#the sign on my heart says it’s still reserved for her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychedelic-ink · 6 months

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ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader x jack daniels

genre: smut, minors dni, dude ranch au, modern au

word count: 7.7k

summary: joel challenges jack to make you into the finest there possibly is in two days.

warnings: threesome (mfm), mlm dynamics, some jealousy, outdoor sex, piv, oral sex, dirty talking

a/n: happy birthday @fuckyeahdindjarin 🎉 I hope you enjoy you slutty cowboys--both of them nearly gave me a heart-attack while writing ❤️‍🔥 this gif was made my the lovely @pedrorascal who I am so grateful for helping me out preparing your this bday surprise!

**dividers by @saradika

You take a breath and sneak out of the cozy room. It had been hard parting away from your cozy bed. The warmth provided by the hand-knitted blanket and the scent of delicious wood made you want to never leave. They’ve really done a great job decorating the rooms of the dude ranch. It still holds the Western theme you love, but it's also adorned with rustic charm, from the weathered leather furniture to the handcrafted wooden accents, creating a welcoming atmosphere.

It had been a couple of days since your arrival. You were tired of... well, everything and desperately needed an out. You wish you could say that it happened like in the movies— a divine sign that made you come here, but no. There was no divine intervention, no mysterious flyer sticking to your face. You had to do an endless amount of research to find the perfect place, and when you were done, you picked the ranch that had the least foot traffic. You were running away from people. Choosing the most touristy one would defeat the purpose—you wanted to be alone.

And you were glad that you did. The place was amazing. Surrounded by large mountains and wide fields. This place wasn’t so people would come and see what was what. It was an actual ranch with actual people working all the time. Accepting guests was the side hustle and not the other way around.

There were two cowboys that you constantly saw: Joel Miller and Jack Daniels. Both charming, both handsome enough to make you want to scream. Jack had been personally assigned to you, but Joel was always around, watching, observing, and, of course, running his mouth. You’ve grown accustomed to their odd friendship... rivalry? It was actually kind of cute to see Jack turn all red whenever Joel said something to undermine him. And the other seemed to know that well.

Two talented cowboys. And you, who had no idea what the hell you were doing.

Which is why you were escaping your room like some kind of criminal at the brink of dawn. Joel’s teasing wasn’t only reserved for Jack, you got your fair share as well and it was even worse when Jack chimed in—the two seasoned horse riders letting you know just how out of your element you were. You needed to train without those two constantly spitting quips your way.

You silently make your way to the stables and blindly reach out towards Honeydust, the palomino Jack had gotten you accustomed to. You gently guide her away from the other horses. The rose-pink light of dawn has begun to trickle through the open windows, painting Honeydust’s coat in a gorgeous hue. You regret not bringing your phone; you would’ve loved to show Jack and Joel later on.

“Alright girl,” you mutter as you pat the side of her face. She whinnies slightly and digs her hoof into the ground. “It’s you and me. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

As you reach for the saddle, you smile to yourself. You might not be that good at horse riding yet but you did learn some things—like the value of a good saddle. You take a moment to inhale the scent of it— a mix of leather, hay, and a hint of earthiness.

Honeydust stands patiently, seemingly aware of your fumbling attempts to secure the saddle. You take a deep breath, remembering the lessons Jack patiently gave you about saddling up. Slowly but surely, you manage to get everything in place. As you tighten the cinch, you feel a sense of accomplishment. A week ago, you hadn’t been able to do this. Maybe you're not a full-on cowboy, but you're determined to learn the ropes.

With the saddle secured, you grab the reins and lead Honeydust out of the stable, into the cool morning air. The sky is a canvas of pastel colors—blues, pinks, and golds blending together as the sun inches higher. It's a breathtaking sight. You pat Honeydust on the muzzle and press your cheek against her, watching the sky.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” you whisper to her. “Honestly I’m gonna hate going back. It’s been a couple of days and I’m already attached to this place.”

Honeydust snorts and shakes her head. You smile wide as you pat her again, “You’re right. No room for sentimentality.”

Mounting Honeydust, you settle into the saddle, adjusting to the feel of it beneath you. The quiet creak of leather is drowned out by the sounds of the waking ranch. Birds chirp in the distance, and you take a deep breath, your lungs filling with the fresh scent of the outdoors—

But then you’re slipping.

And then falling.

With a loud, sharp gasp, you find yourself unexpectedly upside down beneath Honeydust's belly. Panic sets in as you register the proximity of her powerful legs, your eyes widen, your heart pounding loudly in your chest. Honeydust remains still, your body still miraculously hanging to the saddle.

Your heartbeat starts to slow, you take a deep breath. You’re fine. You’re okay. You just forgot to fasten one of the belts.

“Need any help there, sweetheart?”

Fuck. Busted.

“I’m fine,” you answer, emphasizing the latter. Jean-clad legs come into view. “Just. . . trying a new riding style.”

“Is that so?” Joel drawls, amusement dripping with every word. “And what would you call this one? The hangin’ fool?”

“Rude.”

His hips cock to the side and you see him placing both hands on his narrow hips, “Would it be better if I called it the hangin’ beauty?”

“Yes actually, it would.”

Your cheeks warm as he steps closer. You try not to stare, or perhaps that’s just you lying to yourself, but whatever your true intention was your eyes linger right over his crotch. Even with the thick jeans and the belt buckle, you know he’s packing underneath there. You can especially tell now since this is the closest you’ve ever been to it. Your mouth waters. Your brain delving further into sinful imagination when his low chuckle echoes in your ear.

“A’right then beautiful, let’s get you out here.” he stops for a beat, his knuckles brushing down the outer part of your leg. You shudder, your legs tighten around Honeydust. “Unless you wanna show me this new ridin’ style of yours?”

“You know what, I think I’ll take a rain check on that.” your voice is shrill and pitchy. Your eyes start to throb. “Especially since all the blood in my body is currently in my head.”

“Oh shit—Okay, just gimme a sec.” he slides his hands under your armpits. “A’right now let go.”

“What?”

“Just let go, sweetheart. I got you. You’ll be okay, promise.”

With a sharp breath, you close your eyes and loosen your legs. Joel's arms wrap further beneath yours, drawing you closer. You feel the tightening of his biceps, feel the huff of his breath against your cheek. He takes a step back and suddenly unbalanced, he falls backward, pulling you along.

With a huff, Joel lands on his ass, and you find yourself comfortably nestled against his chest. It takes you only a second for your gaze to find his. You hold your breath and so does he. His hand pleasantly curls around your waist, keeping you from moving away. His chest is firm under your own, your nipples tightening when you shift a bit, the graze of fabric makes you shudder.

His other hand comes to brush a strand of loose hair behind your ear. You swallow not once but twice. The warmth of Joel’s palm cradles your cheek and a slow breath exits your lungs.

“You a’right?”

“Y—Yeah. . . thanks for helping me out.”

“My pleasure.” His voice is deep, hoarse even, and it scratches your ears just right. You find yourself drawn to him. Your eyes dropping to his lips and back up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze. His lips part. The divot in the middle of his bottom lip more prominent than ever. You lean in without a thought, he mimics you, coming in closer and closer. Your chest heaves. Your heart beating madly against your chest.

“What the hell are you two doin’ canoodling here?”

You jerk away, your eyes lingering on Joel long enough to see the disappointment in his gaze. His eyes close slowly and he takes a ragged breath. Shifting slightly you see Jack holding a hay bale. His eyes are narrowed, his brows knitted together as his gaze flits between you and Joel. You chew the inside of your cheek, embarrassment heating you from the inside out.

“We ain’t canoodlin’,” Joel answers, agitated. “I found her hanging upside down under Honeydust’s belly. Who’s fault do you think is that?”

Jack’s mouth opens and closes, his cheeks suddenly flushed. His gloved hands tighten around the hay as he pushes it up his arms. Then finally, with a softened gaze, he turns to you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reply, your heart currently beating in your throat. “I just forgot to fasten the other side of the saddle.”

Joel squeezes your waist and you’re suddenly hyper-aware that you’re basically on his lap still. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. You have a shit teacher.”

“Excuse me?” Jack’s tone is enough to have you scrambling off of Joel’s lap. If looks could kill, Joel would be dead right now. On your feet, you move towards Honeydust, and with great comfort, she nuzzles your chest. Joel smiles lazily when Jack drops the bale of hay and walks up to him. “You better take that back, old man.”

“Yeah?” his eyes glow with mirth. “Make me.”

Involuntarily you cover your mouth with a hand. Is it bad that you’re secretly enjoying this? The amount of testosterone in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife.

Joel slowly gets up, as if he has all the time in the world, and faces Jack. He’s slightly taller than the latter, smile still tugging at his lips as he tilts his head ever so slightly down. Jack’s nostrils flare.

“You want me to knock you out in front of our guest?”

“I’d love to see you try.”

Joel takes another step closer, his chest nearly flushed against the other, he jerks his head to the side and places his hands on his hips. You swear you see Jack’s skin darkening with a deep shade of red from his chest to his neck. His jaw is wired tight, the muscle there twitching.

“How about this,” Joel grins. “You manage to make our sweet girl here a full-on cowgirl in two days and I’ll eat my words right outta your hand, Whiskey.”

Jack huffs and clicks his tongue, “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your name isn’t it?”

“It ain’t and you know it.”

“Your parents shouldn’t have named you Jack Daniels,” Joel rolls his eyes, “Do we have a deal or not?”

You hold your breath when Joel extends a hand. Jack’s eyes briefly find yours, his fingers twitching. The morning chill is still in the air and despite it, beads of sweat appear on your skin. Two days. Two days and you still don’t know how to put on a saddle right. With a small shake, you attempt to warn Jack but that only makes him smile.

He turns to Joel, “Deal,” he answers, taking his hand. “Two days. Be ready to eat your words, old man.”

They shake on it and as they do Joel gives you a not so subtle wink. It reminds you of just how close the two of you were a mere couple of minutes ago. You avert your gaze, suddenly shy to face him, and think about what might’ve happened if Jack hadn’t interrupted.

When Joel leaves, Jack lets out a long sigh and turns to you.

“You slipped, darlin’, really?”

“In my defense, it was early.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He shakes his head but you see the way his lips curl upwards ever so slightly. “Anyway, wait for me here and I’ll be right back. We gotta get you into tip-top shape because I ain’t gonna lose to Joel.”

“I warned you, you know,” you softly kick the dirt with the tip of your boot.

Jack’s tongue moves over his bottom lip, a shudder crawls up your spine and heat pools between your legs. He grips the bale of hay and throws it over his shoulder.

“That’s why I accepted the challenge, sugar. No guest of mine is gonna leave here without feelin’ like they can conquer the world.”

“Jack this is impossible I’m never going to get the hang of this.”

“With that attitude you sure ain’t gonna.”

With a crooked smile, Jack watches as you draw your shoulders together and stomp your boot against the soil. The lasso is tight between your fingers, the tips of which are chafed from turning the lasso again and again in an attempt to loop the rope around one of the wooden posts. He tilts his head to the side when you turn to him, a pleading expression etched onto your beautiful face.

"This is never going to happen," you huff. However, instead of keeping his eyes locked on yours, his gaze drops to where your flannel hugs your breasts, the poor buttons struggling to keep it all together. His cock swells at the thought of licking them, sucking on your hard nipples while the sweetest noises flee from your lips. "Jack?"

He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s been staring at your gorgeous tits, he drags his gaze back slowly, his smile only growing upon seeing your parted lips and glazed eyes. “Yeah, sugar?”

“We’re never going to win this thing with Joel,” you say and he doesn’t fail to notice how breathless you suddenly are. “How am I supposed to learn to do everything a cowboy can in two days? Seems a bit unfair.”

“Not everythin’,” he struts towards you and peels the lasso from your fingers. “We just need to cover the basics. No one is expectin’ you to catch a knife in mid-air with a lasso.”

Your brows furrow, “What? You’re saying you can actually do that?”

“‘Course I can,” he chirps back. “Unlike you, I’m a top-notch cowboy.”

His heart breaks a little when he sees how defeated you look, with a small nudge to your shoulder, he draws your gaze back to him. “Want me to show you again darlin’?”

“Sure but I’m not sure it’ll do me any good. I’m horrible at this.”

With a reassuring grin, Jack steps back, unwinding the lasso he took from you. He takes a moment to adjust the coils and then demonstrates the art of lassoing, the rope flying through the air in a graceful arc before landing perfectly around a wooden post.

“You see, it's all in the wrist,” he explains as he smoothly tightens the loop, making it look deceptively easy. He repeats the motion a couple of times, each throw precise and controlled.

“You know who’s really good at this?” he asks, returning his attention to you. “Joel.”

You snort, “I feel like that man is good at everything. But I’m not sure why you’re telling me that.”

“Well, you know who used to suck at it—me.”

“You?” you raise a sole eyebrow, and a teasing smile touches your lips. “You who can catch a knife in the air, supposedly, that is.”

“It takes a lot of practice, sugar. That's what I’m tryin’ to tell ya. I sucked at it. Couldn’t even do one loop. Then the old timer helped me out.”

“Joel?”

Yup," he says, noticing your shock. He had been shocked too when the man had shown him how to properly do it. It was both amazing and terrifying. Jack had never had someone care about him enough to actually show him how it's done instead of letting him struggle on his own. "And eventually, I got the hang of it. So will you.”

You smile wholeheartedly and take the lasso from him, “Thanks, Jack. I. . . I appreciate it. You actually really respect him, don’t you? Despite all the banter and arguing.”

“That’s just how I show love, darlin’.”

“You never argue with me.”

His eyebrows tilt up, along with the corner of his lips. You avert your eyes as you loosely hold the rope in your hand, the exercise quickly forgotten. Jack closes the distance until there's only a breath of space between you two. He entertains the idea of lifting your head by the chin, forcing your gaze upon him, but he refrains. He wants you to listen to him and oblige.

“Look at me, darlin’,” His eyes shine with delight when you do, he leans closer. “You want me to fight you?”

Your brows furrow, your lips forming the most adorable pout, “No. Of course not.”

