, the heat of his body against yours, the way the world seemed to fade away as you lost yourselves in that one brief moment. it's a memory that holds so much power, so much emotion. but you’re wary, not quite sure what he's after with this question. your voice trembles slightly as you respond, “yes.”

his hand on your hip moves slightly, his fingers tracing small, absent patterns against your skin. his touch is strangely soothing, and yet it also serves to remind you of the physical reality of the situation—of his closeness, the pressure of his body against yours.

your answer seems to please him, as he lets out a small hum of satisfaction. his thumb continues its slow, rhythmic motion against your lip, as if claiming it in some way.

“good,” he murmurs, “i wanted to make sure.”

his gaze drifts from your eyes down to your lips, his eye flickering almost possessively over them. the tension between you ratchets up another notch—a simmering cocktail of memories, old feelings, and current confusion.

he leans in, closing the already small gap between you, his breath mingling with yours almost as if he’s tasting the air itself. his voice is a low, almost reverent murmur as he speaks again, “i’ve been thinking about that kiss, a lot recently.”

as he talks, his words brush against your skin like a gentle caress, sending another wave of shivers down your spine. his touch on your lip is still light and almost reverent, a stark contrast to the possessive grip on your hip. “and do you remember…,” he continues, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper now, “how it ended?”

his question hangs in the air like a challenge, his voice just barely above a whisper. the memory of how that kiss ended floods your mind again, the image hazy and uncertain after all this time, but still potent.

the air between you feels stifling, heavy with anticipation. his lips are just millimeters away from yours, his breath warm against your skin. his eye is fixated on your face, studying your every reaction.

he waits for your answer, his words lingering in the silence like a loaded gun. his voice whispers against your skin, each word carrying an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. the combination of his touch and the heat of his body against yours is almost overwhelming, but somehow you feel drawn in even closer, as if there’s some invisible pull between you that you can’t resist.

as he continues, his voice drops to a low murmur, the memory of that moment, of how it all ended, comes flooding back to you. “yes,“ you murmur back, your voice shaky. “i remember.” as you speak, his eye seems to narrow slightly, studying your face with an almost predatory intensity. there's a moment of silence, where the only sound is the thumping of your mingled heartbeats in the cramped space.

he leans in even closer, his lips now tantalizingly close to yours. his hand on your hip tightens, his grip no longer gentle but firm, a silent assertion of dominance. “tell me,” he commands, his voice barely above a whisper, “what happened next?” the air around you seems to grow even thinner, his proximity making it hard to breathe. his hand on your hip is a constant reminder of his control over the situation, his grip a silent warning not to defy him.

his lips are right there, so close you could almost taste them, yet still somehow out of reach. their heat seems to linger on your skin, a prelude to something more.

he repeats his demand, his voice a low rumble that resonates through your chest. “tell me what happened next.” the question pulls you from your fog, leaving you feeling both nervous and groggy, like you’re teetering on the edge of a dream and reality. your mind races, trying to piece together what he wants, but the haze of fear and the overwhelming presence of him makes it hard to think straight.

“you..” you manage to say, your voice shaky and uncertain. the words come out almost as a whisper, your nerves making it difficult to speak clearly. “you touching me and we...” his grip on your hip tightens slightly, and you can sense his frustration, but also a twisted sort of satisfaction. it’s like he’s enjoying this—the power he has over you, the way he can make you feel so small, so unsure.

he listens to your shaky words intently, his eye flickering between your eyes and your lips as you speak. his grip on you remains firm, his body pressing even closer against yours, as if he's desperate for any reaction from you. he seems to relish your nervous stammering, feeding off the sense of unease he's creating in you. it's almost as if he's testing you, seeing how far he can push you before you break.

when you don't continue, he prompts you again, his voice a low growl. “and then...?” your mind is foggy, overwhelmed by the heat of his body, the closeness of him, and the power he holds over you in this moment. you’re barely holding on, teetering between fear and something else—something that draws you closer to him, even when every rational part of you screams to run.

with a shaky breath, you finally find the words, your voice soft and groggy, almost as if you’re in a trance. “and then… we’re having sex, suo.”

the admission hangs in the air, your heart pounding in your throat as you wait for his reaction. the tension is almost unbearable, your senses overloaded by his proximity, his scent, the way his eye locks onto yours with a burning intensity. as your words hang in the air, you can feel his body tense against yours. his grip on your hip tightens even more, his fingers digging into the flesh with a possessive pressure. his breath is heavier now, and his eye widens a fraction as he processes what you’ve just told him.

he doesn’t respond for a moment, his voice coming out as a low, almost gravelly whisper. “say it again.”

“we fucked,” you repeat.

the words come out in a soft, almost breathless murmur, your voice still shaky from the tension between you. his eye darkened, his expression turning predatory. as you speak, his grip becomes even tighter, his fingers digging into your skin and holding you in place. his breath is hot against your skin, and his body tenses even more, as if he's barely holding back.

he leans in even closer, his lips almost touching your ear as he speaks again. his tone is low and almost dangerous, a mix of intensity and desire.

“do you remember how it felt?”

“no,” you manage to lie whisper, your voice harsher this time, filled with a mix of fear, anger, and uncertainty, “i don't remember.” he pauses, his eye narrowing as he studies your face, clearly displeased with your answer.

he releases his grip on your hip, his hand trailing up your body slowly, almost lazily. he stops at your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat in a loose but firm hold. he doesn’t apply any pressure, but it’s enough to make you keenly aware of his power over you.

he leans in, his lips almost touching your ear again, his voice a possessive growl. “that’s not the right answer.” the possessive tone in his voice ignites a spark of defiance within you. pushing him away with all the strength you can muster, you glare at him, your voice laced with anger and frustration. “oh, fuck you, suo!”

the words burst out of you, raw and unfiltered, as you struggle to regain your composure. the anger in your voice seems to catch him off guard, and for a moment, the intensity in his eyes flickers. “you can just come back into my life after eight years of no contact and act all touchy and possessive?” your voice is sharp, laced with indignation and a deep sense of betrayal. “who do you think you are, showing up like this and trying to control me?”

the words spill out, each one fueled by the confusion and anger of seeing him again after so long. you shake your head, trying to emphasize just how out of place and unwelcome his actions feel.

he bristles at your harsh words, his eye flickering with a hint of annoyance. but rather than retreat or apologize, he seems to just double down, his grip on your neck tightening just slightly, a warning glance in his eye. “watch your tone,” he growls, his voice deep and authoritative. “i didn't come all this way just to be disrespected like this.”

he studies your face, his expression is a mix of anger and something else, something almost feral in its intensity, “you may have forgotten me, but we once meant something to each other.”

you snort in response, your voice dripping with skepticism and irritation. “yeah, right.” the dismissive tone in your voice echoes the defiance you feel, a refusal to be swayed by his attempts to rekindle old connections or assert dominance. his intensity only fuels your resolve to stand your ground, even as the tension between you remains palpable.

he tightens his grip a bit more, his expression darkening as your defiant attitude continues. he's clearly not used to not getting his way, and your refusal to submit to his demands is only serving to rile him up further.

he leans in closer, his face now mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “don't get cocky,” he sneers, his voice low and menacing. “you may have forgotten how it feels to be mine, but your body hasn't.” his words hit you like a bolt of electricity, a chilling reminder of your past relationship. your heart pounds in your chest, your mind racing as you try to process his implication.

he leans in closer still, his face almost touching yours, his voice now a low, possessive growl. “your body remembers, even if your mind doesn’t.” he pauses, his eye flickering over your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. “i can always remind you.” with his fingers still around your neck, the pressure just enough to keep you aware of his presence, you grit your teeth and mutter, “fuck you.”

his grip on your neck tightens, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you gasp. he leans in even closer, his face now directly in front of yours, his eye burning with anger.

“watch your mouth,” he hisses, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “i’m not some pushover you can disrespect like this. i will remind you who you belong to.” struggling to maintain your composure, you push against him with whatever strength you can muster, trying to create some space. “fuck off, suo!” you snap, your voice hoarse but determined, trying to assert yourself despite the intimidating closeness.

he falters for a moment, caught off guard by your attempt to push him back. but his surprise is short-lived as he quickly regains his composure, his grip on you only tightening further in response to your continued defiance.

“you never did know when to stop,“ he growls, his voice deep and frustrated. he takes a step closer, towering over you, his body pressing against yours again. “you always were a stubborn, unruly little brat.” he leans in, his mouth mere inches from your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “but i was also the only one who could make you submit."

his hand on your neck slides down slightly, tracing a possessive line along your collarbone as he continues in a low, dangerous tone, “and i still know all the ways to make you bend to my will.” just like that he roughly kisses you and as your lips meet, he takes immediate control, claiming your mouth with a fierce possession that leaves you breathless.

his hand on your neck tightens once more, holding you in place as he devours you, his tongue forcefully exploring your mouth as if trying to prove just how thoroughly he can dominate you with his touch alone. his other hand grips your hip again, pulling your body flush against his, his fingertips digging into your flesh in a way that sends chills down your spine.

he continues to kiss you hungrily, the intensity in his movements growing with every passing moment. his tongue tangles with yours, his mouth bruising your lips with a possessive fervor.

he pushes you back against the wall, pressing his body against yours, trapping you between the cold surface and his overheated frame. his grip on your neck and hip tightens even more, any attempt to break free becoming increasingly impossible as he pours all his pent-up hunger and desire into the kiss.

his body covers yours, his presence surrounding you completely, a reminder of the power he holds over you in this moment. the kiss continues, his tongue delving deeper into your mouth, his body moving against yours in a way that ignites a fire within you despite your efforts to resist.

he seems desperate, almost as if he's trying to claim every inch of you, to make you remember just how good it feels to be under his control. his grip on your hip and neck only becomes tighter, becoming almost borderline painful as he kisses you with a hunger that borders on frenzy.

he breaks away from the kiss, panting heavily, his chest heaving against yours. his maroon eyes burn with an intense lust as they lock onto yours, his expression smug yet filled with a raw need. “i've been waiting for this,” he murmurs huskily, his voice low and commanding.

his hands roam freely over your curves, tracing the outline of your breasts before slipping down to cup your ass firmly. he grinds his hardened member against your thigh, a clear indication of his arousal. “don't fight me, love. it only makes things more interesting.”

the combination of his words, touch, and proximity makes your head spin. your heart pounds in your chest, your body betraying your conflicted emotions as it responds to his touch involuntarily. he leans in again, his mouth near your ear, his breath hot against your skin. he murmurs in a low, possessive tone, “i know you're resisting, but deep down you remember how much you enjoyed submitting to me.”

he chuckles darkly at your silent struggles, feeling your body react to him despite yourself. he presses himself closer to you, letting you feel every inch of his solid muscle against your softness. “let go of your pride, darling,” he whispers seductively, nibbling on your earlobe.

his hand slides up your side, teasing the curve of your breast before pinching your nipple through the fabric of your clothing, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. you let out a soft moan and for a second your eyes rolled back inside your head as if it remembered the touch.

he smirks, pleased with your reaction. “that's it, my sweet. show me just how much you want this,” he teases your other nipple, alternating between gentle caresses and firm pinches. his other hand trails lower, dipping beneath the hem of your skirt to find the warmth between your thighs.

he groans approvingly, feeling your wetness through the thin material of your panties. he slips his finger beneath the elastic band of your panties, teasing the edge of your slit. he circles your clit slowly, watching your face contort with pleasure. “you're so wet for me already,” he taunts, his voice laced with satisfaction.

he dips his finger inside you, feeling your walls clench around him. “you're going to come undone for me tonight,” he promises, his voice dripping with confidence. “oh, god—” something caught your throat— his long, sleek finger caught the air in your throat and your nails dig an invisible hole on his biceps.

he chuckles darkly, enjoying the effect he has on you, “god can't help you now, sweetheart. it's just you and me.” he pumps his finger in and out of you, curling it slightly to hit that special spot inside. his thumb rubs circles on your clit, increasing pressure and speed until your hips buck against his hand involuntarily.