“You sure?” This time he does cup your cheek to keep your gaze fixed on him. His pinkies move towards your neck, drawing soft patterns up and down your skin. You visibly shudder, a soft breath escaping your lips. “I see how you watch when Joel and I start to bitch and moan at each other, sugar. You sure you’re not into it even a little?”

He knows your answer. But he allows you to giggle and escape his hold anyway. “You’re ridiculous,” you say and as a response Jack wants to touch on the fact that you can’t look at him anymore, however, he’ll allow you to escape him for now.

“Come on then, now that you got your giggles on, let’s see you at least pull in one of those cones.”

While you attempt to just do that, Jack ends up regretting teasing you because he ends up thinking about Joel instead. It’s hard to admit that the constant bickering is the obvious telltale sign of something more. And he knows there’s something. Joel only weaponizes his tongue when you’re around. Or someone else for that matter. But when it’s just the two of them it’s different. It’s lingering touches and heavy scotch-filled conversations. Sometimes Joel would even whisper so he wouldn’t wake the others. Jack shivers as he remembers how Joel’s lips felt against the shell of his ear. Downright sinful.

It always remained at that, however. Touches and looks and talks. Nothing more and nothing less.

“Jack,” you say, your voice drawing him away from thoughts he’s happy to be drawn away from. “How did you end up here? Like with Joel and the rest.”

“It’s not much of a story. I was lookin’ for a job and came here lookin’ for one.” He lifts his hat and combs his hair back with his fingers. “I actually met Tommy first. Joel doesn’t like the hiring process and says his younger brother is a better judge of character. I met him after I was hired. Then I met the little munchkins.”

“You mean Sarah and Ellie?”

“Yes ma’am I do,” he reaches forward, letting his fingers nearly brush yours. He chuckles, "I also know what you're doing, so stop stalling and throw the damn lasso already."

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and all Jack wants to do is pry it away from the sharp edges, "Oh, are we arguing? Should I add this moment to my journal?” you manage to lock your gaze with his, a grin spreading across your face. “Does this mean you love me?"

He takes a step closer, leaning ever so slightly into your personal space. A hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, he breathes, "How 'bout this? You throw that rope, and I'll kiss you, sweetheart. Then you’ll really know what I feel."

Your eyes widen, "You’ll... excuse me?"

A wicked glint in his eyes, he quips, "I'll kiss you, full-blown on the lips. And believe me, it'll be my pleasure to lay one on you."

"Just throw the rope? Aren't you selling a bit short?"

Jack takes another step towards you and you can feel the heat radiating from him. His voice low and husky, he counters, "Fine then, manage to actually lasso something, and then I'll kiss you."

"You're mean. You said you'd only do it if I threw it." You challenge him by taking a step closer and he’s delighted to see it.

Cupping her face in his hands, he grins, "Changed my mind. And you have yourself to blame for it."

With all his heart Jack wishes for you to make the throw. Something primal and ugly in him finds extreme joy in being the one to kiss you first. He hated to admit it, but his heart broke a little when he found you and Joel together, lips almost about to touch. He hated feeling like an outsider. Especially when it came from Joel.

With a determined glint in your eyes, you take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Gripping the lasso in your hands, you start to swing it in a circular motion above your head. It’s sloppy and uneven but he can see how much care you’ve put into your stance. Jack watches intently, noting the way you shift your weight from one food to another, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

As the lasso gains momentum, you release it at just the right moment. It sails through the air, forming a perfect loop. Jack's eyes follow its trajectory, silently urging it to find its mark. The loop descends gracefully, and, with a satisfying thud, it settles around a nearby plastic cone and you pull it towards yourself, the plastic moving with ease.

A triumphant grin breaks across your face as you complete the throw. “I did it,” you gasp in a low tone, panting. Your head suddenly snaps towards him, a shit-eating grin plastered over your perfect lips. “I DID IT!”

Jack only smiles as he leans in and cradles your face in a rush. He crashes into you, lips meeting yours in an eager, lingering kiss. He teases the seam of your mouth with the tip of his tongue. Just a brief preview of how badly he wants this to happen. His hands slip to your ass, kneading the plump flesh, his cock stiffens at how you moan into his mouth. You press against him and Jack can’t help but roll his hips to feel more of you. It’s been so long. Too long since he felt something warm and tight around his cock.

He parts away by dragging his lips down to your chin and from there to your neck. He nips at your pulse, feeling it beating against his mouth.

“Jack,” you breathe. “I—Wow—”

“Kissin’ is one thing I’m better at,” he chuckles deeply into your ear. “Among other things.”

He holds you by the neck and gently pulls away. He can’t get enough of the expression you’re giving him; pupils blown and lips slightly parted. Your chest heaves heavily, your pulse beating wildly under his palm. Jack brushes your lips together, smiling upon hearing you whimper.

“Now, throw that lasso again and I’ll give you another kiss.”

And it all comes down to horse riding. You should be surprised but you’re not.

The sun was finally setting over the ranch. A subtle chill settling at the base of your snake as the sun went down. It had been a tiring day full of lasso throwing, ax throwing, and knotting. Your back ached and when the final challenge finally befell you all you wanted to do was go back to your room and sleep. The only thing that gave you an ounce of energy was Jack’s proud smile after every challenge that was won. Joel seemed genuinely impressed. And you were genuinely surprised to find yourself acing every task. Seeing how smug Jack got made your heart flutter and stomach draw tight.

The two of you had done a lot of kissing that day. It hadn’t gone any further but deep down you really wanted it to.

You feel a deep sense of Deja Vu when you find yourself staring at Honeydust with a saddle in hand. You take a deep breath, fingers tightening around the leather. The open air gives you a sense of calm, the cloudy sky a pleasure to gaze upon.

Jack touches the small of your back, goosebumps rising across your skin at the gentle touch, “You got this darlin’ don’t worry so much.”

You briefly glance at the track Joel and Jack had set up for you. Wooden fences stand tall at various intervals, creating a series of jumps that make you sweat just by thinking about them. Your eyes linger on the strategically placed cones that form a zigzag pattern.

“Honestly no matter what happens I’m impressed,” Joel cuts in, cupping Honeydust’s cheek. Your gaze moves deftly from the track to the man standing before you. As always, he looks amazing in his red and yellow flannel. “You’ve done well sweetheart.”

“Maybe you should just forfeit and accept we won then,” you answer, smiling. Joel shakes his head.

“Someone is sure of herself.”

“Hell yeah, I am.”

“Look at that,” Jack pipes. “Soundin’ like a true cowboy already.”

You expertly secure the saddle onto Honeydust's back. The leather feels cool beneath your fingertips as you tighten the straps, ensuring a snug fit. Adjusting the stirrups, you make sure they're the perfect length for your legs. As you stand beside the horse, you can feel the intensity of Joel and Jack's gazes on you. Their eyes trace the curves of your movements, a subtle tension lingering in the air.

With everything in place, you take a deliberate breath and swing yourself onto the saddle. The leather creaks slightly under your weight as you settle into position. Honeydust shifts beneath you. You catch Joel's gaze, and a sly smirk plays on his lips. His eyes linger a moment longer than necessary, you let out a puff of air, your legs tighten around Honeydust..

"Remember, just go with the flow. You and Honeydust are a team," Jack advises and with that, you head off.

Gently nudging your heels against the horse's side, you urge Honeydust into a graceful gallop around the track. The steadying thud of her hooves pounding against the dirt creates a harmony that molds with the song of the wind, transporting you to a place of serenity. Each hurdle makes your heart jump with excitement. The jumps seem impossible at times. As you zigzag through the cones, you can feel Honeydust's muscles tense and relax under your hands, transitioning from one step to the next with the gracefulness of a dance—

A sudden jolt disrupts the rhythm, and you find yourself tumbling to the ground. You let out a deep groan as your back hits the earth and with the corner of your eye, you see Joel taking hold of Honeydust’s reins, calming the poor palomino. Jack’s face comes into vision a second later.

"You okay, darlin'?" When you nod and begin to get up, his worry turns to frustration as he glances at Joel. "This was supposed to be about teaching, not pushing her to the damn limit."

"I didn't mean for her to fall, Jack. So don’t act like that was my intention."

“No, your intention was to make me look like I don’t know what I’m doin’.”

Jack, eyes still glued on Joel, helps you up. Your head is still spinning a little from the adrenaline rush but other than that you feel fine. Your eyes flitting between both men, your stomach twists and turns at how they’re both glaring at each other. This time is different from the arguments. This time they both genuinely look like they’re about to explode. Joel has his jaw tight while Jack has both hands in tight fists. “Guys. . .”

"Why you gotta make everythin’ personal?" Joel snaps, ignoring you all together. “It was just meant to be a harmless bet.”

Jack's eyes narrow, he tears his hand away from yours and your heart drops, "You're the one who makes it damn personal by goadin’ me all the damn time."

“That’s. . .” Joel’s eyes grow soft, his demeanor changing entirely. You watch the furrow between his brows relax, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. “I’m—”

“Can it,” Jack hisses through gritted teeth and raises a hand. “I don’t want your apology, I just wanna go. Unless you think I’m gonna be bad at that too.”

You reach out, head still spinning, your fingers graze the back of his jacket and he slips from between your grasp. You part your lips to call out to him. To tell him to come back. But Joel takes a hold of your hand and lowers it with the shake of his head.

“I know where he’s goin’. Let’s go.”

“Are you telling me he has a brooding spot?”

“He does.”

The sun had set. The crickets now singing under the starry night, but Joel can't focus on any of it. He can’t because he might’ve actually screwed everything up for good this time— which would be typical of him.

After months of contemplating whether he should take the next step or not, he’d finally made Jack snap. That had never been Joel’s intention, obviously. But he wasn’t the best at flirting. Never had been. And when Jack came into his life, all fresh faced and a lashing tongue, he couldn’t help but fall for him a little.

You’re walking just a little bit behind him, trying to keep up. He can feel you staring at him. Your eyes curious like a newborn gazelle’s.

“If you stare any harder I’m gonna start blushin’ sweetheart.”

“I’m. . . I wasn’t. . .”

“Sure you were,” he sighs. “It wasn’t my intention to be hard on him you know. It just. . . sorta happens. I care a lot about him and I just want him to. . . “ He clamps his mouth shut. What was he supposed to say? How he was hoping that all the teasing would finally push Jack into his arms? How he wanted to do more than touch Jack when he knew no one else could see.

“You want him to. . . what exactly?”

“I don’t know,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s complicated between us.”

“You both have a crush on each other and don’t know what to do about it. It’s not that complicated.”

Joel’s mouth opens and closes— then opens again. “And how the hell do you know that?”

“Because he talks about you a lot,” you answer with a soft smile. “He said he cares about you. And about your opinion.” Joel’s eyes narrow as you rub the back of your head, your eyes dropping to where you would be taking your next step. “I just don't know where I fit in all of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and I almost kissed,” you say finger moving between you two. “Jack and I actually kissed. And well. . . I don’t want to get in the middle of anything. It might be a bit sudden but I like you guys, I care about you, and want you guys to be together if that’s what you want.”

“It’s not your job to worry about us.” Joel huffs, his guilt gnawing at him. “But I get what you mean. We. . . we didn’t intend to put you in that position. I can assure you this wasn’t some twisted game we were tryin' to play. I can't talk for Jack but I care about you. And I care about him if that makes sense. But I fear that me being emotionally constipated might’ve ruined it with him. He gets mad every time I open my mouth.”

“That’s because you tease him all the time and honestly he’s not doing any better than you.” Joel’s eyes go wide when you suddenly cradle his cheeks and bring his face towards your own. “And you haven't ruined anything Mr. Miller. You just need to tell him exactly what you’ve been telling me.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Before he can reach he feels the soft touch of your lips. You kiss him slowly—tenderly. Joel follows your lead, parting his lips, he allows you to slip your tongue inside. He sucks on your tongue, enjoying the way your body presses against his.

When you pull back, you’re completely dazed.

“Now what was that for?” he asks.

“To keep everything even” you answer, smiling. “Now let's go get our brooding cowboy.”

It doesn’t take long for that to happen. They find Jack sitting on the ground, his back pressed snugly against the wooden fence. He’s staring at the stars. The gentle light streaming down his face and down his neck, Joel’s heart skips a beat at the sight and he feels as though he can’t breathe.

Only when they walk closer does he notice the bottle of whiskey. He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a swig, Joel’s eyes follow the way drops of amber trickle down his sun-kissed skin.

All Joel wants to do is lick the bitter drop off of him.

The two stop before him. Neither of you knowing what to do or what to say. Joel attempts to apologize by parting his lips and that is the exact moment where Jack finally meets his gaze.

“I know,” he says curtly. “Sit.” Jack extends the bottle of whiskey. Joel, without a word, sits down and takes the bottle. Just as he’s taking a swig, he notices you’re about to leave. Thankfully Jack stops that from coming to fruition. “And where do you think you’re goin’? Sit your ass over here.”

Joel almost cackles at how shocked you look. With the tiniest yelp escaping your lips you sit down right next to Jack. Taking a mouthful of whiskey, Joel extends you the bottle. You take it and chug it down immediately—Jack snorts and finally Joel feels comfortable enough to laugh alongside him.

“Calm down darlin’, it ain’t runnin’ away.”

“Sorry,” you hiccup, shoving the bottle into Jack’s chest. “I’m nervous.”

“Well, don’t be,” Jack sighs and his head falls back against the fence. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I—”

“We know,” Joel says with a fond smile. He throws his arm over Jack’s shoulder and cups the back of his head, his hat tumbling to the ground—it was now or never.

For the first time, Joel brings their faces together without the tease of what he might or might not do. He kisses Jack tenderly, softly. Just like how he wanted to treat him during all those nights they were alone together. Jack digs his fingers into Joel’s shirt, nails nearly biting into the skin. Much to Joel’s surprise, the other man tastes sweet. Their tongues move together, still unsure but eager to explore.

When Joel opens his eyes ever so slightly, he sees you staring in awe.

He nearly breaks away laughing. But also, he can’t really blame you for your expression.

It really does feel magical.

You hold your breath. Every nerve ending you have is buzzing with want and arousal. The space between your legs pulsing as you watch Joel tilting his head, slipping his tongue through Jack’s eager lips. Deep down you feel like you’re intruding. That this is a tender moment that should just be between the two men but you can’t help but stay there, like a deer in headlights, watching.

You shudder at the sound of Jack moaning, his hands grip Joel’s shoulder and host himself up the older man’s lap. He grinds down, swallowing Joel’s gasps, he parts away, a trail of saliva connecting the two. You’re still holding your breath. The tips of your fingers numb, your brain a whirlwind as it registers the sight before you.

“Stupid old man,” Jack rasps, tilting his head to the side. “Gettin’ all sappy.” Then his heavy gaze finds your struck ones. He reaches out and in a dream-like state you take his hand, his fingers hastily close around your wrist and tugs you towards him. Your gasp is caught in your throat when he kisses you. The taste of Joel and whiskey still heavy on his tongue.

A hand that doesn’t belong to Jack trails up the curve of your ass and squeezes. A choked-out moan drops from your lips only for Jack to shove his tongue between them. He sucks on your tongue and nips at your bottom lip all the while rolling his hips over Joel’s lap.

“God, look at you two,” Joel groans, giving your ass another firm squeeze before moving his attention to Jack’s spread thighs. “I want to watch you eat that pretty pussy up, Jack. Bet you want that too. . .”

Joel palms Jack’s cock through the denim, stroking him with a smug smile. Jack parts away from your lips with a whimper. His chest heaves. “Yeah,” he gasps, staring into your eyes, and his hips jerk, chasing the heat of the other’s palm. “Want you to make a mess of me, sugar.”

“Please,” you answer albeit not really needed. Your body falls back to sit on your heels, Joel crashes his lips against the younger cowboy’s, drinking the noises in like a starved man. He rips his flannel open while straightening himself, the momentum of the movement forcing Jack to grip Joel’s shoulders. He slides off of Joel’s lap, the kiss breaking when he directs his full lust-addled attention to you.

His gaze is enough for you to start struggling with the buttons of your jeans. You kick them off in a rush and before you can take off your shirt Jack is already laying you down upon the soil, the stars above blinking down at you with mischief. Joel sitting close, pulls your head so you’re nestled comfortably above his lap. His hands cradle your face, thumbs stroking your skin gently. It’s a complete contrast compared to how Jack is. He slides your panties to the side, the pad of his thumb resting right above your clit, he stares at your from between your spread-out thighs.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he mutters right before delving in. He drags his tongue slowly up your folds while tenderly stroking your clit. Your back arches off of the earth, your eyes fluttering closed as he goes back down, only to kiss you tenderly. He takes his time with you. His jaw moving and tongue teasing your fluttering entrance. Your breath catches in your throat, your chest rattling, Joel shushes you while praising Jack at the same time.

When your eyes finally open, you find Joel looking down at you. His thumb traces the underline of your bottom lip and moves down until he reaches the hem of your flannel. Flattening his thumb over your stomach, he pushes the fabric up until he exposes you to the sky completely. He cups both your breasts and smooths his fingers over your tingling nipples.

“So hard already. . . you must really like what he’s doin’ down there huh?”

Tears stinging the corner of your eyes, you nod. Your silent reply is answered with a sharp bite to the inside of your thigh. Your body jolts, a gasp of pain rattling your throat. Joel smiles. “I think he wants to hear you, sweetheart.”

“I love it,” you moan and as a reward, he pinches your nipples.

“Good girl.”

Jack presses his tongue deeper, your body clenching at both the words and the movement. He groans into your cunt, the bridge of his nose brushing your aching clit deliciously as he swirls his tongue. Your stomach coils tight and you push more of yourself into Joel’s palms, your mouth drops wide. You want more. You need more. You want them both to take and take and take—take until you forget your own damn name.

“Joel. . .” you breathe. He looks down at you curiously. “I want to suck your cock.”

Jack stops only for a moment before his eyes flutter closed and loses himself in you. Vaguely you can see the way he grinds down, a groan reverberating between your legs. Joel sucks in a breath and exhales from his nose. “You sure?”

Your answer is ready on your tongue, and as soon as you give it to him, he expertly unbuttons himself. The tip of his cock pushes against your lips and your breath hitches. Precome smears over the soft flesh, your tongue darting out for a taste, you end up tasting from the source instead. Joel’s hips stutter.

“Holy fuckin’ hell,” his hips jerk a second time, this time thrusting himself deeper into your mouth. You feel him leaning over, a second later you understand he’s reaching for the other man who is working you toward your orgasm. “Jack com’ere—Let me taste her.”

Jack doesn’t make Joel repeat himself and unwillingly pulls himself away from between your legs. Your tongue swirls around Joel’s cock as Jack kisses him deeply. He licks himself deep into the older man’s mouth, stealing a moan deep within Joel’s chest. While Jack steals the breath from Joel’s lungs, he pushes two fingers into you with ease. Your eyes rolling, you take more of Joel into your mouth, prompting the other to instinctively thrust deep enough to make you choke around him.

He parts from Jack with a gasp, “Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart, choke on it.” he says through gritted teeth. Both men look down at you with dark eyes, the shadows caused by the moonlight caress their backs, deepening every crease of their faces. You shudder.

You’re surprised to see Jack dipping down, lower from where you’re sucking Joel’s cock, he sucks the tender skin of the base, and the sound that Joel makes almost feels inhumane.

But Jack doesn’t linger. He pulls away from both of you, his torso tall between your legs, he strokes himself at the sight of your mouth full of the man he admires.

“You like having your mouth full, darlin’? Such a dirty girl allowing two men to have you like this out in the open.”

You whimper and nod, eyes flooding with tears as Joel shoves himself deeper. Spit and precome trickle down from where his cock stretches your lips.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” Jack says giving himself a firm squeeze before swiping his palm over the head of his cock. With his other hand, he follows the contour of your leg, reaches all the way to your hip. “You’re ‘bout to feel much fuller.”

He shoves himself inside you with a single thrust; your channel tightens around him, a moan escaping your throat. Your mouth is pulled away from Joel briefly, gasping for air, before he pulls you back. He adjusts his hips and slides back into your mouth, kneading the back of your neck.

“You feel that? How hot and wet you are? Both of us stretching you?” Jack's voice is gruff as he thrusts into you; your eyes close as pleasure radiates through your body, your skin left tingling. You can hear Joel moan and pant in the background, his cock throbs above your tongue and you hollow out your cheeks.

Your eyes flutter as Jack's cock glides in and out of you; his plunges getting deeper with every thrust. You feel overwhelmed by both of them. You’re left breathless and spinning. You feel only them and nothing else.

You grip onto Joel to keep yourself teetered to the moment as Jack's movements become more desperate, Joel matching him thrust for thrust. With each gasp, Joel's cock slides further down your throat.

The tightness inside your body grows; waves of pleasure cascade through you. The pressure builds and builds and builds—You’re so close you can taste it. Jack presses a palm over your mound, adding pressure as he draws quick and tight circles around your clit. Your throat convulses around Joel’s cock and he pulls out, his length resting comfortably above your lips. You breathe heavily against him, his cock slick and warm on your skin.

“Atta girl,” he coos. “Just a bit more. . . Show us how pretty you look when you come.”

You feel the pressure between your legs mounting with each hard thrust from Jack, your moans becoming louder and more desperate. Joel encourages Jack to go faster, and with each plunge you feel the tension in your core build higher and higher.

And finally the coil snaps.

Your whole body trembles and shakes. Your orgasm still rolling over your body like a violent wave. Jack pumps his hips into yours as he digs his hands into your hips. He keeps thrusting relentlessly, pushing himself as far in as he can before he pulls out. His jaw goes slack, cock gliding over your mound, he spills over your skin. You shudder at the trickle of his seed.

Joel’s cock slides across your lips, teasing you. Your tongue darts out and quickly wraps around him, you tilt your head to take in all of his length. You push your mouth onto him, bobbing your head up and down until he groans. His hips buck erratically and at the same time you feel the touch of Jack’s mouth against the side of your neck.

You swallow everything that he offers you, savoring every moment of the taste of him. You stay close to him until his breathing returns to normal, his thighs shaking underneath you as he pulls out.

“Holy shit,” Jack chokes out as he collapses on top of you, head right above your chest. Joel wipes the sole tear that had escaped you eye and smiles. You bring his palm to your lips and kiss the rough skin.

“It’s going to be hard walking away from all of this,” you whisper, shuddering when Jack’s mouth moves against the side of your breasts.

“Who says you have to walk away?”

You don’t have it in you to go into the details of your life and how you have to go. Or entertain the idea that maybe the things that you thought were important aren’t as essential that you thought after all. It’s pure chaos and right now all you want is to feel their warmth against your bare skin under the stars.

For now, you are content and feeling grateful for the two amazing men who coincidentally made themselves an inseparable part of your life.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #joel miller smut #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #joel miller x reader x jack daniels #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic

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chosetherose · 19 days

Note

"The Alchemy" = Karlie's POV of how she's going to take Taylor from Travis?

"I haven't come around in so long

But I'm making a comeback to where I belong"

Karlie showing up at the Eras Tour! Taylor didn't spend long enough with either of the beards for "so long" to make any sense as being about them. How do you make a comeback when you're barely a thing to begin with? Karlie's comeback was headline news though.

"So when I touch down

Call the amateurs and cut 'em from the team

Ditch the clowns, get the crown"

Her football fan baby ("fly like a jet stream") is touching down and coming to sweep away the understudies, users, narcissists and clowns. King of my Heart coming to reclaim her crown! We can only hope 🙏

"Cause the sign on your heart says it's still reserved for me"

Taylor can rewrite history all she wants, but Tratty was never a thing and no-one with a brain can buy the idea that he was the love of her life ten years ago, while Kissgate was happening right in front of him. Peak Kaylor era. When we all saw with our own eyes how she looked at Karlie! But, no, it was Matty all along! Sure, Jan.

Meanwhile, even the "anyone but Karlie" Gaylors who hate her can't deny Taylor has been writing songs about Karlie for a decade now. Even they think she's not over her. So who "still" has Taylor's heart and could make a comeback? Mmhmm.

"I circled you on a map"

Flashback to Taylor highlighting Kaylor-related towns on the weather map in the Lavender Haze music video. Uh-huh.

"Who are we to fight the alchemy?"

Alchemy is the process of turning things into gold. Are we really going to sit here and pretend this isn't Ms Gold Rush, Ms "it's like your eyes are liquor, it's like your body is gold"? Are we really going to pretend Karlie hasn't been gold coded since the beginning? But no! This is about Travis! Totally! Does your blindfold fit snugly enough, babe, or do you want me to tighten it some more for you? 🙄

"Hey, what if I told you we're cool

That child's play back in school

Is forgiven under my rule?"

The child's play is the bearding. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. It's getting so old to never grow up. Karlie is saying it all means nothing.

"These blokes warm the benches

We've been on a winning streak"

Her British beards have just been keeping Karlie's seat warm. While she and Taylor have privately been on a winning streak.

(Seriously, the construction of this song makes no sense if you believe it's about Travis. How could she have been "on a winning streak" with him, while "these blokes" were present-tense warming the benches? Or are we supposed to believe they're just waiting on the sidelines for Taylor to get back with one of them? Even though things are so great with 🚜 and she's said multiple times she doesn't want that? So . . . how is any of this working, exactly? What benches are they warming? Are we SURE the "we" is Travis? Hmm?)

"He jokes it's heroin but this time with an e"

People are so distracted by this "dig at Matty" they can't see what's right in front of their faces. Heroin with an e = heroine. As in, the female hero of a story. The joke is that the one to "save" Taylor won't be any of these jokers dressing up as kings. It's a woman. A HEROINE. Not a hero.

And then we get a football metaphor everyone will assume is about Travis, even though Karlie's love of football is well-documented. Do we really think Travis cares more about the beard he's made his meal ticket than he does about winning a trophy? Yeah, right. The days of wasted celebration with no Taylor in sight really give that impression. The thirst traps he was liking on Instagram while "dating" Taylor really show he only has eyes for her. Totally.

Meanwhile we have a million songs where Taylor tells us all her obviously-Karlie lover ever wanted was her.

I can't see The Alchemy any other way than as a Karlie comeback song. Bring it home, Karlie! We're all rooting for you! Go! Fight! Win! 🏆

Wow, Anon! I love this take! Lots of food for thought.

#CTRask

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sweatervest-obsessed · 6 months

Note

Okay.. hear me out the song 'Stick Season' by Noah Kahan... for a fic like her and spence break up and she can't move on from him...

Oh you mean my FAVORITE NOAH KAHAN SONG???

Absolutely girlboss.

It ended up being 3.5k, so please please enjoy!!

(it's a gn! fic btw)

You must have had yourself a change of heart like Halfway through the drive Because your voice trailed off exactly as you passed my exit sign Kept on drivin' straight and left our future to the right

Everyone in the BAU hated letting Spencer drive. It was a fact of the universe. It wasn’t because he was bad at it, in fact he was quite a good driver. But whenever he would drive, it was constant chatter, constant rambling, and sometimes, it would be in between NPR segments where Spencer would correct someone or pause to discuss interesting facts that he knew.

So when Spencer offered to drive the team to the hotel across town, no one had the guts to say no. It was some random town in Vermont, in the middle of October, some weird string of murders throwing another small town into disarray. He was in the middle of describing the science behind why certain leaves change into certain colors when his voice died out.

They were at one of two stop lights in town and they were stopped at one of them. Spencer was looking diagonally across at some random coffee shop, and Derek could not, for the life of him, figure out why Spencer was looking over there.

“Reid? Hello.”

“It’s her.”

“Who?” Derek followed his line of sight again and realized what Spencer was looking at, well, who he was looking at.

You.

“Oh my god. Isn’t that…”

Spencer nodded his head.

“Why is she…”

Spencer just stared at you. “I don’t know.”