“that's right, baby. ride my fingers like you used to ride my cock,” he growls, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a mark. his other hand gropes your breast roughly, tugging and twisting your nipple. he adds another finger to your slick entrance, stretching you further as he fucks you with his hand. his pace is relentless, driving you closer to the edge with each thrust.

“come for me, darling,” he commands, pinching your clit between his thumb and forefinger, “show me how much you crave my touch.”

he leans in to capture your mouth in a rough, dominating kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as your orgasm crashes over you. his fingers continue to move inside you, milking every last drop of ecstasy from your trembling body. “s-stop, fuck—” you cries between his lips. your trembling hands move to push his hands away weakly.

he ignores your weak protests, maintaining the same punishing rhythm as he drives you towards another peak, “shh, don't fight it, baby. let go and enjoy the pleasure I'm giving you.” his thumb flicks rapidly over your swollen clit while his fingers curl to stroke your g-spot. you whimper a soft air, “oh, hayato. . .” and he can feel your walls fluttering around him, signaling your impending release.

“that's it, come for me one more time,” he growls against your lips, “then maybe i'll give you what we both really want— my cock buried deep inside your tight little pussy.” just like your body longing and begging for him your legs shaking between his. “oh god, oh god,” you mumble between your another moans.

he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, his thumb working overtime on your clit. he can feel your body tensing, your orgasm building to a crescendo. “let it happen, darling,” he urges, his voice low and hypnotic, “give in to the pleasure. surrender to me completely.”

with one final thrust and swirl of his fingers, he sends you hurtling over the edge once more. your body convulses in his arms, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over you. he holds you close, riding out your climax with you, savoring the feeling of your tight pussy clenching around his fingers. when the spasms finally subside, he gently withdraws his hand from your underwear, leaving you panting and dazed against the wall.

he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, sucking your essence off them with a satisfied groan. “mmm, you taste even better than i remembered,” he purrs, his eyes gleaming with renewed hunger. he steps back, admiring the sight of you flushed and disheveled from your orgasms. “now that's what i call a proper welcome home,” he says with a satisfied smirk.

his gaze drops to the bulge straining against his trousers, a clear indication of his own arousal. “but it's not fair for me to get all the fun, is it?“ he muses aloud. “time for me to bury myself inside you where i belong,” he declares, with his free hand, he quickly unbuckles his belt and shoves his pants down just enough to free his throbbing cock. the thick shaft bobs heavily in front of him, the swollen head already leaking pre-cum.

your rise and fall gently, trying to catch your breath before throwing the maroon irises in front of you a nasty look, “fuck you,” you grumble under your breath. hating the effect he still have on you with every single blood inside your body, with every breath you take you swore for the last twenty-five of your life you hate him— trying to hate him.

he chuckles darkly, unfazed by your defiance. “fuck me? oh, darling, i plan to do far more than that,” his voice is laced with a dangerous promise as he steps closer, pressing his erect length against your thigh. “you may hate me, but your body doesn't lie,” he says, reaching out to trace a finger along the curve of your hip. ouch!

“it remembers how good it felt when i fucked you senseless.” his hand moves lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties to cup your ass firmly. “and it wants more,“ he concludes, pulling you flush against him. with a swift movement, he grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him more, the tip of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. you have to bitch your lips from letting you tear another moan.

“tell me you want me,” he demands, his eyes burning into yours.

your eyes shaking lightly. your hands make a fist, tightly as if you are trying to tear your skin with your nails alone. “i hate you,” you spat, this time, trying so hard to sound you mean every single word. he smirks, undeterred by your words. “that's it, say it louder. let me hear you curse me to my face.” he grips your hips tighter, positioning himself at your entrance.

without waiting for an answer, he thrusts forward, sinking into you inch by delicious inch. a guttural moan escapes him as he fills you completely, stretching your pussy around his girthy length.

“oh, fuck... you're still so tight,” he groans, starting to move inside you. each thrust is deep and powerful, designed to claim you utterly. your hands automatically looking for his broad shoulders to cling into like it's where you belong. “oh, fuck,“ you moan against his ear, throwing your head back.

he bites down on your shoulder, marking you as his again. “that's it, moan for me,” he encourages, his pace quickening. each thrust hits that sweet spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

his hands roam over your curves, squeezing and kneading your flesh as if he's trying to imprint every inch of you onto his memory. “i never stopped thinking about this pussy,” he confesses, punctuating his words with a particularly deep penetration. his grip on your hips tightens, guiding you to meet his thrusts.

“you were mine before anyone else's, and you'll be mine again,” he vows, his voice filled with raw possessiveness. he takes advantage of your vulnerability, nipping at your exposed neck before moving down to lavish attention on your breasts. his teeth graze over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

“does this feel familiar?” he asks, punctuating his question with a particularly deep thrust. “your body knows exactly what it needs— me inside you.” his hands roam freely over your curves, squeezing and kneading your flesh as if he owns you. and in this moment, he does. he keeps going, pistoning in and out of you at a brutal pace. his balls slap against your ass with each powerful thrust, filling the room with lewd sounds of their coupling.

“i remember everything about you, y/n,” he murmurs against your skin, tracing patterns on your back with his fingertips. “how you whimpered when I touched you here...” he rolls his thumb over your clit, applying just enough pressure to send sparks shooting up your spine. it's like he's pushing a button, know which button that's going to make the best sounds, and he's going to do that, ever and ever again.

“and how you cried out when i filled you like this,” he continues, driving his cock deeper into your soaking wet cunt. “god, you were such a fucking slut for my dick.” his grip on your hips tightens as he picks up the pace, pounding into you relentlessly.

“so tell me, baby, who's your favorite fucker?”

you can't process an appropriate answer but instead your chin rests against his shoulder, bouncing a little each time he thrusts into you and tightly holding to him, “so good..” you moan, “so f-fucking good.”

he smirks against your neck, loving the way you surrender to his touch. he grins wickedly, pleased by your response. “damn right it is,” he agrees, giving a particularly hard thrust for emphasis, “no one else will ever make you feel this way.”

one hand leaves your hip to tangle in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat. he leans in, running his tongue along the column of your neck before biting down sharply. the vibrates of your moaning and whimpering flattering against sukuna's lips. “that's because you belong to me,” he growls possessively, punctuating his claim with another series of deep, penetrating thrusts. “this pussy is mine. this body is mine. everything about you is mine.”

he pounds into you harder, faster, chasing both your climaxes now. the obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the air, mingling with your moans and his grunts of exertion. you pull your neck away from his lips to meet with suo maroon irises. your cup his cheeks, resting your forehead against his. “i'm yours,” you whimper. he can feel your breath fanning on his skin.

his maroon eyes darken with lustful intent at your admission. “good girl,” he praises, his voice rough with desire, “say it louder. make sure i believe you.” he thrusts into you with renewed vigor, his hips snapping against yours with a force that borders on painful. but there's no pain in his touch, only pleasure, pure and unadulterated.

“say it again,” he commands, pinning you against the wall with his weight. “admit that you need me, that you crave my touch more than anything else in this world.” as he speaks, his fingers find your clit once more, rubbing circles around the sensitive bud while his cock drives deeper into your dripping heat.

“i'm yours,” you murmur before you captures his lips in a searing kiss, pouring all your pent-up emotions into the embrace. your tongue delves into his mouth, tangling with his in a sensual dance as old as time itself.

he kisses you back fiercely, his tongue dueling with yours in a heated battle of dominance. as he ravages your mouth, he doesn’t slow down his thrusts, keeping up the relentless rhythm that has you teetering on the edge of release.

breaking off the kiss, he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, nipping and sucking at your skin. “that's it, let go,” he whispers against your earlobe. “come for me, darling. show me how much you love being fucked by your favorite fucker.” he bitting your jaw before pulling his face away slightly, watching you close your eyes.

“look at me,” he orders, his voice husky with arousal. when you meet his gaze, he captures your lips once more, kissing you deeply as his orgasm builds within him. with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills his seed deep within your womb. at the same moment, he feels your walls clench around him, milking his cock for every last drop as you come undone in his arms.

he stays buried inside you, breathing heavily as he rides out the aftershocks of your climax. your body clings to his, milking every last drop of cum from his throbbing member. slowly, he withdraws from you, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “there's nowhere else in the world i'd rather be,” he admits softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your swollen lips.

he lets you down on your feet with his arms still wrap around your waist. your warm hand gently caresses his chest, down to his washboard abs before landing on his still-hard cock. your delicate fingers wrap beautifully around his shaft.he lets out a low chuckle, feeling your small hands wrap around his hardened shaft. “still eager for more, huh?” he teases, his maroon eyes glinting with mischief.

allowing you to take control, he watches intently as you start stroking him, your delicate fingers exploring every inch of his length. “fuck, that feels good,” he groans, tilting his head back slightly to enjoy the sensation. but soon, his patience runs thin. with a firm grip on your waist, he guides you to stand up properly.

“now let's see how well you can handle being taken from behind,” he whispers huskily into your ear. suo brings you to the nearest sink, and positions you with your back facing him. he can see your face from the mirror in front of you two. he steps close behind you, his hard cock prodding insistently at your entrance. in the mirror's reflection, his maroon eyes lock onto yours, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“watch yourself,” he instructs, his voice low and commanding, “see how i'm going to take you, right here where anyone could walk in.” without further warning, he grips your hips and plunges into you with a single, powerful stroke. a guttural moan escapes him as your warmth envelops his shaft once more.

“you're so damn tight,” he growls, starting to move. each thrust sends ripples through your body, the force of his penetration making the sink tremble beneath your hands. he grins at the sight of your flushed face reflected in the mirror, the way your lips part slightly as you gasp for air. “oh, h-hayato— god!” you sink your head down when you feel his cock full inside you.

each thrust sends ripples through your body, your breasts bouncing enticingly with every impact. he smirks, loving the view of your bouncing tits and the way your body responds to his touch. “that's it, darling,” he encourages, his hands roaming over your curves. “show me how much you love having my cock inside you.”

he increases his pace, his hips snapping against yours with ruthless efficiency. the slap of flesh against flesh fills the room, mixing with your soft whimpers and his deep grunts. in the mirror, he watches you lose yourself to pleasure, your features contorting with each intense wave of orgasmic bliss. “look at me,” he demands, needing to see those beautiful eyes glazed over with lust and submission.