You were now leaving the coffee shop, cup in hand and small brown bag in the other. Spencer could probably guess what was in both.

“Green light Reid.”

The two of them started to move again, but neither of them spoke on the way to the hotel. It was almost unbelievable that they hadn’t seen you in over two years and yet here you were, in some random town that had a serial killer.

Now I am stuck between my anger and the blame that I can't face And memories are somethin' even smoking weed does not replace And I am terrified of weather 'cause I see you when it rains Doc told me to travel, but there's COVID on the planes

“No no. Lucille. You don’t understand. He was like, nerdy hot. And I fucked up big time.”

Lucille snorted and handed you the blunt in her hand. “My love, my life. I bet you, he was the problem.”

You scoffed and took a hit. “Yeah right.”

Lucille raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “You’re not still in love with the guy are you?”

“When you put it like that it makes me sound pathetic.”

“Oh girl no, you are, aren't you.”

You sighed and took another hit—a long inhale this time to compensate.

“Sweetie, you are WAY too good for him.”

You laughed. “Mr three PhDs, four Bachelors, and FBI? Yeah. I don’t think so.”

“Weren’t you Mrs FBI?”

“That’s Miss FBI to you. Mrs is reserved for happy married stupid people.” You grumbled and closed your eyes.

“Wow.”

“Wow What.”

“He was really the one wasn’t he.”

You nodded. “I really thought….god I’m so stupid.” You stood up and started pacing along the porch of your house.

Once you and Spencer had broken up, you needed to get out of there. There had to be somewhere where he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t find you. So you closed your eyes and pointed to a random spot on the map. Then when you realized you pointed to Las Vegas, you sat down and wrote down what you knew about Spencer, then tried to find somewhere that he had the lowest percentage of going.

And Fairlee seemed like the right place. There was nothing for him out here.

Except for you.

But Spencer didn’t feel that way. Not anymore at least.

You had taken up teaching, obtaining your teaching certificate up in Vermont and becoming one of ten teachers in the high school (which supported any child in a half hour radius).

It wasn’t hunting down serial killers, but it was still fulfilling.

That’s how you met Lucille. She was another teacher, in need of a roommate, and the rest is history.

“You’re floating away again.”

You snapped back to the conversation. “Sorry. Just. Really thought we were going to get married and be with each other and shit but.”

“But?”

“He wasn’t ready. You’d think three years knowing one another and being friends, and then another three years of dating would, you know. Add up to something.”

“I’m sorry sweetie.” Lucille took your hand and squeezed it tightly. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Yeah…maybe, I don’t know.”

She squeezed it again. “Tonight’s the night Damian invited us all down to the bar to hang out, I know we said no but…might as well get free drinks out of a guy who will never get the hint. Free booze, boost of ego. You’re young, you’re hot.”

“I see what you’re doing.” You smiled down at her. “But it’s raining and I’m not in the mood to get soaking wet just from walking from the house to the car then the car to the bar….”

“Pleaseeeee.”

Just as you were about to answer, a pair of headlights turned onto your driveway.

You’d know those stupid fucking headlights anywhere.

“Who do we know that drives a black suburban?”

Lucille shrugged. “I don’t think we know anyone who has one in town, why? Is that what the car is?”

You nodded, your stomach dropping.

“Luce. Hide the weed.”

“Why, it's not Tom and you know he’s over here every—-“

“Now. Luce.”

She furrowed her brows as the headlights stopped in front of the house. She quickly grabbed everything and went into the house.

You stood on the porch, in your pajamas pants, and a sweatshirt, hands in the front porch.

The car turned off and you watched as three figures got out of the car and walked up to the porch, freezing as they looked at you, the rain pouring down on them.

“Why are you here Hotch?”

The man was frozen,and he looked over at Emily, who was just as baffled to see you.

“Y/n?”

“Why are you here?” You asked again.

“Why are you here?”

“This is my home Em.” You stepped back a couple of steps and gestured for them to come up onto the porch so they don’t have to stand in the rain anymore.

Spencer was silent the whole time, not taking his eyes off of you.

The three of them moved up the porch and went towards the door, but you blocked them.

“You need a warrant if you want to enter my house, Hotch. What are you doing here.”

“We need to speak to Lucille Walkner.”

“Why.”

Emily raised her eyebrows, and crossed her arms. She was used to how stubborn you were, but being on the receiving end of it was something she was not a fan of.

“It’s in regards to the string of murders y/n.”

You raised your eyebrows. “I can guarantee you that I have been with Lucille every moment of every day for the past two weeks.”

“We’re not accusing her, we’re just asking—“

You cut Emily off. “Asking her questions. Yeah. I know how this goes. In case you forgot or something. It hasn’t been that long. Why do you need to speak to her.”

“Because she was the last person seen with the most recent victim.”

You looked at Spencer for the first time since he got here. “So was I. But somehow you failed to mention that as well. You’re losing your grip, Doctor.”

The group had never heard your voice so flat, so strict, so full of disdain. It was easy for you to treat him like he was the villain. He felt like one. He was one.

“Y/n.”

You broke your staring contest with Spencer and looked over at Hotch. “Get a warrant and come back tomorrow.”

And with that you walked into your house and locked the door behind you. Feeling a bit more bitter than usual, you turned off the porch light too.

They all stood out there. Dumbfounded.

And I love Vermont, but it's the season of the sticks And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas And I'll dream each night of some version of you That I might not have, but I did not lose Now your tire tracks and one pair of shoes And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do

When the BAU showed up at your door with the proper paperwork the next morning, both you and your roommate were at work, twenty minutes away.

Your sense of humor still intact since you managed to leave a sticky note for them:

At work. home by 4.

But that didn’t stop the caped crusaders of the BAU.

When they showed up at the school to interview you and your roommate, Lucille went first, recounting the night all three of you went out to one of three bars in the town, and then when you offered to drive her home, she insisted on calling her own roommate. When you watched her get into her roommate's car, the both of you went home.

When you recounted the same exact story, you both were released for the day.

“Heard you were a pain in the ass yesterday.”

You stopped in the hallway and turned around, facing Derek Morgan. “What do you want, Agent.”

“Woah woah what’s with the formalities.”

You rolled your eyes. “Derek. I’m really not in the mood. I fit the victimology of the asshole on a murder spree, and the team acted like I didn’t fucking know that. I’ve also realized you haven’t connected the fact that all of them are dating or sleeping with the police force.”

“All? We only knew two of the five—“

“Because half of them don’t want to admit that they’re cheating on their wives, and the other half don’t want to admit they’re dating anyone regardless of marital status. Not a single one of the victims were married.”

Derek just stared at you. “Touchy subject?”

You closed your eyes. “I still have a gun license Derek. Don’t make me use it.”

“Too soon?”

“Yeah Derek. Too soon.” You sighed as he pulled you into a hug.

“We miss you y’a know. It’s not the same.”

“I’m sure.” You squeezed him tightly.

“And I’m serious. We haven’t found anyone nearly as good as you have been.” He whispered, kissing your head. “Your desk is still empty. Hotch won’t let anyone sit there. I think he’s hoping you’d come back. I think we all are.”

“I can’t even look at him and it’s been two years” you whispered trying not to cry.

“I know.” He just squeezed you. “I know.”

“God I just….”

Derek pulled you into an empty classroom the second he felt your body tense up. There was one thing you hated more than crying, and it was crying in public. Once the door to the classroom was closed, he pulled you back into the hug, letting your tears pour down his shoulder.

“God I thought I’d never have to see you people again.”

Derek chuckled. “Clearly you didn’t read your contract. It’s required that you’re supposed to see me at least seven times a year and if you don’t, I hunt you down.”

You laughed through your tears and sat down on one of the desks. “You wish.”

“I do.”

“Be serious Derek.”

“I am.”

You sighed and looked up at him. “Well. Now you know where I am so. Come and visit me I guess.”

“Oh I plan on it gorgeous.”

You used the sleeve of your sweater to wipe away some of the tears still clinging to your cheeks.

“He misses you too.”

“Derek….”

He knew it ws dangerous territory, but he had to let you know—He needed you to know how it was affecting everyone, even though it’s been two years. “He does.”

“Why would you tell me that Derek.”

“You have to–

“Have to what Derek. I don’t wan—that’s a lie. What I would fucking give to be back in DC; back at the FBI. But I can’t do it Derek. I can’t go back.”

“But–”

“No.” You backed away from him, out of his arms. “I’m not going back.”

“Please.” Derek watched as your back straightened and your eyes hardened. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were just starting to move on. Fuck. He watched as you closed yourself off again.

“Do you need anything else agent or can I go.”

“Y/n…”

“Then goodbye Agent Morgan.”

So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad That I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from dad No, I am no longer funny 'cause I miss the way you laugh You once called me forever now you still can't call me back

Unexpectedly, but expectedly, the killer was caught. He was some sort of religious nut who had decided that “immoral sinners” be put in your place.

That was something you did not miss: the misogynistic murderers.

But the BAU was getting ready to leave. You were grateful that they had come and protected the community you had grown so close to, but the thought of them knowing where you were made you nervous.

You knew Penelope most likely tracked you from time to time, and you weren’t trying to live completely off the grid/untraceable. But seeing them in person, watching them run around your town, was nerve-wracking.

Seeing Spencer fucked you up the most though.

He looked okay; or better than you at least. He was completely and utterly okay, and it bugged the shit out of you. How could he be okay, how could he move on and be happy without you, while you are stuck still trying to locate the remaining pieces of your shattered heart.

To Spencer, you were a wonderful experience. But to you, Spencer was everything.

The BAU had left, no goodbyes were in order since you had fulfilled your goal of attempting to burn every bridge you had. It was painful, but you just couldn't help it. They reminded you of Spencer. Everything reminded you of Spencer.

Lucille watched as you slowly transformed back into that lost person from two years ago. Your smile never reached your eyes. You drank just enough to be concerning, but not enough to continuously push the boundaries of alcoholism. Your face was pale. You never laughed or cracked jokes any more.

All you could do was think of Spencer. Waking up next to him, his arms around your waist. The smell of his apartment, the rides to work, the glances from your desk to his desk. It was all just too painful.

There were moments where you would pick up your phone and sometimes it felt like the world was against you. Derek posted a picture from some sort of day off, and suddenly you didn’t follow him anymore. Or, if you opened NPR, Doctor Spencer Reid was the headliner in a speaker series at Georgetown in blah blah blah. So you stopped listening to the radio.

Every since he stepped out of the car in your drive you, you’ve wanted to call him. You’ve wanted to hear him speak to you like he did, to love you like he did. You wanted to call him and hear him apologize and tell you everything was going to be okay and this was all just a big misunderstanding and you were his forever.

But you had a feeling that if you called, he wouldn’t pick up.

Oh, that'll have to do My other half was you I hope this pain's just passin' through But I doubt it

One Year Later…

Time flies. Leaves change. Life moves on.

But suddenly it's back to October and you find yourself in a new town, somewhere completely different. Another fresh start. Maybe this one will stick.

But then you get a call.

And it’s from Erin Strauss, offering you your job back, and your hesitation gave her all of the information she wanted to hear. You had three days to make a decision.

Do you continue to run from place to place, hoping and praying that maybe someday you’d be able to feel like you deserved to be loved again. Hoping that someday someone might actually want to stay. They might want you to stay.

Do you stay in this new town, and get attached to the people, making new friends, reminding you of the old ones, and hoping that it will be enough to fill the holes in your skin.

Do you continue to teach. Do you continue to shape minds even though it’s not something you had ever dreamed of doing. Especially when it feels like you’re trying to force your body into loving something it doesn’t.

Do you go back to the FBI–the BAU.

Do you ignite the flame in your chest and let yourself enjoy the chase. LEt yourself be happy with your job and treasure every moment you get to catch the bad guy.

Do you accept the job and move back to the desk you belong at, surrounded by your friends. Once again in a building you call home, letting your guard down for the first time in three years.

Do you let your guard down and talk to Spencer and watch yourself undo all of the progress you had made. Watch as your resolve crumbles and your heart aches and you can;t even breathe around him because it hurts to see him.

Do you give up and follow him around like some lost puppy and beg for him to take you back so maybe you’ll be able to melt your waxen heart and be happy again.

You don’t take the job. You never hear from Erin Strauss again.

Sometimes in your sleep, you can see what your wedding would have looked like. The venue, the florals, your outfits and shoes. Your closest friends and family by your side as you commit your soul to be bound to his.

But every time you get to the I Do’s, Spencer says yes.

It hurts because you never even made it that far.

You didn’t even get an engagement ring.

All you got were pitiful looks and sympathetic glances while Spencer rambled on about how much he didn’t understand marriage or want children–not that you did, but you would have liked for it to have been a discussion between the two of you.

You would have liked a lot of things.

Sometimes, in your dreams, Spencer proposes.

It never leaves your mind, watching as he publicly declares his love for you. Apparently, that was too much to ask for.

And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do Have to do

The pain of waiting to be loved feels like you’ve but split down the middle, letting yourself melt apart. The skin, no matter how hard you try, can never be stitched back together, and even if you manage to get some back, it scars over, reminding you for the rest of your life how unloveable you feel.

Maybe you’ll get lucky and someday you can learn to live with never being truly whole again.

Since Spencer owns half of you, and you will never be whole without him.

Part 2

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader fluff #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader angst #Spencer reid angst #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x self insert

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futurecorps3 · 11 months

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Hiii, could you write a nikokai fic where reader is like in love with kaz but he doesn't really pay attention to her. And then the crows meet sturmhond because of a heist and he takes interest in the reader form the first moment he sae her and makes her fall in love with him. And then whatever you want lol. Maybe kaz being jealous idk.

Sorry for any grammatical mistake, english it's not my first language.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞

Masterlist<3

Summary: After years of being in love with the one and only Kaz Brekker, breaking her own heart, Y/N meets someone else... Pairing: Sturmhond x fem!inferni!reader, Kaz Brekker x fem!reader

Warnings: The usual crow violence, DRINKING, jealous Kaz, mean Kaz, "unrequited" love for a little while, Matthias is alive and well like in the books duh but this is ofc before Nikolai becomes king, idc I just want my Fjerdan hunk happy in Ketterdam, curse words, kind of a messy timeline. HURT AND NO COMFORT. Lmk if I missed any.

Word Count: 2.9K!! Requested: Yes

A/N: IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! :( I've been looking forward to getting to this specific request because oh my god, also, I changed it up a little; making Kaz actually be in love with reader but never really trying anything. Tysm for requesting love! Hope you enjoy :)

˚ · • . °

Exhaustion. That's what she felt, and to be honest, it was even more frustrating when Y/N knew she was doing it to herself. Those persistent yet futile attempts at reading Kaz's silence or gaze as something else; a love message, a confession of his sins, any sign of vulnerability reserved for her. However, these attempts, though fervent, ultimately proved fruitless.

How could she confirm what she thought she saw if, after, say, he appeared distressed at her being in danger or fumed when some dick was being extra disgusting at the bar that night; he went back to being his usual cold self?

When she finally obtained concrete evidence that disproved her misconceptions ("Jesper, she prefers black coffee" or "Y/N, could you join me in my office for a moment?" simply to spend time together in quietude), he strategically distanced himself throughout the week, transforming those precious moments of tranquility and companionship into ordinary occurrences, leading her to, somehow, misunderstand them.

Another shot of vodka and the pain her thoughts evoked was replaced by the burning, bitter sensation in her tongue and throat. "A hangover won't make Kaz let you stay behind tomorrow, you know that?" Matthias smiled next to her.

Since he joined the crows, the Fjerdan had taken a special liking to his girlfriend's best friend; she was funny, kind hearted and could keep up his pace in drinking games. Nina couldn't be happier to see her loves get along so well, saying it's her dream come true. "Oh don't even start, Matthias" Y/N answered, feigning annoyance as she poured more of the burning liquid into her glass and pulled out another for her friend.

They silently toasted to nothing in particular and chatted about their books as they usually did. Matthias' romance novel had an interesting love triangle Y/N was eager to read when he was finished. From how he talked about it, the girl knew it was just her type of story. They were in the middle of a playful argument about a plot-hole Y/N thought she found when Kaz approached them.

His usual demeanor seemed a bit... shaken. If you asked the blonde, he'd say he only looked more agitated, but Y/N/N knew better; his hair was covering his forehead slightly, but he wasn't brushing it back. The limp was prominent still, yet he wasn't using his cane. Kaz was in a rush to get to her, maybe?.

"One of your fellow countrymen is starting a turmoil outside, doesn't speak Kerch. Will you please, for the tree's sake, go and talk some sense into his thick blonde skull?" Saints, why did she like him so much? Even like that, Y/N thought he looked rather divine. Matthias stood up from his seat and directed himself to the entrance.

"Since when do you care for what happens outside that door?" She asked with a grin, genuinely curious. "I wouldn't if he wasn't scaring off the pigeons. No wealthy tourist will endure the trouble that some drunk Fjerdan means just to get inside a place full of people that'll take his money" the boy explained, looking down at her.

Kaz's complexion, kissed by the soft glow of the candles, is pale yet flawless, as if untouched by the harshness of the world he inhabits. His sharp, well-defined features give him an air of enigmatic sophistication, further heightened by the way the light dances upon his cheekbones, emphasizing their elegant structure.

Y/N realizes she's staring. She looks away.

The bastard smirks. "Finding something intriguing, are we?" And oh, she wanted to stab him to see if that would wipe the stupid grin he carried. "Oh, please, Kaz. You give yourself too much credit. I was merely lost in thought, contemplating the mysteries of the world. Your face happened to be in the line of sight, that's all."

Quick, sarcastic answer, as if the seconds between her silence confirmed even further what he was saying. He scoffed, drinking the remains of alcohol on Matthias' glass and fixed his hair in the process. "Stop drinking, a hangover won't spare you from our meeting tomorrow".

˚ · • . °

She should've listened. The crashing waves outside only intensified the discomfort, while the salty breeze seemed to carry a tinge of regret. Even the beauty of the sea she was now too used to felt distant and inaccessible, overshadowed by the haze of her post-indulgence remorse.

Nina, taunting Matthias with a mature Ravkan song and Jesper shooting bottles in the warehouse, created an uneasy atmosphere for hungover Y/N. This unsettling environment made it difficult for her to focus on evaluating any potential deals they were to discuss with the privateer Kaz said they were meeting that day. Also, they had been waiting for over an fifteen minutes now! She was surprised Kaz was waiting still.

He checked his pocket watch subtly, sighing at the tardiness of their Ravkan guests. Then, he looked over at Y/N. Even with those deep baggy eyes and with her head on her hands in exasperation, she managed to awaken that odd feeling in his chest. He hated it. No, he despised it.

If he ever accepted that he was down hard for the girl, he could also get over the fact that she, too, liked him. Well, he wasn't dumb! There was no denying that Y/N's actions warmed his heart. He just knew loving was a dangerous thing to do, a weakness he couldn't afford after spending years building a reputation in Ketterdam.

Then came a loud bang on the heave wooden doors of the warehouse. "Fucking finally" Y/N sighed, going to open the door herself before anyone would, wanting nothing but to end this as soon as possible so she could go back home to sleep. She grabbed the handle and pulled, the bright light outside blinding her momentarily before seeing the privateer and his crew.

"Hello gorgeous! Here to see Mr. Brekker. I'm guessing you're one of his associates?" A sharp, slightly deep voice greeted. The girl shielded her eyes from the light and found captain smily offering his hand out. In Ketterdam, rumours ran as quick as blood on pavement; Sturmhond knew that. He needed no introduction. Every person involved in not so legal activities who didn't live under a rock had heard at least once about the dog of the sea.

She took it, shaking gently. "Y/N Y/L/N, but if you prefer nicknames, call me Haepha". Then she stepped aside, pretending not to notice the smirk on Sturmhond's face so his partners could come in. The rumors hadn't done justice to his captivating presence.

The charismatic privateer stood tall, his dark hair falling in unruly waves that added to his allure. His piercing blue eyes seemed to hold a world of secrets, and a mischievous smile played across his lips. Dressed in opulent garments that exuded confidence and flair, Sturmhond commanded attention with every step as his crew and he approached the rest of the crows.

"I'll stick to your name for now doll, too pretty not to use," And the bastard winked at Y/N, making a Shu girl who was walking behind him with the same confidence giggle. The worst thing about pretty men is they know they're pretty, and knew damn well how to get away with being cocky. She knew his type, so she brushed the wink off and walked towards her friends.

Kaz and Sturmhond shook hands. Everyone who was fast enough grabbed a seat in old boxes or even on the floor. Jesper offered Y/N his seat, knowing that the vodka she drank last night was no merciful rival, and stood behind her alongside his boyfriend. Inej lingered sitting in a window near them as Matthias and Nina remained standing, contrary to all the privateers' team.

Kaz started making introductions, all a mere formality, Y/N knew. "You've met Y/N, our inferni. Behind him are Jesper, sharp-shooter, and Wylan, our demo-man. The blonde wall-resembling man over there is Matthias, and Nina is a heartrender. Inej in the window, our Wraith" he pointed, everyone nodding or waving at the dark-haired man.

"A Wraith alright, didn't notice you were there sweetheart!" He pointed out and then introduced the twins; Tolya and Tamar. As well as Anya and Andrei, who were two members of his ship's company who wanted to come by and see who they were working with. When that was taken care of, plans were strategized by both leaders and positions were given to each member.

Y/N knew Kaz was characterized by having plans from A to Z for very elaborate heists, but even this one seemed out of his reach, almost too ambitious. But if Sturmhond's name lived up to the myth, nothing was quite impossible for him and Kaz's love for money could get him to plot even the tiniest detail.

Their objective this time was to steal some kind of jewel called "the moon's tears". It was a gem said to be worth four million kruge, to be bargained for even more; the crows' biggest heist yet. The vault it was in was widely known for its impenetrable security measures, including seemingly impenetrable barriers, intricate lock mechanisms, and a team of highly skilled guards.

Those two were absolutely insane! Even before one considered the noble who owned the vault and therefore the gem they were trying to steal, knew Kaz from the past. It was an extremely peculiar coincidence that a masquerade ball was taking place some distance away from the location of the vault, which represented the perfect opportunity for the work.

This would allow them to exploit the lack of security and sweep the gem away. Nina would ideally take care of the distraction, to keep the nobleman from returning home too quick, but her heartrending abilities would be helpful to make a quick work to make the few officers guarding the vault doze off.

So it became Y/N's job. A job she was to complete with Sturmhond.

After the meeting ended and Y/N's headache had worsened, a deep voice was heard from behind her. She turned to find the charming privateer flashing a smile at her. "Looking forward to working with you, darling" He commented, offering his hand out and all. She took it and shook half-heartedly, eager to just go home and sleep for the rest of the evening.

"Me too, handsome" Irony laced in her tone. "Doesn't seem like it, you alright? You look like a ghost. Lovely, yes, but still ghostly" The comment made her smile, tightening the grasp on his hand but not shaking anymore "Just hungover s'all" "Told you so!" Jesper proclaimed from their side as everyone directed themselves to the door.

The privateer smiled sweetly. "Got any plans this evening?" "Other than rotting in my room until my body stops hurting? Not really. Why?" Y/N looked down briefly, realizing she still hadn't let go of his hand and then released her grasp "Well, if my days at sea have thought me anything other than how to read the stars..." he started, tapping the necklace with a star charm the girl sported.

A "gift" from Kaz (some jewelry that wasn't redeemed from a heist he let her keep). "...is how to cure a hangover. Mind coming with me to a bar? You can decide which". Going to a bar with a complete stranger who had a reputation of being in trouble most of the time and who she were to work with? Sure thing.

"Promise youll make it go away?" "Promise".

˚ · • . °

And what a plot twist he was. Jesper had jokingly said to the girl that she shouldn't take a privateer's word but he did termiante her hangover with some strange, black-ish liquid she didn't dare to ask the composition of. Then they drank more.

As the drinks arrived, they raised their glasses, the clink of crystal breaking the spell of their silent connection. Sturmhond smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "To new adventures and unexpected encounters," he proposed, his voice smooth and velvety.

Y/N couldn't help but return the smile, feeling the warmth of excitement spread through her veins. "To embracing the unknown," she replied, raising her glass in agreement. They took a sip, the flavors dancing on their tongues. A comfortable silence settled between them, allowing the sounds of the bar to envelop them. After a moment, Sturmhond leaned in, his voice low and captivating.

"So, Y/N, what brings you to this lawless corner of the world?". He asked, genuine curiosity lacing his words. Y/N's eyes sparkled as she recounted her journey, the challenges she faced, and the dreams that fueled her determination. Sturmhond listened intently, his attention unwavering, as if she held the secrets of a hidden treasure.

As she spoke, Y/N couldn't help but notice the genuine interest in Sturmhond's eyes. He asked thoughtful questions and shared stories of his own adventures, effortlessly weaving tales of daring escapades that left Y/N hanging on his every word.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, a seamless exchange of ideas, dreams, and aspirations. Time seemed to melt away as they delved into deeper discussions, finding solace in the connection they were building. Laughter intertwined with their words, a symphony of shared amusement and understanding.

They became lost in each other's company, entranced by the way their thoughts aligned and their hearts danced to the same rhythm. And as the night wore on, their conversation continued, their new found connection growing stronger with every passing moment.

She couldn't help but think of Kaz, when exiting the bar, and on the way back to The Slat. When would he ever, in a million years, make her feel so seen? How could he? He seemed to be nothing but cold and a bad type of confusing to the girl.

Y/N was not blind, either. Sturmhond was known for his endless romantic encounters with women across the sea, and he was interested in her. Now, she could not deny the guy was a charming boy too pretty for this Earth, sharp as a knife and, as she found out that evening, shared a lot of ideals and interests with her.

Could he maybe work as a rebound? Maybe. Would she shamelessly use him as that? Could be. Having his eyes on her that whole meeting was no coincidence, and she liked his attention. Maybe what mends a broken heart was a handsome privateer.

They agreed to meet up the next day, his treat.

˚ · • . °

Back at the Slat, Kaz was fuming. No, not fuming; seething. A bar outing? She just met him! He could not believe his eyes when they were talking hand in hand like they had known each other from a previous lifetime.

In the little time that had passed since (most of) the crows had returned from the meeting, Kaz had already gotten four drunks kicked out, death-stared a group of dregs twice so they'd shorten their break time to get them to work and downed four vodka shots.

Why was he this mad? She wasn't even his and as far as she knew; he had no intentions of being hers either. The boy couldn't be mad at her, but he was, and Kaz knew very well he was being a big selfish shit. He could not blame Y/N either; the bastard she had been crushing on gives no signs of interest but a privateer handsome as the devil shows up with his attention completely focused on her? Of course she'd fall.

He just hated that feeling.

It's presence looms, heavy and suffocating, wrapping its tendrils around the heart, constricting with an iron grip. It whispers sweet poison into the mind, distorting reality and fueling irrational fears. Like a tempestuous storm, it rages within, lightning crackling with envy, thunder rumbling with resentment. It paints the world in hues of green, tarnishing every joyous moment with a bitter aftertaste.

And then his heart sunk into the depths of his dark soul when he saw them walk in hand in hand. That was the first time Y/N had walked into a room and not looked for him, he noticed. She was laughing at something Sturmhond had said as they walked up the stairs until they reached the door of Y/N's room. He kissed her hand and she kissed his cheek.

The privateer then walked down the stairs, noticing Kaz staring.

"She's one of a kind, that one... Might stay a bit more after the job's done. See you tomorrow, Brekker"

The feeling was now leaving an empty, bottomless void in his soul. He bottomed his shot glass then poured another one.

˚ · • . °

Time kept ticking and the void intensified, but Kaz learnt how to deal with it.

He learnt how to deal with it when he kissed her after the job was done.

He learnt how to deal with it when Y/N took a break from the crows to leave with him for six months.