“n-no!” you stutter between your whimper and moan. your hands gripping tightly around the edge of the sink. your eyes tightly shut and your head sink further. he frowns slightly, not liking your refusal. grabbing a fistful of your hair, he yanks your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror.

“i said look at me,” he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument. “i want to see the moment you come apart completely.” his other hand snakes around your body to toy with your nipple, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers. at the same time, he alters his angle of penetration, aiming directly for that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

“yes, just like that,” he praises, feeling your inner muscles flutter around his invading length. “let go for me, baby. give me everything.” tears stream down your face as suo grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look at him. the tears ruining your mascara. “f-faster,” you murmur.

he snickers at your plea, the sound muffled by the wet sounds of his hips slamming into yours. “faster? you think you can handle even more?” he taunts, a devilish glint in his maroon eyes. increasing his pace to an almost punishing rhythm, he revels in the sight of your body shaking under his assault. each powerful thrust hits that sweet spot inside you, driving you closer and closer to the brink of insanity.

the mirror fogged up from your heavy breathing, creating a steamy backdrop for the erotic spectacle unfolding before them. and in the midst of it all, he can't help but admire the way your body clings to his, the way your walls squeeze down on his cock with each merciless plunge.

“fucking perfect,” he murmurs approvingly, leaning in to nip at the tender skin of your neck. “oh, god, i-i— please don't stop,” you cried. your hand flying around before it lands on suo's hair. your hand desperately grabbing his hair for your support.

he chuckles darkly, loving the way your body writhes against his. “not stopping anytime soon, sweetheart,” he assures you, nipping at your skin with a hunger that matches the ferocity of his movements. with one hand tangled in your hair, he pulls your head back further, exposing the delicate column of your throat to his voracious appetite. his teeth graze along your skin, marking you as his in a primitive show of ownership.

each thrust becomes a promise, a vow of the endless pleasure he intends to give— and take— from you. he can already imagine the marks that will decorate your body, a silent testament to the night’s debauchery. “scream for me,” he demands, his voice laced with raw need. “let everyone know whose cunt is being fucked senseless.”

he redoubles his efforts, the sound of skin slapping against skin growing louder with each passing second. “that's it, scream for me,” he encourages, his voice a guttural whisper against your ear. his hand slides down from your hair, grasping your hip firmly to guide you against his thrusts. the angle shifts, allowing him to hit that sweet spot inside you with even greater precision. you can hear the moans spilling from your lips, echoing off the walls of the bathroom.

looking into the mirror, he takes in the sight of your flushed face, your eyes half-lidded with pleasure. the way your breasts bounce with each impact, nipples hard and begging for attention. it's a feast for his eyes, fueling his desire to claim you fully.

“fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, reaching up to tweak a nipple between his fingers. “i'm— coming,” you mutter as you look at suo from the mirror in front of you. he smirks, watching as your body tenses up, ready to surrender to the overwhelming waves of pleasure. “that's it, let it all out,” he encourages, his own climax looming dangerously close.

with a few more powerful thrusts, he drives you over the edge, milking your orgasm until every last drop of your essence coats his throbbing cock. your cries fill the room, mingling with the lewd sounds of flesh meeting flesh. as you come down from your high, he continues to pound into you relentlessly, chasing his own release. “not done yet,” he growls, his maroon eyes locked onto yours in the mirror.

feeling your pussy clench around him once again, he gives a final, triumphant thrust, his seed spurting hotly inside you. he leans against you, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. “fuck, that was incredible," he murmurs, his words still coming out in pants.

slowly, he pulls out of you, his cum leaking out of your spent pussy. he gives your ass a firm smack, his handprint reddening your skin. “you took my cock well, didn't you?” his hand moves lower, circling your clit teasingly. “but we're not done yet,” he warns, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

he steps back, releasing you from his grasp but keeping his hungry gaze locked on yours. “get on your knees,” he orders, his voice thick with lust. he waits impatiently for you to comply, his cock already starting to harden again at the thought of tasting your arousal. once you're kneeling before him, he grips the base of his shaft, giving it a few strokes to prime himself.

“open wide,” he commands, his maroon eyes blazing with a dark, primal hunger. as you part your lips, he guides his tip to your entrance, coating your tongue with his pre-cum. “mmm, delicious,” he purrs, his hips rocking forward to push deeper into your mouth.

he sets a steady rhythm, fucking your face with long, slow thrusts. the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth fill the room, accompanied by your muffled moans and his low groans of pleasure. he groans, enjoying the warm wetness of your mouth enveloping his cock. “that's it, suck me off,” he encourages, his hands tangling in your hair to guide you.

he watches through half-lidded eyes as you bob your head, taking him deeper with each movement. the sight of your lips stretched tight around his girth sends a thrill of pleasure coursing through his veins. “you like this, don't you?” he teases, pulling away just enough to watch his cock slide out of your mouth with a pop. “loving the taste of my cum on your tongue.”

your hands moving upward, reaching for his hands to hold while your head moves in and out through his cock. he lets out a low chuckle, amused by your desperate attempts to anchor yourself while servicing him. “such a needy little thing, aren't you?” he taunts, tightening his grip on your hair.

emboldened by your submission, he starts to pick up speed, fucking your mouth with reckless abandon. the wet slap of his thighs against your chin and the obscene suction of your lips around his cock fill the air. “you're going to make me cum again if you keep this up,” he warns, his voice strained with pleasure.

but there's no denying the telltale twitch in his balls, signaling his impending release. he grins down at you, his maroon eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “that's right, take it all,” he urges, feeling his climax building at the base of his spine.

with a few more forceful thrusts, he reaches his peak, his seed shooting forth in hot jets that flood your mouth. he holds you still, making sure you swallow every drop, marking you internally as much as externally.

as the spasms subside, he slowly pulls free from your lips, a string of saliva connecting them for a moment before breaking. “good girl,” he praises, stroking your cheek gently with the back of his hand. you look up at him, eyes wide open with your lips glistening from his cum. he stares down at you, admiring the way your lips glisten with his cum. a sense of possessiveness washes over him, knowing that you've taken so much of him inside you.

he helps to stand properly before giving your forehead a kiss gently. despite the intense passion they just shared, his touch is gentle now, almost reverent. it's as if he's worshipping you with his hands, tracing the lines of your body as if committing them to memory.

“you're so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning in to capture your lips in a tender kiss. there's no hunger in this kiss, only a profound sense of connection, of two souls intertwined.he deepens the kiss, savoring the taste of his own essence on your lips. When he finally breaks away, he gazes into your eyes, his expression softening. “i could get used to this,” he admits, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his usually confident demeanor.

leaning back, he takes in the sight of your flushed cheeks and swollen lips, a visual reminder of their carnal encounter. “let's clean up, shall we?” he suggests, reaching for the tissue nearby to wipe the sweat from his brow.

as he starts to clean himself up, you can't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within you. there's a tenderness in his touch and voice that contrasts with the possessive, dominant behavior he displayed moments ago.

it's... confusing, to say the least. the way he switches between these two sides of himself, the mix of vulnerability and confidence, leaves you feeling off balance, unsure of what to expect next. as he continues to attend to himself, you find yourself watching him a bit longer than perhaps you should.

he wraps your shirt around your shoulders, his fingers lingering on your skin as he does up the buttons of your shirt. his actions are deliberate, almost tender, a stark contrast to the rough passion of moments ago.

as he fastens your bra, his thumbs brush against the sensitive undersides of your breasts, sending a shiver down your spine. “remember when we first met?” he asks, a wistful note in his voice. “i never imagined our paths would cross again, let alone lead us here.”

he pauses, looking at you with an intensity that makes your heart flutter, “but I'm glad fate brought us together, because being with you feels like...coming home.”

his words and tender gestures have an unexpected effect on you. your heart pounds in your chest as his fingers graze your skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake. the contrast between his dominating and tender behavior is almost dizzying. it's like you're seeing two sides of him at once, and you're not sure which one is real. you swallow hard, trying to steady your voice as you reply, your words almost catching in your throat. “i... i never thought I'd see you again, either.”

he finally finishes buttoning your shirt, his hands tracing down the front of the fabric, his fingertips lingering over your chest before he takes a step back. he studies you for a moment, a soft, almost thoughtful expression on his face. he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch achingly gentle. "you're even more beautiful than i remembered," he murmurs, his words sincere and raw.

“and now that i have you back, i'm never letting you go again,” he vows, his tone leaving no room for doubt. cupping your face in his hands, he tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “we've both changed since then, grown in ways neither of us could have anticipated. but one thing remains constant— the way you make me feel alive.”

he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes slipping shut as he inhales deeply, as if breathing in your very essence. “stay with me tonight,” he pleads softly, his voice raw with emotion. “let me show you how much you mean to me.”

his words make your heart leap in your chest. there's a tenderness to his tone and his touch that feels almost alien to you, given the dominant and possessive behaviors he's displayed up until now.

you find yourself melting under his gentle touch, his plea echoing in your ears. your thoughts race, your mind torn between desire and uncertainty. a soft sigh escapes your lips as you finally find your voice. “i don't know, suo. this is all so... sudden. i never expected to see you again, let alone like this...”

his expression falters for a moment, his shoulders slumping slightly as he absorbs your words. his fingers trace lightly across your cheek, his touch betraying a hint of vulnerability in that gesture.

he takes a step back, a small space opening between you. he looks at you for a moment, his eye searching your face as if searching for something. after a few tense seconds, he speaks again, his voice softer than before, “i understand if you need time to process everything. but i meant what i said. i want you in my life again, and i'll do anything to make that happen.”

he pauses, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “just... promise me you'll think about it, will you? give us a chance, see where this goes. because i can't deny this connection between us, and i know you feel it too.” the vulnerability in his voice and his body language are so different from his usual confident demeanor. it's almost... endearing, in a way. it's not something you'd expect from someone as intense and dominating as him, and it throws you off balance even more.

“okay..” you nod.

his expression immediately brightens up at your response, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. he steps closer again, closing the gap between you. his hands find their way back to your hips, pulling you gently against his body. he looks down at you, his eye tender and searching as he studies your face.

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prettyundeadgirl · 2 months

Text

Love Like Ghosts

│Track One of Strange Trails

Summary: Within the night, an inebriated Arthur returns. You take care of him, and when morning arrives, he realizes how in love he really is.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Wordcount: 1.0k

Tags: Fluff

AO3 Link

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated! :)

The silver moon, curved like a bear’s sharp claw, shone a hazy glow through the lattice of leaves in the caliginous night. Branches swayed peacefully in the breeze, and amid the grassy land, water coalesced atop the mire earth. Hidden in the wavering stalks, a small orchestra of katydids performed their stridulations.