He learnt how to deal with it when she returned from her trip, beautiful tan skin and a diamond on her finger.

He learnt how to deal with it when he saw her crying herself to sleep because she missed him.

He learnt how to deal with it when she left for good.

He learnt how to deal with it when she was named queen of Ravka.

Kaz just learnt how to live with the shame and regret of not recognizing that the one thing he needed was right in front of him, hoping she'd have a place next to him.

˚ · • . ° .

Hi! Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed:) I'm actually sorry for this one...

Remember, the best way to support writer’s works on here is by REBLOGGING WITH TAGS. I’d very much appreciate it if you did!

Thanks again, stranger. Hope you have a nice day<3

NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO REPOST AS THEIR OWN/TRANSLATE/OR COPY MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM OR SPACE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT CONSENT.

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minkdelovely · 24 days

Text

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter seven

“so let me show you how to touch my trigger.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: valentino lol, semi-consensual touching ; licking ; and undressing, descriptions of repulsion, violent tearing of clothes, power dynamics, people pleasing tendencies *hopelessly devoted to you plays in the distance*, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 3.9k

author’s note: the longest chapter to date, but i had a lot of fun with this one. valentino is a naughty, naughty overlord… ❤️‍🔥 i think this is my favorite chapter k luv u

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Lying in bed, you lingered on the dull ache pulsing through your body; blood turning to fire in your veins as you recalled how you ended up here. A sobering worry trickled after it as you stared at the canopy above, as if it could provide an answer.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

That morning…

The couple of days that passed since Alastor broke the news of his bargain with Valentino went by without incident. It had been a nice change of pace settling back into a more familiar routine, with mornings and evenings reserved for tending to Alastor and the afternoons with your housemates. You were really beginning to look forward to your time with them now, a pleasant way to break up the monotony of work.

Your heart stuttered then, reminding you that today would be different.

You weren’t sure what Alastor had said to Charlie to get you out of the hotel today, as all he told you was that it had been handled. Thankfully she hadn’t cornered you to ask about it since you wouldn’t know what to say if she did. You knew you wouldn’t be able to lie to her, but there was definitely no way you could have told her the truth.

Alastor had no doubt fibbed about why he required you with him for the whole day, the honest explanation simply too much of a blotch on his pride to admit to. Besides, there would be no way to avoid how he had ended up in this predicament without admitting to what you had done. Husk and Angel had kept their word and you were still so grateful that they were the only ones to see you that morning. It had even become somewhat of an inside joke between the three of you.

But the thought of Charlie finding out… Your cheeks burned with shame and you shook your head to try and clear your mind. It was handled. She didn’t know about it. That was all it needed to be.

You peaked over at Alastor’s place on the balcony, making sure he hadn’t seen you working through this as you dusted one of his many bookshelves stocked with titles you didn’t recognize. He had enjoyed teasing you about that, as if niche books about the mechanics of broadcasting and the occult should have made their way into the American education system by the time you were attending.

Mercifully he was buried in the newspaper, incoherently grumbling to himself as his fingers tore into it like it owed him a debt. Testy. And also on his third cup of coffee… not a good sign. But that was to be expected today, the edge you’ve felt building around him since the other day finally coming to a peak.

Alastor had elaborated somewhat in regard to what he meant by concessions, stating that he had to concede to Valentino’s desire to make a final decision in exchange for leaving Angel Dust out of the fray. Knowing what little pieces you did about the relationship between them, you couldn’t help but be thankful that this would be one less thing for Angel to worry about. On the other hand, it also made you increasingly nervous about what Valentino might resolve to do.

Was Alastor worried about it, too?

Your imagination went into overdrive then, pulse crashing through you with fear of the unknown. What if he wanted to hurt you — how would he do it if he did? Angel didn’t go into the details, but it was more than possible for Valentino to be violent with you considering how he liked to treat his employees. You nearly gagged on the word just thinking it and the blatant lack of respect Valentino had towards the kept when something else came to mind.

What if he wanted to put you in one of his movies as a way of making up for Donny’s absence? Apparently he was taking a longer time than expected to heal…

If you were forced to choose, you’d opt for his brutality; a beating you could take, and there were only so many ways to accomplish the goal. But you knew the options were endless when it came to the videos Valentino produced and it filled you with a sense of dread. Not that you were a prude, but putting yourself on display like that wasn’t something you felt comfortable with even just to start. Who knows what kind of situation he’d want you in? It really could be anything.

And what would Alastor be able to do about it? Would he even have a choice… would he care?

The sudden feeling of a hand on your shoulder caused you to jump, the ghost of a scream catching in your throat as the feather duster clattered to the floor. A small but firm squeeze followed with surprising comfort, holding you steady.

“Your heartbeat is distracting,” Alastor said softly from behind you through thinly veiled irritation. It was a fact you could have done without. Did you have nothing for yourself anymore? You were about to respond when he continued. “You can retire to your room now. I’ll come by to collect you when it’s time to leave… and you’d better not change clothes.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The V Tower was an ominous place once you stood in front of it.

It had always been an eye-catching building — something you would never admit to Alastor — the array of purple, pink, and blue neon lights vivacious against the otherwise bleak and decrepit backdrop of Pentagram City. Its elegant round shape, amass of windows, and cleanliness making it striking enough to earn the title of landmark. But it was a place ever on the horizon, need never driving you to approach its doors. Until now.

Meeting here was no doubt another part of the deal, your nerves fraying at the thought of Alastor’s position. It was clear that he wished to be anywhere else, not out of fear but fury. The sharpness in his red eyes fit to kill, his smile so tight you were amazed he hadn’t shattered a fang. Even his hair seemed to stand a bit on edge. Was he really in such a bad spot that he had to concede to this much? The thought alone made your chest tight, but you were resolved to do whatever you needed to keep up your part in all of this.

A Robo Fizz emerged from the doors and approached, moving in sharp fluid movements before stopping in front of the two of you. It gave you a quick up-and-down before pivoting back to the doors, signaling for you to follow, the mechanical sound of its movements the only thing hanging in the heavy silence besides your pair of footsteps like a death knell. You passed through the bright bustling lobby, covered in posters and advertisements for various products and movies, heading straight to an eerily austere elevator which took you to the top of the building.

With a pleasant ding the elevator door opened up to golden hallway, lined with purple light fixtures and rounded archways that broke up the space between several doorways. Somehow the heart moulding at the base of each column and the upper wall managed to feel sinister rather than sweet. Despite its lavish appearance, the absence of love here was palpable. You shivered and inched closer to Alastor as you finally approached the large doorway at the end of the hall, purple adorned with an ornate golden design that was reminiscent of wings.

The Robo Fizz stood off to the side, the two women flanking the double doors opening them for you with a silent bow. Alastor placed his hand on your shoulder, slightly cupping the back of your neck, but it was all tension, no comfort.

This was it.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Aww, you two have matching resting-creepy-face! How sweet,” Valentino cooed, glowing eyes the only thing you could make out through a plume of red smoke. His voice, dripping with a saccharine menace, was enough to distract you from the bite of Alastor’s claws.

“Don’t push it, Valentino,” Alastor warned tightly, the static growl underneath it not quite hidden.

The moth demon emerged from the smoke with a haughty laugh, towering over the both of you with an impressive height. So this was Valentino. It galled you to admit, but he was striking, to say the least.

Dressed in a tight black blazer with white pants and a gold-plated heart-shaped belt, he was lavender-skinned and lean; a scarf of downy white feathers embellished with pinkish-red hearts encompassed his smug face adorned with translucent pink heart-shaped glasses rimmed in gold. His garish hat was a saving grace, something you could laugh at with Angel once you had returned to the safety of the hotel. You noticed that one of his antennae was bare, the other a blend of black and white feathers. Though it took you a moment to realize that it wasn’t a red cape, but wings cascading down to the floor behind him.

He crossed his arms — of which he had four — and sauntered toward you, his pink-fanged smile giving you a chill it was so predatory. You felt Alastor stiffen slightly next to you at the approach, but he brought you forward with him all the same. Had he not been with you, you weren’t confident that you wouldn’t have given into the instinct to flee.

With a quick movement Valentino took your hand in his and brought it up to his mouth, giving it a sloppy, wet, languid lick in what you assumed was a greeting. It took all you had not to recoil and wipe off the magenta-hued saliva, your only tether being Alastor’s presence behind you, but the silent shriek clamoring in your lungs was deafening all the same. You understood that this was all part of their game and gave yourself a reminder to maintain as brave a face as you could. More than anything, you realized, was that you really did want to make Alastor proud.

“Mmm, she’s tasty, flaco. Adorable, too — just look at those pouty lips! You’d never think she could tear out a throat by looking at her. I must say, the footage was… electrifying,” Valentino purred, leaning down to inspect you, his breath in your face smoky and sweet with tobacco. You fought to maintain eye contact but faltered, blood rushing to your face as you squirmed under his hungry gaze, drawing out another laugh from him. “And shy? How novel. What’s your name, querida?”

“Sylvie,” Alastor responded tersely, not giving you the chance. His grip on you now was harsh enough to bruise, no doubt channeling all of his discomfort into it. You’d suffer it for as long as you needed to, a conviction that raised an alarm somewhere deep in your mind. “Now that introductions have been made, shall we discuss your plan of action?”

Valentino smirked, blowing another waft of cigarette smoke in your direction.

“Well, you don’t waste time, do you? Not a fan of foreplay? It can be the best part you know.” He was speaking to Alastor but kept his focus on you; impossible to miss the insinuation in his pink grin, his mind was clearly already at work with ideas. He only broke eye contact to shout, “Kitty! Bring some refreshments for our little Sylvie and keep her company. Alastor and I have business.”

The Robo Fizz, apparently called Kitty, appeared and disappeared as quickly as it had been summoned. Valentino walked toward the door, giving you one final, avid look as he passed you. You finally allowed yourself to glance up at Alastor but he was honed in on the Overlord. From what you could glimpse of his face — his jaw taut — you found yourself somewhat relieved that you wouldn’t be with them while they negotiated; though you still felt uneasy at being left to wait here in Valentino’s penthouse, knowing that when they came back it would be with your fate in their hands.

Alastor turned to you before following Valentino out, leaning down to speak quietly into your ear. “Take even a sip of whatever that creature brings you and I promise to punish you myself.”

The only thing that stopped you from objecting against the insult was a quick touch to your chin, silencing you without a word.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Valentino was sat at his desk, Alastor across from him in the tackiest chair he'd ever had the displeasure to be in.

The office was dressed to be just as gaudy as its owner and smelled intensely of tobacco and the unmistakable miasma the moth demon naturally exuded; a sickly combination of scents that made Alastor want to retch, it was such an assault on his senses. He couldn’t fucking wait to get out of here… Something about the entire building made him feel like a caged animal.

“I want her neck,” Valentino said abruptly, flicking his lighter open to smoke a fresh cigarette. He exhaled with a laugh, taking in Alastor’s intense face at the proposition. “Relaaax, flaquito! Not to eat, though that would be poetic. I just wanna taste her. She smells divine, too, it’s a shame I know you won’t trade. I’d definitely have more fun with her than you are, that’s for sure. Not having her walk around dressed like some bitch off Little House on the Prairie.”

The reference was lost on the Radio Demon, but he bristled all the same. Up until now, the only ones who had been able to smell you were himself and Hellborn (he had made this deduction after Charlie had commented on it once). He had been content with that, making him feel part of an exclusive group sharing in on something unobtainable to others. Which only made Valentino’s awareness of it that much more infuriating.

But the desire for him to taste of you… That was crossing a line.

“You’d waste this opportunity on something meager like that?” Alastor asked, feigning nonchalance as he folded his hands over his knee. It was the only thing keeping him from reaching over to throttle Valentino’s feather-covered neck. “And to think I’ve been worried these last couple days!”

Valentino chucked, low and dark, his fanged grin one of preemptive victory. “Call it what you want, but I know you like to play coy. Honestly, I was just gonna shoot her in front of you, but I’ve changed my mind. Let me have a taste and you’re free to go, charges dropped. Deal?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You were clinging to Alastor’s arm like a lifeline, surprised but grateful that he hadn’t peeled you off of him yet. Maybe it was a consolation, maybe he was too wrung out from the day to care. Either way, you let the comfort of it sink into you like a balm.

Neither of you had spoken since you left V Tower, separately processing what took place once the men had reached an agreement. Remembering how he pulled you to the side while Valentino sipped a drink, boxing you in and speaking to you in a voice so low it felt like a tryst. The apology that couldn’t pass his lips was said with his eyes instead. But there was bitterness there, too, enough for the both of you.

I will rectify this somehow, he said with silent words.

You don’t need to, you silently said back.

It was the price you needed to pay for this to all finally be over, to stop seeing that look in his eye. Touching as it was, you knew he couldn’t stand it and so it gave you no pleasure. Every second that passed without resolution was another hit to his pride, which he cherished above all things. You wanted him to have that again so badly it felt like a live flame in your stomach. So you demonstrated to him how much you meant it, going to Valentino without fuss.

You could still feel the way his fingers easily undid the button of your collar, the tug of release as the zipper pulled down enough for him to pull the fabric away from your neck. He took his time with you, taunting Alastor with every small gesture. Two hands firm on your hips, the other two cupping your face, even sparing a moment to tuck back your hair. The rapturous groan that rumbled in his chest as he buried his face in your neck, breathing so deep you felt the smallest piece of your soul go with it, lost forever to Valentino like flicking a coin into a well.

How his laugh echoed in your ear at your rigidity when the tip of his tongue prodded the skin of your neck and the small shriek that jerked out of you from the shock. You could hear static with your heartbeat then, low and humming from the corner Alastor had reserved himself to; either forced to watch or refusing to leave. You couldn’t tell him not to worry, so you resolved to show him that you were okay, slowly relaxing in Valentino’s arms as his tongue and mouth explored your neck. Goosebumps prickling your skin like a million needles.