Everyone had scattered to greet their awaiting slumber, and you remained awake, sitting on the stairs and leaning against the firm wooden pillar with nature’s veins strangling it. You were engrossed in a book Mary-Beth had lent to you—one she had owned the longest and must’ve been a personal favorite, you figured from the frayed edges of the spine and the worn pages. It had been your solace for the time being, distracting you from your ceaseless worrying about Arthur’s absence and staving off the encroaching drowsiness. The lantern beside you illuminated enough light for you to read the tiny printed letters.

Time flowed like a river, and you grew inevitably weary, eyelids beginning to close until you heard steady hooves clomping in the muddy grounds near the entrance. The sound resonated throughout the area as it came closer and closer. Arthur returned, almost falling as he tried to dismount his horse. He hitched the reins to the hitching post, all the while holding a bottle devoid of whiskey in his other hand. You closed the tattered book in haste and doused the lantern, rushing toward him.

“Oh, Arthur, I’ve been worried sick.” You admitted.

“Why?” He asked, practically tripping over his own steps.

“What do you mean ‘why?’ I care about you. More than you know.” Your voice was laced with much sincerity, and you stated your words in confidence, realizing he wouldn’t remember anything by morning. He looked into your soft gaze for a moment, his befuddled state along with the lack of light dulling your worried expression. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.” He let himself acquiesce to your words, and you placed his arm across your shoulders to give him as much support as you could offer.

“You look pretty tonight.” He slurred, and although you smiled and blushed at the compliment, you still rolled your eyes, knowing he was drunk and those words possibly held no truth.

Entering the once charming and grandiose manor that is now timeworn, veiled in the overgrowth of untouched green and merely a tomb contained with memories of the ones who inhabited it before, you guided him through the dark. Strangely, it provided a sense of comfort and safety, though not as much as Arthur did during your time with the gang.

The old stairs creaked in protest as you went up, and there was the occasional trip or two from Arthur, with a small chuckle following after. Pushing open the door revealed his cozy room, which was bathed in the soft gleam of moonlight filtered through the begrimed windowpanes and casting shadows on the walls. You removed his hat, placing it on the table nearby, and then, with careful and tender hands, you unbuckled his gun belt. It clinked as it came in contact with the wooden table. You laid him down and removed his boots, and when his eyes closed, you slowly pressed a small kiss on his forehead.

As you turned to make your way downstairs, a weak grip on your hand prevented you from doing so.

“Stay.” He murmured. “Please.”

“Why?” You repeated it in the same tone he had given you before.

“‘Cause I…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence for his half-mast eyes had spoken beyond what he could not, and deep within the beating chambers of your heart you knew what it was and felt the same.

You let out a sigh, “Move over.”

He provided as much room as the tight-fitted bed allowed, and as you lay side by side, he pulled you closer into him, arm twined around your waist, the space once between now nonexistent. There was a strong musk that was woven into the linen of his clothes, amalgamated with the scent of heady whiskey, and it wrapped around you with familiarity. You rested against his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall and hearing the drum of his heart against your ear, its rhythm growing faster as you placed your knee on his hip.

His love for you was a quiet thing; it’s unrelenting and inevitable, yet everyone knew and talked about it. He harbored so much of it for you that it seemed to overflow in his drunken state, though it could only be expressed through actions such as placing the gentlest of kisses on your head, taking in the freshly washed scent of your hair, and holding you as close as he could. In your arms, there was a sense of comfort and peace that he hadn’t felt in a long time and never knew he had been missing in his life, and he was lulled into a calming sleep.

In the early wake of dawn, he hadn’t remembered much from the night as it was, for the most part, a disoriented blur, but he did recall your benevolent disposition, and he didn’t understand why you were so kind to him and always made an effort to look after his well-being. He always appreciated it nonetheless.

He had also recalled the vibrant color of your eyes in your gaze—irises deep and atlantic. He felt as though he could fall through them, following their course and soon getting lost in the darkness that lay beneath. They were endless and almost confusing, and he’d spend an eternity figuring out the mystery of them. A simple glance into your eyes, whether inebriated or not, would make the relentless, gloomy ruminations that sat in his mind scatter away.

He felt your warm presence alongside him, turning his head to your beautiful slumbering visage—peaceful and in bliss—that began his matutinal admiration. It was mesmerizing; you were mesmerizing to him. Every inch of you was, and he longed to live in this moment forever.

He wondered what he had said or done last night for you to end up in his bed and how he wished he could remember that part of the night. He relished the moment for a bit longer, tucking the wisps of hair behind your ear before reluctantly leaving.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan/reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan imagine #rdr fic #rdr #arthur morgan fic #my writing

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vinomino · 2 months

Text

That’s bad for you ᵎᵎ

What do they do after catching you red-handed…?Σ('◉⌓◉’)

Featuring: Umemiya.H, Hiragi.T, Kiryu.M x f!reader

Contents: sfw/lil suggestive in Hiragi's, smoking, angst (?)

cont. Part 1 → here

Stress was getting to you, you’ve started frequenting the bad habit more and more. It was only a matter of time before he finds out…

❀ Umemiya. H

A plastic bag filled with gifts from a citizen, he makes his way back home. Walking steadily until he saw you head out of a convenience store, raising his hand to greet you, he immediately stopped when he noticed you lighting the cigarette in your mouth. Standing completely still, he watches as you, the gray smoke billowing in the air. Now he can start to smell the potent fumes from where he was.

Silently making his way to the store, you didn’t know that he was there, blissfully unaware.

Umemiya was now right behind you, he gently tapped your shoulder, turning your head to see who wanted your attention, you’re met with the sight of the familiar man with white hair.

You knew you were screwed, you’d been caught red-handed. Raising your eyes to meet Umemiya’s gaze, he looked at you with a mix of disappointment and concern. He cared for you, cared for your health, and yet here you were, smoking at night in the streets.

He gently took the burning stick from you and crushed it under his shoe, “Don’t think I didn’t know…”

Umemiya’s stern expression never faded, “You promised you would quit…and what are you doing now? I don’t like it, you know that, it’s horrible for your health.”

Fiddling with your fingers, “Sorry…it’s just…” Struggling to find the right words to say.

“It’s just what?” A stern tone, he wasn’t trying to be mean to you but he wasn’t happy that you were smoking despite him asking you to stop multiple times. His blue eyes staring holes into your head. “It’s hard to quit…” Biting on the inside of your cheek as you force the words out.

His expression softened seeing the struggle you were going through, he sympathized with you, knowing it wasn’t easy to break an addiction. Lifting your chin to make you look at him. “Please, for my sake, quit smoking. I promise I’ll help and support you through it.” He takes your hand in his, intertwining them together. “I care about you and want what’s best for you. Can you promise me that you’ll try? Not for anyone else, but for me?”

Staring at your hand, you slowly nod.

Umemiya enveloped you in a hug, holding you against him. “I’ll be here to help you through the cravings and the temptation. When you feel like you’re about to smoke, talk to me, and we can find other ways to deal with the stress and anxiety, okay?”

Wrapping your arms around Umemiya you nod again, the two of you standing under the streetlights embracing each other.

❀ Hiragi. T

“Can you light me up? Forgot mine.” Turning to ask your friend, wiggling the cigarette between your lips. She chuckles and pulls out her lighter, flicking it up. The low orange glow wavers in the air. You lean forwards, steadying the butt of the stick to the flame, waiting for it to catch.

A loud clacking of shoes approaches, “Sorry, Umemiya kept talking about plants–” Hiragi finally lifts his head, taking in the sight before him. The fire from the lighter dissipates as he snatches your wrist and drags you away, the cigarette falling onto the concrete. “H-Hey!” You are surprised at his actions.

“Hiragi–calm down–” He stops dead in his tracks.

“Calm down?” Hiragi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Already feeling his stomach hurting again.

Reassessing the situation, he looks down at you, eyes softening as he brings his hand up to thumb at your bottom lip. You make a sound of confusion as he does. “Didn’t I tell you off last time?”

Cringing your face, “I am doing something! I haven’t smoked all week.” He almost laughs at your expression.

“Really? You haven’t smoked since then…” he leans down to see you more clearly, thumb peeling your bottom lip down. “I guess I should reward you for that.” He looks at you, your brain computing what he just said in real-time. “Reward?” Your eyes sparkle a bit, wondering what he was going to give you. Showcasing his sharp teeth in a grin, moving to press you against the hard brick wall, “Do you want it here or…” pressing the knee of his leather pants between your legs, “Do you want it at home?”

❀ Kiryu. M

The bar is boisterous and rowdy, and the music the DJ is playing is giving you a headache. EDM after EDM, you wonder how the guy still has his job. Tilting the empty glass, and swirling the ice against the sides, you wait for Kiryu to come back from the bathroom. Most of your friends left for the dance floor, the rest talking amongst themselves drunkenly. The mixer was now boring you, sighing out, you mindlessly reached into your purse for the cigarette pack and your pink lighter.

Pulling the stick out, lighting it against your lips. The tabasco burns, allowing you to take a long drag. Blowing the smoke downwards, the calming buzz silencing your brain. “Oh~? You smoke?” The pink-haired man bends down to whisper against your ear making you jump. He laughs at your reaction, his piercing glimmering under the purple lights.

“Sorry, I just didn’t take you as the type.” He hums, settling into the seat next to you, spreading his legs to make himself comfortable. “I don’t?” You ask, holding the lit stick between your index and middle finger.

“Thought you’d be too pretty to do such a dirty thing.” Kiryu smiles, making you frown.

Wordlessly, he reaches out and takes the cigarette away from you, watching him bring it up to his lips to take a drag, blowing the smoke over his shoulder. Amused at him, “Thought you’d be too handsome to do such a dirty thing.” Earning another laugh from the man. He brings his hand up to rack it through his hair, causing some of the hairpins to fall out, pink strands cascading down, and framing his face. Chuckling, he holds the stick out towards you between his fingers, catching on you bend over, wrapping your lips around the cigarette and taking a huff.

“You're so cute~” Kiryu coos as he takes another puff before snuffing it out in the ashtray. The nicotine rushing to your mind relaxes you, leaning your side into the cushioned seat, facing him. He notices you staring at his lips, “Wanna kiss?” He offers and you accept, leaning in to kiss him. Kiryu does the same, but right when you two touch, his index finger is placed against your mouth, making your eyes widen in confusion. His other hand reaches over you, taking the pack from your purse.

“I’ll be confiscating these~” He chimes, green eyes twinkling with mischief as he gives you a wink before taking his leave. Leaving you in the bar breathless.

#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #umemiya x reader #hiragi x reader #kiryu x reader #mino.writes

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subway-boss-jericho · 1 year

Text

hehe sprites go brrrrrr

I didn't know I could DO this, (gestures to Sprite Wizardry Onscreen Now) but I am using this for good. Steady tracks art upon ye

Steady Tracks Masterpost

#stdnw #steady tracks #steady tracks do not waver #ingo #submas #ingo pokemon #pokemon!ingo #aus #submas art #Steady tracks official art #Art Created June 12th

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the-offside-rule · 3 months

Text

Lando Norris (McLaren) - First Grand Prix {Headcanon}

Requested: yes

Warnings: quite long

♡ Lando guided you through the bustling Silverstone paddock

♡ This was your first Grand Prix as his girlfriend, and despite your calm demeanor, he knew you were feeling slightly nervous.