You couldn’t be sure how long you were subjected to it, the seconds seemed to pass like years. But you stood your ground and let him have his prize, which he relished with a fervor that made you feel cold. It took all you had not to run back to Alastor once it was all over, knowing that you needed to act like you still had every ounce of your dignity, not only for yourself but for your keeper whom you wished to honor.

Could he feel how protected you still felt? How repulsed you had been?

When I closed my eyes, it wasn’t Valentino there but…

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The two of you had finally made it back to the hotel, the lobby mercifully empty as you made your way to the elevator. Alastor felt you relax against him as soon as the doors opened on your floor, as if you’d been holding your breath. He could understand the sentiment, himself just as desperate to get back to his own room.

Alastor had allowed you to hold onto him, finding an odd reassurance in the gesture, but his limit was reached. He had been simmering for the last couple days, ever since that frivolous idea came to him on his walk to Cannibal Town. The meeting with Valentino had upset him enough that he was able to push it down, but it had been relentlessly picking at his subconscious as the days passed.

The nights were the worst, and the demon was spending more and more time in his secondary room or the radio tower just to escape the torment of your scent that permeated his suite. And just when he was managing to calm down it would be morning, and there you’d be at his door with a punctuality that was boarding sadistic. But he was doing well, holding it all back.

Until Valentino swallowed you whole.

Alastor vowed to never sleep again, knowing well what nightmares would come with it. Perhaps it would have been better to let that sleazy imbecile shoot you, after all. It was a sentiment he didn’t fully mean, but there was enough truth in it to sting with remorse. He could tell that you hadn’t reveled in the moth’s ministrations, but your scent betrayed the carnal nature of the act.

In fact, that was mostly what he wished to get away from. Your arousal — heady with a dizzying warm, floral musk — had clung to you the entire way home, testing his resolve with every step. Had he been in a better mood he might have found it funny, how worked up you were. But this was onerous and persistent, and if anything, seeming to grow instead of dissipate. Blooming.

Something occurred to him then, turning his blood to ice.

You had just pulled away, the door to your room partially open now, when you turned to look up at him with a look in your eyes he hadn’t seen before. It was so demure it felt obscene. And just like this morning, your heart was clamoring against your ribs like a sickening lullaby. The pink flush on your cheeks seeping down your neck, or was it the other way around?

Without thinking, Alastor tore the collar of your dress, the sound of ripping fabric deafening in the air between you. You began to protest but he was too riled to care as the shadow of his branch-like horns fell over you, his eyes losing the struggle against the urge to switch. He tugged at the hair near the nape of your neck, the sharp sound of your breath catching as he leaned in burning straight through to his gut, more so than the sting to this nostrils. He was right.

Valentino had laced his pheromones onto you.

“Son of a bitch…!” he spat, nearly shoving you to the floor as he recoiled, his shadow pulling away from behind him with a hiss over his shoulder.

This was dangerous.

“Alastor, what’s wrong?” you cried, clearly shaken as you backed up into your room; tears forming in the corner of your eyes as you took in the wild look that was no doubt on his face. Were you terrified of him now, like you had been the other night? It was a thrilling thought.

He couldn’t help but follow, slamming the door shut behind him without grace, heaving against the wildfire that was eating away at his self control. Blood in the water. That’s what it felt like, an all-consuming hunger that could only be sated with one thing. Despite himself, over these last couple days he had thought of all sorts of ways he could have you, not even the most ravaging being like this. He never could have imagined this…

I’ll fucking tear that scheming bastard apart!

Suddenly your hands were on his chest, trembling but firm; gazing up at him with eyes awash with fear and determination. You were so stubborn, foolish. Would you ever not be? You had the same look before you walked into Valentino’s arms, too.

Alastor’s hands traveled up, cupping your face and neck so easily. He held you like this… The thought was like acid to his already frayed nerves. You felt so precious, so fragile in his hold, but he feared he could no longer fight back against the tempest of desire to consume you.

Because that’s what it was.

He wanted you to unravel in his hands, wanted to pick at the hem of your resolve and see what came spilling out. And it would be all for him. Only for him. He wanted to relish the sounds, the smell, the taste. To take that sullen look ever-present in your face and shatter it, make it yield. The culmination of his wicked work.

“Alastor, please… let me help. Whatever it is, I’ll do it, just let me help you,” you said, barely above a whisper, your small hands now wrapped around his wrists. A single tear fell from your eye and forced itself beneath his thumb with a pleasant burn.

He squeezed his eyes closed and took a shuddering breath, willing them to return to their normal red when he opened them again; wanting to be himself as much as he could in this. Words couldn’t accomplish what he needed to convey.

So he leaned down to capture your mouth with his instead.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

UH OH, YOU SAID THE DANGEROUS THING. SMUT NEXT CHAPTER💅🏻✨

ps: just in case anyone isn’t familiar with some of the spanish here 💖

‘flaco/flaquito’ can function as a nickname and is commonly used as a term said in jest or endearment meaning ‘skinny’ (though it can also be used as an insult lol — there’s definitely a bit of both happening here).

 ‘querida’ is a little more loaded, meaning various things like ‘dear, love/my love/lover, darling’ and was a more intense choice since it’s normally used in a hyper-affectionate way (i.e. towards your wife) but i thought it fit nicely here as part of valentino’s intimidation (and i imagine it’s a phrase he uses when he wants to love bomb).

 sadly i am not fluent in spanish, but being part of a mexican family/household helps lol i just figured i would share so you can get more of a feel for valentino’s dialogue cuz it was really fun to write.

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fan fiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut #slow burn #alastor slow burn #song fic #if i can’t have love i want power #love and power #x reader #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hazbin hotel slow burn #alastor x reader slow burn

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elsweetheart · 1 year

Text

♡ abby anderson headcanons ♡

bc dom!abby has my heart

• abby loves when you ride her thigh. it’s a huge ego trip for her, as you get to appreciate her thick legs which she works so hard on during her lengthy workout sessions - but she also adores seeing you get so needy for her, sometimes she’ll just be sat cleaning her weapons or something whilst you writhe on her lap, grabbing at her strong arms as you work yourself over. she’ll pretend to ignore you at first, occasionally chastising you and chuckling mockingly, or just telling you how good you’re being - but she’ll usually end up breaking and just fucking you.

• she gets cuteness aggression towards you, bad. like you know the feeling when you see a lil puppy or kitten and it’s so adorable that you just wanna squeeze it? that’s how she feels towards you when she rocks up late from patrol and sees you fast asleep bundled up in your blanket all warm and docile. she’ll slide in right up next to you and effortlessly lift you to practically be on top of her, kissing your warm cheeks muttering “how are you so fucking cute? you are so adorable. what the fuck.” which only intensifies when you whine a little because she woke you up. if you couldn’t hear what she was saying, you might think she was actually mad at you but she’s genuinely frustrated that you’re so cute.

• she’s not the most affectionate in front of other people, and she might joke around with others but ultimately she worked hard to appear intimidating in a world now dominated by men and she likes to keep up an image that leans more towards stoic. however, she will let you clamber all over her and cling to her jacket wherever you go. her one exception to not initiating PDA will always be when you’re looking for somewhere to sit, as she will always pull you to sit on her thigh - and it’s the best seat in the house.

• her preference is to fuck you with her strap, and honestly she can get off just from getting you off like that, however - once in a blue moon, often in the middle of the night when abby can’t sleep and is craving that skin on skin contact she’ll push your thighs up and grind her own cunt against yours- holding you down and bumping it against yours until you cum.

• much like her aversion to copious amounts of PDA, abby reserves the lovey dovey nicknames for your private time with the exception of the occasional “babe” which still makes you blush. however, if you’re being particularly difficult that day - she will forget your name completely and refer to you only as “brat”. it’ll make you pout and roll your eyes, but she’ll completely dismiss your complaint, leading you ahead of her with a “c’mon, this way brat.”

• she hates it when her pretty girl is stressed or anxious or scared, and if she notices the telltale signs of you displaying these emotions she’ll be sure to pull you aside or into another room to talk you down. she’ll squat infront of you, holding your hands as you weep, and gently swatting them away when you go to swipe your tears away, wiping them softly with her own fingers. “talk to me, pretty.” she’ll quietly demand and you’ll shake your head drawing in a stuttered breath. “s’not your problem abs.” you whine and she’s quick to shake her head in disagreement. “then make it my problem. i’m not letting you leave this room until you tell me how i can make it better.”

• if abby is the one that’s stressed or anxious, for some reason she just needs you to lay on her to feel better. hear me out, it’s something about the compression and your body weight that makes her feel like a person again- and your presence is just so calming to her. she’ll be laying awake beside you, mind racing before she’ll apologetically lift you and cradle you on top of her, and you’ll whimper at the intrusion of your sleep at first (and she’ll shush you so quietly and lovingly that it lulls you back into your relaxed state immediately) and then you settle and snuggle down because she is really comfy to lay on.

• strength kink. i feel like this is a no brainer, but she’ll do anything to display how strong she is, and how easy it is for her to overpower you at any given moment. she’ll fuck you standing up with you in her arms as she bounces you on her strap, or eat you out against a wall with your legs over her shoulders. abby is strong as hell, and she loves how weak and vulnerable you are to her, completely at her mercy.

• she’s super disciplinary. not even always in a sexual way, but she’ll always be telling you to “watch the attitude.” or asking “wheres your manners?” which always fixes your behaviour asap, fluttering your lashes at how dominant she can be. of course in the bedroom, it’s a whole different ballgame — she’ll spank you for being greedy but will always reward you with rubbing loving circles on your clit with a “see? such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

• if abby is anything, she is a manspreader. she takes up so much space just to remind everyone that she’s in charge, and if you’re not perched on her thigh around others, or squished with your legs pressed together to make room for hers beside her, you’ll be sat on the floor between her wide stance with your cheek to her thigh, with big pretty glazed over eyes asking her for something.

• you’re always on her mind, so if she’s out looking for supplies without you and she sees something cute she thinks you’d like she always stuffs it in her backpack to bring back to you. she likes to gift you to reward good behaviour, abby passing a hand over your head gently as you grin at your new gift. “see, it pays to be a good girl, huh?” she’ll smirk with a slight eye roll.

#abby anderson smut #abby anderson prompts #dom!abby #tlou2 smut #abby anderson x reader

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suzukiblu · 4 months

Note

Parasite WIP is so good and I desperately want more of it! I voted for it in the poll and I’m so sad it didn’t win

Friend, I appreciate you asking after it because it really is one of my fucked-up faves that I really need to work on more, so uh . . . have all 4500 words of the prose so far all together, hahaha. Yes, yes I DID reformat this whole thing into Tumblr-friendliness all for you. THAT IS HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE YOUR APPRECIATION, FRIEND. ( so definitely we are gonna need that read-more down there, lol. )

Clark wakes up.

Clark didn't even know he wasn't awake.

"Superman," Bruce says with absolute neutrality. He's wearing the cowl. Standing in rubble. Clark is . . . not standing in rubble.

Laying in rubble. That's what Clark is doing.

Bruce is looking down at him very, very carefully, and seems . . . reserved.

Reserved for Bruce, even.

"What happened?" Clark asks, trying not to concentrate on the little seed of dread that the sight of that reservation invokes in him. He can hear the heartbeats of other League members, here and there in the wreckage of the street around them. Hear civilians and city noise. Hear Lois and Jon, distantly, and Ma and Pa, even more distant. And . . . Kara–both of her–and . . .

"We'll go with 'electrocution', but I think we can safely say just about anyone else would've been virtually incinerated," Bruce informs him, distracting Clark from his mental rundown of people he's currently worried about. "Or just exploded."

"Ah," Clark says with a grimace. Well, that explains why his head hurts so damn bad, he guesses.

At least it was him, then, and not any "anyone else"s.

He pushes himself up. Looks around. He . . . isn't sure where they are, exactly, except that it's probably somewhere on Earth and within the continental United States, judging by the architecture and signs he's seeing and the accents and languages he's hearing.

He has absolutely no idea how they got here, though. The last thing he remembers is . . .

. . . he's not actually sure what the last thing he remembers is.

Not a great sign, that.

Bruce is watching him. Like he's . . . expecting something, almost. Clark would ask, but there's an odd feeling distracting him. Something's . . . off, somehow.

Missing.

Bruce's utility belt is a new design, he notes absently. J'onn is down the street a bit and his costume looks a little different too. And Diana . . .

Diana is over across the way, and her hair is a couple inches longer than he remembers it being.

Clark would assume he was mistaken, except for the eidetic memory and all.

"Hm," Clark says.

"Hm?" Bruce says. He still sounds faultlessly neutral.

"Trying to figure out if I'm in the right reality. Things look a little off," Clark replies, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in concentration. No unexpected sounds or scents. No particular feeling of disorientation that can't be accounted for by being apparently electrocuted. No additional pains past the dull pressure in his head or any immediately obvious peculiarities beyond the minor little scattered differences here and there in his teammates.

But something is–

"I can't hear Kon," Clark realizes abruptly. He doesn't usually especially keep an ear out for the kid, at least not deliberately, but . . .

Bruce . . . pauses.

"You can't," he says, very carefully. It doesn't sound like a question.

It sounds like something, though.

"I can't," Clark confirms anyway, glancing around again. He still doesn't know where this is. "Where are we, exactly?"

"What's the date, Kal?" Bruce asks, and Clark's heart sinks.

He answers the question.

Bruce's mouth thins.

Hell, Clark thinks.

"We're currently in Keystone City," Bruce says, very carefully expressionless. "We've been here for three days. The date you just provided me was a full fourteen months ago. And Kon-El has been MIA for roughly thirteen and a half of those months."

Hell, Clark thinks, and doesn't let himself process anything past that.

"We need to get a scan of your brain," Bruce says. "For starters."

"For starters," Clark agrees tightly.

Bruce tells Diana they're leaving, then abandons the rubble and takes Clark up to the Watchtower. Clark goes. He doesn't ask what electrocuted him or who's died in the past fourteen months or if there's anything immediately urgent that he should know. Bruce would've already told him, if there was.

And he thinks he'd choke on the question if he tried, anyway.

They go to the med bay. There's a total stranger standing in it who smiles at them when they step through the door.