♡ Your fingers trembled slightly as you waved to fans, but your smile never wavered.

♡ Lando squeezed your hand gently.

♡ "You look gorgeous, just smile and wave, darling." He said, his voice soothing amidst the roaring engines and chatter.

♡ You looked up at him, your eyes filled with nothing but love for your boyfriend.

♡ "Thank you baby. That's all I have to do? Smile and look pretty?"

♡ "Not a hard thing to do for you, but you’re handling it like a pro."

♡ As you moved through the paddock, he never left your side, only stepping away when absolutely necessary.

♡ Each time he returned, he’d flash you a reassuring smile, his presence a constant source of comfort.

♡ When you reached the garage, Lando introduced you to his team, their warm welcomes easing your nerves a bit more.

♡ "You’ll love it here." He whispered into your ear. "Just wait until the race starts. The energy is incredible."

♡ Sitting in the garage, you watched the race unfold on the monitors. The roar of the engines and the frantic activity around you added to the intense atmosphere.

♡ Your eyes were glued to the screen, following Lando's car as it weaved through the track.

♡ Every time the camera cut to him, your heart pounded a little harder.

♡ You fumbled eith the hem of your shirt, or the bracelet on your wrists to try and steady your nerves.

♡ One of the PR ladies noticed your tension and gave you a reassuring smile. "He’s doing great." She said, his tone confident. "Lando knows this track inside out."

♡ You nodded, grateful for the reassurance but unable to shake your worry. Each turn and overtake felt like a personal test of your nerves.

♡ Moments later, the camera cut to him again, showing him fight with his car through the rain, trying his damnest to keep the car on the track.

♡ You couldn’t help but whisper a silent prayer for his safety and success.

♡ When the race reached its climax, and Lando crossed the finish line in a strong position, you felt a wave of relief and pride wash over you.

♡ The team erupted in cheers, and you couldn’t stop the tears of joy from welling up in your eyes.

♡ As Lando pulled into parc ferme, you were there, waiting. He climbed out of the car, and despite his own exhaustion, he came straight to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

♡ "I'm absolutely dying." He said, his voice filled with defeat, after losing the chance of a win, and then second.

♡ You pulled away, holding his helmeted head between your hands. "You were amazing, Lando. Absolutely amazing." You smiled, kissing the neon yellow helmet.

♡ He took off the helmet, before leaning in to kiss your forehead, his presence grounding you once more. "I couldn’t have done it without you here." He whispered.

♡ He sat chatting for a minute or two before being taken away for his post race interview and the podium of course.

♡ You watched with a beaming smile on your face as your boyfriend lifted his trophy and blew a kiss down towards you.

♡ The cheers were for him, but you could see the disappointment in his eyes even from qhere you stood. This was his home grand prix, and he had hoped for more.

♡ After the podium, Lando was whisked away for media duties, leaving you behind.

♡ Knowing how much he hated the drawn-out process of post-race interviews, you decided to help him out.

♡ You began tidying up his belongings, packing his things into his bag so you could get home quicker.

♡ As you carefully folded his racing suit to place back into the bag foe the team to wash, you heard the door open.

♡ Lando walked in, his shoulders slumped, eyes tired but softening when they landed on you. "Y/n, you didn't have to do that." He said, his voice a mix of gratitude and weariness.

♡ You smiled, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. "I know, but I wanted to help. The sooner we get out of here, the better, right?"

♡ He walked over to you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You're actually amazing."

♡ Sitting down on the couch, he pulled you close, resting his head on your shoulder.

♡ "I know I should be happy with third, but I wanted to win. Especially here, in front of the home crowd."

♡ You wrapped your arms around him, offering comfort. "Lando, you were amazing out there. The fans love you, and so do I. Third place is incredible, and you’ll get that win soon."

♡ He looked up at you, eyes shining with appreciation. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Y/n. You always know how to make me feel better. I love you so much."

♡ "I love you too, Lando. Always."

♡ With a sigh, he stood up, extending a hand to help you to your feet. "Let's get out of here. I think we've had enough of this place for today."

♡ Together, you finished packing up his things, making sure nothing was left behind.

♡ As you walked out of the hospitality suite, you waved to the remaining fans, Lando flashing his signature smile despite the day's disappointment.

♡ Hand in hand, you made your way to the car, ready to head home.

♡ The drive was filled with comfortable silence, broken occasionally by shared glances and soft smiles. No words were needed to convey the love and support you had for each other.

♡ As he pulled into the driveway, Lando squeezed your hand. "Thank you for today, Y/n. For everything."

♡ You leaned over, kissing him gently. "Always, Lando. I'm here for you, no matter what."

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 x oc #f1 x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x oc #lando norris imagines #lando norris headcanons #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris blurb #lando norris fluff

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nadvs · 3 months

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Would you ever write reader and rafe running into ty at a frat party or something a few years into college and how that would go down? Or just what would ever happen if they saw him again?

omg yes!! rafe is so protective that he doesn’t even give ty a chance to see her 😭

set in the home before dark universe

she would be unable to erase the date ty’s set to be released from prison from her mind. at that point, she graduated and is working and engaged and living with rafe and every time she sees the date on her phone even weeks leading up to when he’ll be let out, she feels like she’s just as scared as she was the night he broke in.

the day before, she mentions it to rafe. he remembered. he hoped she didn’t. he can see the emptiness in her gaze. it’s the same look he saw when she went to the police to file the restraining order, the same look he saw throughout the trial. it’s like she gets so scared that her mind goes blank to keep her from losing it.

he loves her too much to allow her to relive any of it.

rafe calls the lawyer who helped her through the case, asking what to do if ty tries to contact his fiancée. she tells him the protective order has lapsed at this point and ty technically can be in her vicinity, can even talk to her, and he wouldn’t be breaking any laws.

rafe is fuming. but he’s not surprised. he always found the law to be senseless. and he knows he’ll have to take matters into his own hands.

within a day, rafe tracks him down. night has just fallen as he pounds on ty’s front door, in a rundown dingy apartment building on the south side of the island, purposely covering the peephole.

when ty opens the door, he wavers in fear, trying to swing the door shut but rafe already has a foot in the space.

ty shuffles backwards, clearly terrified of the man who shot him years ago.

“what do you want?” he asks rafe, trying to sound steady. “what are you doing here?”

“you need to leave town,” rafe tells him. “do you understand? go wherever the fuck you want. i don’t give a shit where. but leave.”

rafe feels the side of him he hasn’t felt in a long time coming out. pure rage boils through him. he could kill this man for the mark he left on the love of his life. he could do it with his bare hands.

“you think i don’t want to?” ty says, up against a wall now. “my parents cut me off after… listen, i don’t want to be here. everyone knows me. they know what happened. i’d love to get off this fucking island. but this is all i can afford right now.”

rafe considers him, his fists clenched at his sides. and he realizes things are different now. he can’t just give into his aggressive impulses whenever he wants. his choices affect her. he’s building a life with her.

he could kill ty. honestly, he would. but to put her through the consequences of committing a crime like that isn’t worth it for rafe. no matter how much he loathes the person he’s looking at right now.

“how much?” rafe asks through gritted teeth. “how much for you to be gone for good?”

he wants to die at the thought of giving anything to ty, but really, he knows he’s giving something to her.

ty mutters a price, more than enough for transportation to the mainland and presumably a few months of rent, but it’s hardly pocket change to rafe. he tells him he’ll wire it to him and that he needs to be gone by tomorrow night.

then, rafe steps closer to him, grabbing his collar, staring at his frightened eyes.

“if i see you around here,” rafe threatens, “if i even hear about you around here, and i swear to god, if you try to get near her, i’ll kill you. do you understand?”

“yeah,” ty says shakily. “yeah. i understand.”

rafe gets home to his fiancée that night, finding her in front of the tv. she’s still not entirely herself, clearly on edge.

“hey,” she says. “where were you?”

rafe leans down, sitting next to her.

“you never have to worry about him again,” he says.

“rafe…” she says, face dropping in worry, immediately knowing who he’s talking about.

“i didn’t do anything to him,” he says. “but you won’t see him around. he’s leaving the island.”

“h-how?” she stammers.

“how about this?” rafe says, shifting closer to her. “how about i promise you that he’s gone and we never have to talk about him again? it’s like he never existed, alright?”

her eyes sweep over his face, her breathing suddenly fast.

“okay,” she finally whispers. she trusts in him wholeheartedly.

rafe confirms that ty is gone the next day, his apartment already up for rent.

for the next few weeks, he doesn’t let his girl out of his sight. he hires a private investigator, who finds ty on living in the mainland like he said he would be.

eventually, rafe can breathe easy. and when he sees her slowly acting like herself again, unafraid to go out into public, he knows he did his job.

he has always wanted to take care of her. even when they were just a couple of kids. he’ll keep her safe until his last day on earth. and by the way she falls asleep curled up to him every night, he can tell that she knows she’s protected.

as they lie in bed, her hand is on his chest, and he wonders if she knows that every one of the heartbeats she’s feeling is for her.

#ask #home #homeblurb

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mustainegf · 2 months

Text

This idea has been clanging around in my brain for months, so I figured why not write it (after MANY rough drafts) and give it to you guys!!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Angst, mention of drugs, mention of pregnancy, slight fluff, mentions of suicide, panic attack

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: She wakes to find her husband, Dave, shattered emotionally in the bathroom. Dave's problem with addiction intensifies, fueled by fear of relapse as they contemplate starting a family.

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄 ¹⁹⁹²

I jolted awake to the sound of shattering porcelain, the echo of it slicing through the silence of our bedroom. My heart lurched in my chest, fear snatching at my throat. Dave wasn't beside me. Panic gripped me like a vice as I threw the covers off, my mind racing through a dozen worst-case scenarios in an instant.

I scrambled out of bed, my feet hitting the cold floor with a shock. The urgency of the situation propelled me forward, each step echoing the pounding of my heart. My mind conjured images of accidents, injuries, or worse. Dave had been acting strange lately, distant and withdrawn, but I never imagined it would lead to this.

The bathroom door was ajar, and a thin ribbon of light spilled out into the dim hallway. I hesitated for just a moment, a flicker of apprehension coursing through me. But I couldn't afford to hesitate, not when Dave might be in trouble.

Pushing the door open, I was met with a sight that froze me in my tracks. Dave stood in front of the shattered mirror, his reflection fragmented into a thousand fractured pieces. His shoulders were tense, his back rigid, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. But it was his face that caught my attention, twisted in a mask of raw anguish. Tears streaked down his cheeks, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Dave, honey, tell me what’s wrong," My voice wavered, barely more than a whisper. I took a step forward, rubbing his arm as I glanced down at the dripping blood on his knuckles.

He didn't respond, didn't even acknowledge my presence. His gaze remained fixed on the broken mirror, as if it held the answers to all the questions tormenting him.

"Dave, talk to me," I pleaded, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. His eyes flashed with a mix of anger and despair.

"Can't you see?" he spat, his words laced with bitterness. "I'm a mess, a fucking disaster."

My heart sank at his words, the weight of his pain pressing down on me like a physical force. I continued to rub his arm in support, but he recoiled as if my touch burned.

"Don't," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't need your pity."

"I'm not here to pity you, Dave," I said, my voice soft but firm. "I'm here because I care about you. Because I love you."

He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. The sound cut me to the core, a sharp reminder of the darkness that lurked within him, threatening to consume us both. But I refused to let it win. I refused to let him slip away without a fight.

"What’s all of this about, Dave?" | pressed gently, my voice laced with concern as I looked into his tortured eyes.

"It's about me being weak," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with self loathing.

My heart clenched at his words, at the weight of his darkness. "You're not weak, Dave," | insisted, my voice trembling with emotion. "You're human. Anybody would say you’re the opposite of weak."

Dave's words poured out in a torrent of anger and despair, each syllable heavy with the weight of his self-loathing. "I'm pathetic," he spat, his voice trembling with emotion. "I'm a failure, a goddamn waste of space. I've been clean for months, but what does it matter? I'll just end up going back to using, like I always do."

My heart ached at his words, at the depth of his torment.

"I'm afraid," he confessed, his voice raw with emotion. "Afraid of going back to heroin, to valiums, to cocaine. Afraid of losing myself again, of never finding my way back.” He poured his emotions onto the bathroom floor, hot anger and ice cold sadness hanging in the air.

“But deep down, I know it's inevitable. I'm weak, too weak to resist it."

I tried to speak, to offer anything I could, but he wasn’t finished yet.

But he shook his head, his whole body trembling with the force of his emotion. "You don't understand," he insisted, his voice rising to a shout. "I'm a lost cause. I'm going to end up destroying everything I love, just like always."

Tears welled in my eyes as I watched him unravel before me, the weight of his pain crushing him beneath its relentless weight. "Dave, listen to me," I urged, my voice steady despite the feeling in my heart. "You are not defined by the drugs. You have the strength to get over this."

But he shook his head, his eyes filled with anguish. "I don't think I can," he whispered, his voice barely more than a broken whisper.

“I-I can't do this anymore," he choked out between sobs, his whole body trembling with the force of his despair. "I'm so tired, so...so fucked." He spat out. “I just wish I would be put out of my fucking misery. Kill myself or something.”

My heart was shattering at his words, the pain in his voice like a knife twisting in my chest. I quickly reached out and gripped the sides of his face, pulling his gaze to meet mine. "Look at me, Dave," I said, my voice soft but insistent. "Breathe."

He obeyed, his eyes meeting mine, and I could see the turmoil churning within him, the storm of emotions threatening to take him entirely.

"Promise me, Dave," I said, my voice trembling with emotion. "Promise me that you'll never talk about killing yourself again. I-I couldn't bear to lose you."

For a moment, he was silent, his breathing slow and steady as he stared into my eyes, as if searching for something within them. And then, finally, he nodded, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

"I promise," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. But he continued.

"How will I even be a good father?" he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't want my future child to have a junkie for a dad."

And then, in an instant, everything clicked into place.

Me and Dave had been trying for a baby for the last month, and I realized that it played a big part in this. It wasn't just the drugs, but Dave was afraid of relapsing and not being there for our baby.

I softly brushed his cheek, Doing whatever I could to comfort him. "Dave, listen to me," I said. "You are going to be an amazing father. You’ve been clean for almost 2 years now, this is just your anxiety."

I gently wiped away his tears with my thumbs, feeling the wetness beneath my touch as I tried to offer him some solace in the midst of his pain. "You need to sleep, Dave," I whispered softly. "We'll deal with the mirror in the morning. Right now, all that matters is that you rest."

I carefully wiped and cleaned his bloodied and cut knuckles, dabbing a warm wet cloth on his wounds. I wrapped his hand and gently held him close as I brought him back to bed.

As we made our way back to bed, I whispered sweet words of reassurance. "I'm right here," I murmured, wrapping my arms around him as we settled beneath the covers. "Just breathe, Dave. Everything's going to be okay."

He nodded against my chest, his breathing slowly evening out as sleep began to claim him. "I know, I know," he whispered, his voice barely more than a sleepy murmur.

I held him close, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my own, and for a moment, everything else went away. In that moment, there was only us.

And as I pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, hand in hand.

#dave mustaine fluff #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine fic #dave mustaine fanfiction #dave mustaine #reqs open #metal #metallica #thrash metal #megadeth headcannons #megadeth x reader #megadeth fanfiction #megadeth #fanfic #fanfiction #mustainegf #dave Mustaine x you

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defectivevillain · 1 year

Text

took an axe and amended things

pairing: kratos x reader

reader’s pronouns: he/him

[reader with they/them pronouns here!]

warnings: canon typical violence, blood and injury

You’re venturing out in the forest when you come across a rather unusual sight: a young boy standing across from several Draugr. You initially think that your eyes are deceiving you. Even so, you move closer and realize that the kid seems to be in trouble. His only weapon is a bow and arrow; unfortunately, there are too many Draugr for the distance weapon to be of much use. You contemplate walking away for a long moment. Ultimately, you decide that you can’t leave him.

You take a deep breath and pull out your sword, lunging at the creatures closest to you. You manage to cut through a few of them. You’re preoccupied for a few moments, which causes you to lose focus and forget the boy. This mistake nearly costs you, as the kid lets out a chilling shriek. You immediately race over to him, shoving him aside. The Draugr that had been descending upon him lets out a strangled noise and plunges a clawed hand into your abdomen before you can react. A sharp burst of pain shoots through you and you quickly finish off the creature, before turning back to look at the boy. He looks mostly fine, save for a few scratches and scrapes. The kid stares at you with wide eyes, looking around for more Draugr before walking up to you.

“Thanks,” the boy says breathlessly, sending you a warm smile. The happiness quickly fades from his face when he sees the wound tearing through your abdomen. You try to muster up a calm expression, but it doesn’t seem to work very well. “Oh no…” The kid grimaces for a moment.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, stumbling forward as you try to take a step. Quick as lightning, the boy is standing at your side and steadying you. You can’t help but lean on him, despite knowing he’s a child who probably won’t be able to withstand your weight. Against all odds, though, the boy seems strong enough to support you. Before you can apologize and try to walk away, he slings your arm around his shoulder. The hand you’re pressing to your abdomen is slowly turning a dark crimson. The boy begins to walk forward and you have no choice but to clumsily follow.

“Our house is around here,” he remarks, leading you onwards. Your vision is blurring by the second, but you can make out a structure that looks like a house in the distance. Unfortunately, that distance seems rather large in your current condition. “Just hold on.”

The walk is long and painful. The cold air makes your chest burn and the wound on your abdomen isn’t getting better. You’re losing strength and gradually becoming dead weight for the kid to support. You idly wonder—through the painful haze you’re stuck in—what he’s doing out here by himself. Then again, he said our house, didn’t he? The boy evidently lives with someone else. Even so, should he have been all alone in the forest in the first place? You don’t think so.

Your thought process surrounding the boy only lasts a few moments, before it takes a backseat to the immense pain ripping through your body. Shadows creep across the corners of your vision. You stop in your tracks, grinding your heels into the snow to stop the boy from leading you onwards. Vertigo is hitting you out of nowhere, to the point where the ground seems to be spinning under your feet. You weakly grasp at the boy’s shoulder, but you can’t keep yourself standing. Before long, you’re crumpling to the ground. The kid lets out an exclamation and the world fades to a dizzying black.

You seem to waver between unconsciousness and wakefulness. There’s a loud thunk that breaks you out of your slumber, but you keep your eyes closed in the hopes that you’ll find rest again. Amidst the darkness, you can catch traces of conversation between the boy from earlier and another person.

“Boy, what did I tell you about strangers?” The voice you hear is deep and timbered; it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I know, Father, but-”

“A childish mistake. The moment you let your guard down to someone, they will swiftly destroy you.”

You eventually abandon the notion of rest and open your eyes to find yourself in a dimly lit room. Wooden beams stretch across the ceiling; the torches hanging from them are the only source of light. For several seconds, you remain still and stare up at the ceiling. Your balance feels lopsided, despite the fact that you’re reclined on the floor. Before you can even begin to push yourself up, there’s a quick glint of metal as an axe presses up against your throat. You look up to find a huge man towering over you. He wears a stiff shoulder guard, leather forearm wraps, and a belt across his waist. His eyes are steely and there’s a malicious aura radiating off of him.

“Get out of my home,” the man orders, pressing the axe further against your neck. You can’t stop the hiss that crawls from your throat when the metal digs into your skin. “Now.” There’s nothing but hatred in the man’s brown eyes. You swallow hard and try to push yourself up to a sitting position, while avoiding the axe at your throat. The slight movement hurts far more than you expect and you let out a strangled breath.

“No!” The boy from earlier exclaims. You glance to your side, only to find him sitting next to you. He places a hand on your shoulder and you realize that his grip is surprisingly strong. Now that the boy is closer, you’re able to see that he has clear blue eyes. He’s even smaller up close. Just how old is this boy? You’re not sure you want to know. “He needs rest.” You raise an eyebrow at the unexpected defense.

The man holding the axe glares at the boy, who stares right back. Admittedly, you’re impressed with the kid’s fearlessness—especially in the face of this brute in front of you, who’s holding a rather dangerous-looking axe. “Atreus.”

“Father, he saved me,” the boy—Atreus—interjects. At this, the man stills. His gaze falls to his son for a fraction of a moment, before he returns to glaring at you menacingly. “I was surrounded.” He continues. Your head is swimming and takes an immense amount of effort to focus on what he’s saying. “I tried to fight, but I was outnumbered… A Draugr got close and was about to strike me. This one was a lot faster than Draugr usually are, and I reacted too late… He pushed me out of the way and took the blow.”

The massive man is still staring at you with a scrutinizing gaze, evidently trying to find the fault in his son’s story. You grimace, half in pain and half in intense discomfort. For a few moments, there is nothing but silence. Then, the axe at your throat falls to the man’s side. You push yourself up to a sitting position and take a deep breath. Unfortunately, the conversation doesn’t seem to be over, as the man’s axe is still in hand.

“Why did you save him?” The axe isn’t pressed up directly against your skin any longer, but it still hovers menacingly above your neck.

“He’s just a boy,” you murmur, struggling to make sense of your thoughts. “I don’t know; I didn’t really have time to think about it. It just… happened.” The man’s eye contact is intense, so much so that you have to avert your gaze after a few seconds. Whatever this man is looking for, he seems to find it in your expression.

“He can stay until he heals,” the man says, hardly sparing you a glance before turning to his son, “You will supervise him.” Atreus nods and immediately turns back to you. His father glares at you one more time, before turning his back and walking to one of the other rooms. You stare after him in disbelief.

“Sorry about Father,” Atreus sighs, drawing your attention back to him. He seems to be making some sort of ointment to apply to your wound. “He doesn’t like people very much.” You shake your head, trying to reassure the boy that it isn’t his fault and that you don’t mind. You are a stranger in their home, after all. “This is going to hurt.” Atreus presses the ointment to your abdomen and you inhale sharply. It burns for a few seconds, before cooling pleasantly.

Feeling a sudden heat, you look up to find Atreus’s father lurking a short distance away. He looms next to a wall, hiding him from his son’s view. The man crosses his arms over his chest and stares at you with a strange expression—which morphs into a murderous look once he realizes that you’re staring back.

“What’s wrong?” The boy asks from his place at your side. He’s looking at you expectantly and you tear your gaze away from his father, who slinks off into another area of the house and out of sight. You bite your lip. Despite Atreus’s curiosity, you can’t bring yourself to betray his father’s actions.

“Nothing.” You say with a shake of your head. Atreus finishes preparing the bandages and begins to wrap them around your abdomen. The boy’s bandaging seems to be a bit clumsy, but you can’t bear to feel anything but grateful for his help—especially when he stood up to his father for you. “Thanks for healing me.” You decide to voice your gratitude.

“It’s my fault you got hurt in the first place.” Atreus murmurs, just quietly enough that it takes you a moment to realize you didn’t imagine the remark. You try to argue, but the boy has finished your bandages and he’s already walking away before you can entirely comprehend the statement. As much as you want to go after him, you’re essentially bound to the floor—your injuries are too grave for you to even try moving.

You fall asleep for a bit, until you’re woken by the eerie feeling of someone watching you. You dazedly blink your eyes open, only to have a mini heart attack when you see Atreus’s father looming over you. Is he here to kill you, now that Atreus isn’t present? You don’t get much time to wonder, before the man is speaking.

“That boy…” You can hardly let out a protest before his father gets down on one knee and tugs at your bandages. You let out a weak protest, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. He instead pulls off the bandages with an almost mechanical precision.

“I don’t even know your name, yet,” you joke weakly, trying to distract yourself from his proximity and the pain flaring up in your abdomen. As expected, the joke doesn’t register with the man. He looks annoyed at the mere suggestion.

“You have no need for it.” You stare at him. Your disbelief and mild irritation must show on your face, because the man looks back down at the bandages and steadily refuses to meet your eyes. For someone so intimidating, this guy seems to be almost… timid. Perhaps he’s just unaccustomed to social interaction. That would make a lot of sense, actually. His house is in the middle of the woods, deep enough that he likely doesn’t encounter many people. “Kratos.”

You raise an eyebrow and tell him your name, although you suspect that he doesn’t care what your name is. Sure enough, the man doesn’t even acknowledge your remark. His rather large hands are fiddling with the roll of bandages, and you’re almost tempted to help him out. You reach out, only for him to meet your eyes once more.

“If it weren’t for the boy…” The man’s eyes darken. He looks down to wrap the bandages around you. He tightens them a bit too fiercely, causing you to suck in a startled breath. Kratos looks up when he’s finished and levels you with a menacing glare. “I’d kill you where you stand.”

You gulp. His hands brush your skin for the briefest of moments, sending a wave of heat down your spine. It’s hard to focus when Kratos is so close to you. Thankfully, once he’s finished with the bandages, he gets to his feet and stares at you.

“For whatever reason, the boy has developed a liking for you,” Kratos states flatly. There’s an unconvinced look on his face, as if he can’t comprehend why his son even mildly tolerates you. You feel a little offended at that—are you really so insufferable to be around? “I expect you out of here the moment you’re fully healed.”

“Alright, thanks,” you answer, having half-expected a remark along those lines. The two of you are then locked in a pseudo-staring contest—as if you’re sizing each other up—for a few seconds before Kratos turns his back and walks away.

As you rest, your conversation with Kratos dominates your thoughts. Unfortunately, you don’t have much else to think about—your healing isn’t going as fast as you’d like. Time seems to drag on, especially when all you do is sleep or eat small meals. You’re amazed you’ve been given any food at all; although, you then realize that Atreus is likely hunting for you.

“I’m not who Father thinks I am,” Atreus remarks one morning, as he’s changing your bandages. He noticed his father’s adjustments and since then, he’s been fairly high strung. You remain silent and let him continue. “I’m strong, I’m smart. I’m capable.”

“You are,” you agree, happy to see the pink flush on the boy’s cheeks at the acknowledgement. Unfortunately, Atreus’s bashfulness doesn’t last long, as his eyebrows furrow and his lips twist into a scowl.

“Then why doesn’t he see that?” Atreus exclaims. You put a finger to your lips to get him to lower his voice, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice the gesture. “I don’t understand! He always leaves, he never talks to me or teaches me. He doesn’t even want me!” The boy’s voice cracks and your heart breaks just a little more.

“Atreus…” You bite your lip, feeling an overwhelming sympathy overtake you. You feel like you’re listening in on something you shouldn’t, despite Atreus’s voluntary disclosure of information. “I don’t know your father, but I know that you’re wrong. He does want you; he loves you.”

“How can you be so sure?” Atreus whispers. He sounds so unsure that you feel your eyes begin to burn. Is his father’s approval really so foreign to him? It doesn’t take you long to choose what to say next.

“Because I’m still here,” you answer. You hadn’t intended to tell Atreus about his father’s threats, but now, you think they’ll serve as evidence to your claims. “He’s keeping me here because you asked him to. If you hadn’t, I’d be dead right now.”

“That’s not true,” Atreus fires back.

“He told me as much,” you admit. Atreus’s lips part and he stares at you in disbelief. You take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking again. “Anyway. Your father doesn’t seem like the type to use his words, but… his actions couldn’t be more transparent.” Atreus is silent at that. You frown, wishing there were some way to convince him. An idea passes through your mind and you decide to speak your thoughts. “I know I’m not your father, but-” you break off, “I am proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Atreus huffs, his ears turning red. You give in to the urge to ruffle his hair and he scowls dramatically, turning his attention to your bandages. You allow him to escape the conversation and the two of you soon change topics and talk about innocuous things. Eventually, Atreus leaves to hunt and you’re alone again.

You find yourself alone in the house rather frequently. You can’t bring yourself to be irritated with it—after all, you’re pretty much an uninvited house guest. Furthermore, it appears as if your wound is healing rather well… It should take only a few more days of rest before you’re ready to go home. A small part of you wonders if this cabin could be your home, if this father and son could be your family. You quickly disregard the concept.

Somehow, you manage to heal faster than you expect. Within a few days, you’re up and walking again. Almost the moment that you realize you can walk, you head towards the door. Kratos’s threats from earlier are living in your mind. I expect you out of here the moment you’re fully healed. You press your palm flat against the door and push, only for a voice to interrupt your thoughts.

“Where are you going?” You turn around, dread coiling in your chest as you find Kratos standing in the space you had previously occupied. He’s regarding you with wariness and skepticism. You frown at that, unable to dissuade your own confusion.

“Um… home?” If it weren’t for the boy, I’d kill you where you stand. You gulp. You had hoped to avoid an awkward confrontation—or even a fight— by slipping out of the house undetected. That was wishful thinking, apparently. For the next few moments, you’re frozen in the doorway as Kratos stares at you with a scrutinizing gaze. His arms are crossed over his chest and there’s nothing but frustration written in the lines of his tense shoulders.

“The boy likes you,” Kratos eventually says, breaking through the strained silence. Tension settles in the air. You’re admittedly not fully recovered, and your balance is a bit testy. You place a hand on the wall in a casual gesture, pretending that you don’t need the stability. Kratos seems to recognize what you’re doing regardless, as he reaches out. You resist the urge to flinch. His hand rests on your shoulder and there’s a strange look on his face. “Stay.”

You stay—not that your decision has anything to do with the relieved expression on Kratos’s face when you step away from the front door. That doesn’t run through your mind at all. You make your way past Kratos and sit down on the floor once more.

When Atreus returns home that day, he launches himself at you and hugs you before you can object. You smile and wrap your arms around him in return. The boy doesn’t seem keen to let you go any time soon. You look over Atreus’s shoulder, only to accidentally lock eyes with Kratos. His fists are clenched at his sides and he quickly turns away. Your chest burns as you return your attention to Atreus, pretending not to have noticed his father gazing at the boy with a remorseful expression.

When the two of you break apart, Atreus stares at you expectantly. You turn your head to the side in an attempt to avoid his gaze, but the movement draws a pained hiss from your lips. You grimace as pain flares up your back. You don’t think you’re quite subtle enough, because Atreus’s eyebrows furrow.

“Your back hurts,” the boy realizes aloud. Damn it, why is this boy so observant? You bite your lip and remain silent, not wanting to further incriminate yourself. Atreus seems to have his mind made up, however, as he looks at you. “Haven’t you been sleeping on the floor? That’s probably why. You should tell Father.”

“No thanks,” you say with a shake of your head. Your conversations with Kratos are awkward enough on their own. The last thing you want is to bring up your discomfort, especially when he and his son have been so kind as to let you reside here. “Besides, there isn’t another bed for me to sleep in or anything.”

Atreus stares at you with a rather complex gleam in his eyes. His mischievous expression throws you off, and you get the feeling that you should be nervous. “Father likes you, you know,” the boy remarks. You blink once, twice—convinced that you misheard him. Once you process the statement, you look at him in confusion.

“There’s something about you,” Atreus continues, “He doesn’t hate you as much as he hates everyone else.” You want to laugh, but the sentiment seems to strike true—Kratos clearly dislikes people. The portion of Atreus’s statement concerning his lessened hatred for you is definitely untrue, though. Instead of arguing, you keep quiet and let Atreus continue speaking. “Ever since Mother died, he hasn’t been quite the same. But he’s better, now that you’re around.”

“You think so?”

Atreus nods silently. You don’t know what to say; Atreus seems similarly lost for words. “It’s healing nicely,” he says, nodding at your wound. You look down at the warped scar tearing through your skin. That scar is probably going to be permanent, you realize with resignation. Atreus doesn’t elaborate on his previous remark and you spend the rest of the day thinking about it.

The next day, the strange interaction with Atreus falls to the back of your mind, as you begin to busy yourself with attempts at full recovery. You slowly begin to start walking around again, and before long, you’re able to walk around the house with relative ease. One day, you even walk outside to get some fresh air. You don’t realize how much you needed the sunshine, until you feel a smile breaking out on your face. The midmorning rendezvous gives you a bit more energy.

For a few days after your attempt at departure, you don’t see Kratos at all. You almost want to think that he’s avoiding you, but you recognize that notion to be rather self-centered. He’s probably just busy. You decide to remain patient. Your patience does eventually pay off, because Kratos ambles into the room you’re occupying and stops to stand next to you. You send him a small smile, which he doesn’t return. Silence dominates the air for a few more moments, before Kratos speaks.

“The boy says-”

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to call him by his name once in a while,” you interject. Kratos glares at you and you glare right back for a few moments, until you eventually get sick of the charade. The man raises an eyebrow, as if to ask: Are you done? You roll your eyes in response.

“The boy says your back has been hurting.” Kratos finishes, a note of something unreadable in his voice. You don’t dare to analyze the emotion beneath that remark.

“He’s too observant, sometimes,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. You quickly feel the need to defend yourself. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Kratos snaps. He looks askance and it almost feels as if he’s trying to pretend you aren’t in front of him. Despite the rather harsh statement, though, his eyebrows are furrowed and he seems more irritated than usual. “You’ll sleep in my room tonight.” A million thoughts run through your head all at once. What does that statement mean, exactly? Surely, he means you’ll sleep on the floor of his room. Perhaps there’s a plush carpet. Honestly, you’ll take anything over the hardwood flooring of the main cabin area.

“Okay.” You murmur, once you realize that Kratos is waiting for a response. His lips are pulled taut and he stares at you for a moment longer before walking away. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Thankfully, it’s only midmorning. You have the rest of the day to put the thought off.

Unfortunately, the day passes unusually fast. Before long, it’s beginning to get dark. Kratos doesn’t seem to be around, but his words from earlier still echo in your ears. For a moment, you contemplate sleeping on the floor in the main room again. You quickly dismiss the notion when you see Atreus pouting at you. Rolling your eyes, you allow him to tug you by the arm until you’re standing in Kratos’s room.

There’s only one bed. Thankfully, Atreus leaves and doesn’t insist on anything stupid—like sharing the bed with his father. You’re sure that you’d wake up to an axe pointed at your throat, and you’d rather not have a repeat of your first meeting. There is a fluffy carpet in the corner of the room and you shrug, before lowering yourself down to the ground and curling up on your side. It’s far from comfortable, but you’re so tired that you can’t find the energy to care. Before you can muse about your unconventional sleeping arrangements any longer, you’re drifting off into sleep.

Your sleep is rough for a little while. You hear bits and pieces of noise, but you’re never fully torn from slumber. Then, out of nowhere, you’re jostled and you slip into a weird void between slumber and wakefulness. You vaguely register an arm under your knees and another supporting your upper back. Suddenly, there’s plush material beneath you and you can’t stop the miniscule exhale that leaves your lips at the feeling. You swear you hear a huff of amusement, but you’re far too exhausted to ponder it.

You wake hours later feeling remarkably refreshed. It’s the first time since you resided here that you were actually able to rest. You push yourself up slowly, taking a moment to survey your surroundings. It appears that you’re in Kratos’s room. Wait. You’re not on the floor… You’re on his bed. You quickly throw the blanket off of you and try not to panic. He can’t kill you if he doesn’t notice—

“You were on the floor.” Fuck. You look up, only to find Kratos hovering in the doorway. He stares down at you expectantly.

“Well, yeah,” you frown, pushing yourself off the bed to stand across from him. “Where else was I supposed to go?” Kratos has a rather disbelieving expression on his face as he regards you. His lips part and he’s about to say something when there’s a loud rapping sound. The man whips around and stalks out into the main room. You follow at his heels, secretly grateful for the interruption. You weren’t quite looking forward to the awkward conversation surrounding how you ended up sleeping in his bed last night.

“What was that?” Atreus asks, emerging from one of the other rooms. You put a finger over your lips and then turn to Kratos, who is glaring at the front door hard enough to set it aflame with his gaze alone. The three of you are entirely silent as you wait to hear the sound again. About a minute passes and you’re about to relax when there’s another harsh noise; it sounds like someone is knocking on the door. Kratos turns around and stares at you determinedly.

“Watch the boy.” He demands.

“But-” You try to say, beginning to sense what is going on. Evidently, this visitor isn’t coming for a housewarming party. Whoever it is, they must be an enemy—if the vicious expression on Kratos’s face is anything to go by.

“Go.” Kratos snarls. Your heart is racing but you decide to obey him. Atreus seems like he wants to fight, but you place a hand on his shoulder. He sighs and walks a few steps until he’s standing in front of a pile of cushions and blankets. Atreus pushes them to the side, which reveals a sort of trapdoor mechanism. The boy tugs at it before lowering himself down into it. You take one final glance at Kratos, before following Atreus into the makeshift cellar. The moment you’re with Atreus, Kratos closes the trapdoor and Atreus and you are left in pitch-black darkness.

“Will he be okay?” Atreus voices. Within a few seconds of that question, you both hear a rumbling sound and raised voices. You can’t quite see Atreus, but you can hear his leg bouncing restlessly.

“Of course,” you murmur quietly. You’re sure he’ll be fine and you try to bring that conviction into your voice to combat Atreus’s nerves. The boy stares at you for a moment, before practically throwing himself into your arms. You embrace him hesitantly at first. As the two of you continue to wait with bated breath, you bring your hand up to the back of the boy’s head and cradle him close. He’s far too young to be going through all of this, you think to yourself.

You hear a loud crash and hastily put your hands over Atreus’s ears. He whimpers and you close your eyes, trying not to flinch as you hear inexplicable noises from above. A part of you wants to peek out from the trapdoor and see what’s going on, but you promised Kratos that you’d protect Atreus. Knowing that, you hold him close to your chest and try to wait for the end of the crashing noises.

Ironically, after all of that ruckus, there is… nothing. You have no idea how much time passes after those sounds. Your ears are buzzing and you anxiously await any sort of noise. After an immeasurable amount of time, you hear footsteps from above. Atreus clenches your shirt in a tight grip and you pull him closer. The trapdoor creaks open ominously, and you instinctively turn your back to protect Atreus. A few seconds pass, and nothing happens. You warily turn your head, only to find Kratos looming over the trapdoor. You let out a sigh of relief and relax your hold on Atreus, who peeks out from your shoulder and looks up at him.

“Father!” Atreus exclaims, relief evident in his voice. He steps up on the chest nearby and Kratos hoists him up.

“Atreus,” Kratos responds, staring down at his son. The boy launches himself into Kratos’s arms, murmuring things that you pretend not to hear. You smile at the sight, despite feeling a bit out of place; you vaguely feel as if you’re not supposed to be witnessing this rather intimate and private moment. After a few moments, Atreus releases his hold on his father and you accidentally lock eyes with Kratos over the boy’s head. There’s blood splattered all over the man’s face but he appears to be fine. Atreus moves away and Kratos extends his arm to you. You don’t hesitate to take his proffered hand, allowing him to loftily pull you up from the cellar. His grip remains, even as Atreus pulls the cushions and blankets over the cellar. In fact, Kratos’s hand rises from your hand to grasp your forearm.

“You alright?” You ask. Kratos answers with a huff that you’ve grown to associate with amusement. There’s something lingering on his shoulder and you move to brush it off. Kratos stiffens and freezes, a guarded expression rising on his face. Despite his evident wariness, he doesn’t push you away. You brush the debris off his shoulder and quickly explain. “Sorry. You had, um, some dirt.”

“You looked after the boy,” Kratos says, apropos of nothing. You blink at him for a second.

“Of course,” you respond. You glance over at Atreus, who appears to be doing something in one of the other rooms. He’s too far away to hear your conversation, but your voice comes out like a whisper anyway. “I care about him. And… you asked me to.”

There’s a vulnerability in Kratos’s expression—a sentiment you’ve never seen from him. His eyes are wide and shining with emotion. You’re almost convinced that you’re seeing things. Despite the uncharacteristically expressive look on his face, he doesn’t speak for a few minutes. “You were prepared to die for him.” Kratos’s eyes fall to the pile of cushions over the trapdoor, evidently referencing how he found the two of you. You had instinctually shielded Atreus.

“I mean, don’t give me too much credit; it’s what anyone would have done.” You ramble, feeling strangely off-kilter with Kratos standing so close to you. His eyes have yet to leave your face and his gaze demands your attention. You stare at him and he stares at you. Kratos reaches out and cradles your jaw. He swipes at your cheek with his thumb and you freeze in surprise.

“When you were about to leave,” Kratos begins, his hand falling from your face and down to the crook of your neck. His lips part as if to continue speaking, but no words come out.

“You don’t have to explain,” you say, noticing that his shoulders are tight and his posture has recovered some tension. Kratos has an utterly tortured expression on his face and you feel immensely guilty for provoking that feeling in him. “Seriously, it’s fine-” You try to say, only for the words to fall flat on your tongue.

“You knew how to handle the boy,” the man continues. “I was envious at first. I… never had that kind of relationship with my father, and it affected my own relationship with the boy. When you appeared, I thought you would take him from me.” It appears as if speaking so much is actively harming Kratos, as he winces and stiffens with every word. He looks profoundly uncomfortable and determined at the same time. You remain silent, despite the conflicting feelings roaring in your heart.

“You understand the boy, in a way I have never been able to. I couldn’t bear to hate you, not when you gave Atreus his joy back. He hadn’t smiled since his mother died.” That, you hadn’t known. Suddenly, your throat burns as you remember the smiles Atreus has given you. “I have failed Atreus again and again, yet I tried to rob him of the one person that truly understood him… because that person was not me. What kind of father am I, for envying what you have with him?”

“A normal one, I think,” you answer honestly. “Kratos,” you break off, reaching out to him. Kratos grabs your wrist before you can reach him, a resigned expression on his face. He’s beginning to bury his emotions again. The light is slowly draining from his eyes. It feels as if he’s slowly slipping away from you.

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Kratos says quietly. Your eyes catch on the bloodstains on his face and you begin to realize what he’s alluding to. Everything begins to make an absurd amount of sense: the giant axe, the ease with which he handled the unknown intruder, the entirely unaffected expression on his face as he ordered Atreus and you to hide.

“I don’t,” you acquiesce. Kratos’s hand is still on your wrist, but you manage to move your arm and clasp his forearm in return. “But that doesn’t matter—none of that matters. What matters is that you’re trying.” You take a deep breath. “Atreus needs you… and I do, too.”

Your eyes lock again and you realize that Kratos’s eyes are rather glassy. Is he crying? No, you must be seeing things. There’s an apology on the tip of your tongue but before you can speak, Kratos is tugging you towards him. You go along with the sudden momentum and, in the blink of an eye, he’s kissing you.

The gesture feels far too short, as a voice grounds you back to reality. “Finally.” You freeze and regretfully break away from Kratos, only to find Atreus staring at the two of you from his position in the far doorway. You feel extremely mortified and you try to salvage the situation by removing your hands from Kratos’s shoulders, but you fear it’s already too late.

“Boy…” Kratos trails off, evidently lost for words. Despite the fact that you’ve been found out, the man still hasn’t removed his hands from your waist.

“What?” Atreus asks innocently, a rather mischievous smile on his face. You sigh fondly at him, before beckoning him closer. The boy runs over and throws an arm around you, before doing the same with his father. Kratos looks startled for a moment, before he brings Atreus closer with his free hand. You smile to yourself as you’re surrounded by Kratos and Atreus—your newfound family.

#defectivevillain #kratos x reader #kratos x male reader #god of war #gow #gow kratos #gow x reader #x male reader #male reader #masc reader #transmasc reader #yuh yuh

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