"Haven't seen you in here in quite a while, Superman," the stranger observes in amusement, tapping a pen against the clipboard in their hands. "You still haven't been in for that checkup I owe you, you know."

"He doesn't know you," Bruce informs them evenly. The stranger blinks.

"Sorry?" they say.

"He was electrocuted," Bruce says. "Now he thinks it's fourteen months ago. We need a brain scan. Immediately."

"Hell," the stranger says, their eyes widening in alarm.

Clark gets the brain scan.

He and Bruce wait in a convenient exam room for the results, which seem to be taking a while. Bruce seems a bit more guarded than usual, which means Clark is standing next to goddamn Fort Knox right now. He sighs to himself.

"Suppose at this rate I should call and tell Lois and Jon I'll be late for dinner," he jokes wryly as he folds his arms, no real humor in the comment, and Bruce goes very, very still beside him.

. . . hell.

They're not dead. He knows they're not dead, he heard their heartbeats before they left for the watchtower, Bruce would've already told him if either of them were–

"They aren't expecting you," Bruce says with absolutely no intonation whatsoever in his voice. "You moved out eight months ago. The divorce is already finalized."

"Ah," Clark says, very slowly. He doesn't let himself process, again. Not–just, not yet. "What happened?"

"You left them," Bruce says, and Clark . . . blinks.

"I left them?!" he demands incredulously. Leaving Lois is one thing, horrible and impossible a thought as it is, but– "Not just–I left them both?!"

"As you explained it to me, you were no longer interested in maintaining the . . . 'persona' of Clark Kent," Bruce replies carefully, looking just past him. "You said you couldn't stand the screaming anymore. That you appreciated us . . . humoring you for so long, but you couldn't just keep walking around making excuses and lying to everyone while people were suffering and dying just because you had to pretend to be human for a while. So yes. You left them. Haven't visited since Lois finally signed the divorce papers. Haven't spoken to your parents either. You've been . . . erratic. Since Kon-El's disappearance. When we couldn't find him . . . when we couldn't even find out what happened to him . . ."

"Oh," Clark says, and his heart sinks again.

He doesn't understand, though. Kon is–he cares about the kid, obviously. Cares very deeply about him. He's pretty sure he even loves him, at this point. But he's not . . .

It feels terrible to think it, but Clark doesn't understand why Kon disappearing like that would affect him enough to stop being Clark. It's awful, and he still hasn't let himself actually think about it happening at all because he really can't process it right now, but that awful? Really? Awful enough to abandon being any semblance of a normal person? Abandon Lois and his parents entirely?

Abandon Jon entirely?

Apparently, yes.

"Technically you're on unpaid sabbatical from the Planet," Bruce tells him. "We thought you might . . . reconsider, once you'd grieved properly, so Lois pulled some strings with Perry White. He thinks you're having an early mid-life crisis and your co-workers think you're off finding yourself in South America with a bad cell phone plan."

"I guess I don't believe in satellite phones?" Clark says, trying for wry again. It doesn't work, but he tries all the same.

"This is unfair of me, but I'm going to take advantage of your current mental state," Bruce says. He's looking at the wall, though there's nothing there to actually be looking at. Not even anything on the other side, at least not according to X-ray vision. "Try to remember how you feel right now, when your memories of the past year return. Try to remember who you are right now, when those memories return."

"Why?" Clark asks, watching him carefully as he does. The corners of Bruce's mouth tighten. Just barely, but undeniably.

"You've been . . . gone, Clark," Bruce says slowly. "You won't even answer to 'Clark' anymore. You aren't the same man that I . . . that we all . . ."

The stranger comes back before Bruce has to admit to too many personal feelings or Clark can figure out what to say to any of that, which might be a mercy but might also be–

The stranger looks . . . strange, Clark notices. Nauseated, almost. And definitely distressed.

"I haven't done brain scans on Superman before," they say, their grip on their clipboard concerningly close to white-knuckled. "And my predecessor apparently hadn't done any in a while either. Last ones in the system are over two years old."

"What's wrong?" Bruce says, narrowing his eyes. Honestly at this point Clark figures a kryptonite brain tumor would really just be the icing on the cake, and frankly would probably explain some of his apparent behavioral changes and current memory loss. That genuinely makes more sense than anything else, really, even with grief and guilt to contend with.

More sense than abandoning his own damn kid does, at least.

Although a tumor's the worst-case scenario, obviously. And it can't be any worse than that, really, or any worse than anything he's apparently done to his family this past year, so at least he's braced for–

"There's an . . . organism," the stranger says, swallowing uncomfortably. "In your brain."

"What?" Clark says.

"A dead organism, now," the stranger clarifies. "But it looks like it's been there for a while. There are . . . roots. And . . . lesions, too."

"An organism," Bruce repeats very, very slowly. "In Superman's brain."

"Yes," the stranger says.

"I don't . . ." Clark trails off.

"We need more scans," Bruce says.

"I ran it four times on two different machines," the stranger says. "It's organic. It's not giving off any recognizable life signs. It seems like it might've been . . . you mentioned electrocution, before?"

"You think the electricity killed it," Bruce realizes. "And then Superman forgot fourteen months?"

"I'm not sure Superman ever experienced those fourteen months to begin with," the stranger says tightly, gripping their clipboard even harder.

Clark was in no way whatsoever braced for this.

"Fuck," Bruce says.

More scans happen after all. A lot more scans, a lot of specialists, and a lot of arguing. Everything's a bit of a blur, in a sense. Clark absorbs very little of it, and mostly leaves things to Bruce unless he's asked a direct question about his medical history. His judgment might be compromised right now, after all, whether the . . . organism is dead or not.

The emergency OR gets prepped. The red sun lamps get set up inside it.

"Should we contact Lois?" Bruce asks as Clark's shrugging into an ill-fitting hospital gown and preparing himself to possibly die in pursuit of getting a dead who-knows-what out of his brain before it can start to rot there and potentially kill him that way. "Or your parents?"

"No," Clark says. "Just get this damn thing out of my head."

If he doesn't survive the removal process . . .

They don't know what's been going on. What he let happen to himself, somehow.

He isn't going to tell them he's back just to immediately take himself away again.

He records something for Jon, just in case. It's not enough, but it's–something, he tells himself. It's something.

It's all he can bring himself to do.

He leaves the disk with the recording on it with Bruce and asks him to have Dick deliver it, if it's necessary.

Things proceed from there, and Clark wakes up again a week later in a private room in the med bay, connected to half a dozen machines and needles and tubes and directly facing the sun. Diana is dozing in the chair next to his bed. Bruce is pacing at the foot of it. They're both in costume. Clark feels weak and groggy, but he can hear half a dozen other heartbeats lingering in the hall, so presumably they were expecting him to wake up around now.

"Mm," he says. Diana snaps awake. Bruce stops mid-step.

They both look at him.

"The operation was a success," Bruce informs him. "Textbook. Or as textbook as removing a mind-controlling parasite of unknown origins from a Kryptonian brain can get for mostly-human surgeons, anyway."

"Do you need anything?" Diana asks. "Would you like us to call your family yet?"

Clark shakes his head, then closes his eyes and sleeps for another week.

"Sleep", he supposes, counts as something that he needs right now.

The next time he wakes up, he's alone in his room and disconnected from the machines and just feels . . . normal, really. Like nothing was ever wrong at all and he didn't just have major surgery that was, essentially, the equivalent of multiple traumatic brain injuries. His hair is already starting to grow back from where it was buzzed down for the surgery, and there's not even any bandages on his head.

There's no noticeable scarring, Clark observes when he makes it to the little ensuite bathroom to take a look in the mirror. The surgeons told him there probably wouldn't be, given both the methods they'd been intending to use and the nature of his own physiology, but seeing the total lack of proof of what happened to him is just . . . strange, somehow.

It feels almost like a cheat. Like it should be obvious, in some way.

There was a parasite in his head. Something controlling him. Pretending to be him. Passing for him. It could've done anything it wanted.

It did do things that Clark still has no idea about.

So many things.

He couldn't even fight it. Wasn't conscious or aware enough to, or just not strong enough to, or just . . .

He couldn't even fight it.

And he doesn't know what it did.

The door opens. Diana walks in.

"Would you like us to call your family now?" she asks.

"Yes," Clark says roughly, curling his fingers around the sides of the sink in front of him. "Please."

"Of course," Diana says with a terrible and merciless gentleness.

Clark sits down on the lid of the toilet and just . . . cries. Just for a minute.

Or twenty.

Diana kneels in front of him and holds his hands in her own.

Fourteen months, Clark thinks, all twisted up with grief and pain and so, so much regret. He missed so much. He wasn't there for Jon or Lois or his parents. He wasn't there for Bruce or Diana or the League, for either of Kara, for . . .

For Kon. He wasn't there for Kon.

Wasn't there for Kon when the kid needed him.

Kon completely vanished, and who knows if the damn parasite even pretended to help look for him? If it did anything at all for him? Who knows if Clark could've found him, could've saved him, if he'd still been himself at the time?

. . . who knows if the parasite isn't what made Kon disappear to begin with?

It took fourteen months of Clark's life, and Kon . . . Kon disappeared two weeks into those fourteen months.

If nothing else, the timing is a screaming red flag.

Clark abandoned his son and might've murdered a kid who only ever looked up to him, a kid who he was never really able to fully understand but literally named, and he can't do anything to bring Kon back or to make up for the year that he wasn't there for the rest of his family.

Their family.

God, what has he done? What has Clark done, and did Kon die feeling afraid or shocked or terrified? Did he die feeling betrayed? Did he think it was Clark doing it, however it happened?

Did he die thinking Clark wanted him to die?

Clark doesn't even know what happened to his body.

There won't be another resurrection.

Clark chokes. Diana squeezes his hands. He grips hers like a lifeline and shudders through it. The grief is a terrible, ugly thing. It's one of the worst things Clark's ever felt.

The guilt is worse.

"Lois," he murmurs finally, feeling like the weakest man alive. "Could you call . . . Lois, please, and just . . . ask if she'll come. I'll explain it all to her, just–could you call her, please."

"Yes," Diana says, squeezing his hands again. "Of course."

"Thank you," Clark says.

He pulls himself together, more or less, and Diana goes to make the call. She comes back a few minutes later and tells him Lois agreed, but needs to find a babysitter first. Clark in no way blames her for not bringing Jon along and frankly is surprised she's willing to come at all.

He's not sure what he could even say to Jon right now.

What can he?

Diana makes sure he eats something, then leaves for monitor duty. Clark tries not to overthink things. Tries not to think too much at all.

He spent fourteen months not thinking at all, though, all of it lost in one oblivious blink, so that doesn't work out all that well for him.

An hour later, he hears the Zeta platform activate on the opposite side of the base, and hears Lois's heartbeat appear inside the watchtower.

Clark exhales, very slowly.

He waits.

Lois comes to the med bay. She doesn't stop to talk to anyone on the way. Doesn't talk to anyone except that stranger Clark still doesn't actually know the name of, who tells her where to find him.

And then a minute or a millennium later she's standing in the open doorway of his room, and Clark is looking at her. Her expression is neutral, and her hair is shorter than it was the last time he remembers seeing her–the last time he was the one actually seeing her. An inverse bob, not shoulder-length anymore. He recognizes the blazer and heels that she's wearing, but not the blouse or the pants. Not the earrings or the necklace, either.

And there's no wedding ring to recognize either way.

Clark wonders what happened to his.

God, but she's still the most amazing woman he's ever seen, and he's still never once deserved a single part of her. Not even a fraction of a part.

Especially not now.

"Kal," she greets, tone just as neutral as her expression, and Clark aches.

"Clark," he says, just a little too abrupt, and Lois–pauses.

"Clark," she amends casually as she tucks her hands into the pockets of her blazer, and if he didn't know her quite so well he wouldn't have even heard the crack in her voice around his name, super-hearing or not. "Never seen your hair this short. I kinda miss the curl, not gonna lie. It has charm, you know? Very boy scout next door."

"I had emergency brain surgery," Clark says. Lois pauses again. Tilts her head. He keeps talking. "Two weeks ago, now. Just woke up again fully today."

"What?" she says, just staring at him. "You–what happened?"

"It's . . . unclear, still," Clark replies slowly. "But as far as we can tell, roughly fourteen months back an unidentified alien parasite moved into my brain and . . . took me over, essentially. I don't actually–I don't remember any of that time. At all. Then two weeks ago I got electrocuted in Keystone and the parasite died. The surgery was to remove its body so my brain could heal from the damage it did without it rotting in there."

Lois keeps staring at him.

"Fourteen months," she echoes very, very carefully.

"I'm so sorry," Clark says tightly. "Bruce told me I left you. Left you and Jon. That I stopped being . . . myself. I can't imagine how difficult that was, or how it must've felt."

"I can't imagine how waking up and hearing that none of us even noticed you were gone felt," Lois says.

"You never do pull a punch, do you," Clark says with a weak attempt at a smile.

"I'm sorry," Lois says evenly. "I should've known."

"No one did," Clark says, then . . . hesitates. "Or . . . we think no one did."

"You think that's what happened to Kon," Lois says, because of course she's already done the math, and of course she's already had the thought herself. Obviously she would've.

"The timing is . . . likely, at least," Clark says. "And really, if anyone was going to see my face and notice that a different person was wearing it . . ."

"You have a point," Lois murmurs. She steps into the room. Clark wants to hold her. He also wants to bury himself in the coldest, darkest place that he can find and never, ever let himself see the sun again.

He doesn't deserve it anymore.

"I'm so angry that I want to cry," Lois says, her voice very distant and her eyes locked on his. Clark can see her hands fisting in her pockets. "I'm so . . . god. I should've known. You never would've left Jon. Not like that."

"Bruce made it sound like the parasite was . . . very convincing," Clark says. It convinced Bruce, who may just be the most paranoid mind on the planet, so . . .

"It was," Lois agrees, still without taking her eyes off his. "But I still should've known."

Clark blinks a little too quickly. Lois tightens her jaw. Takes her hands out of her pockets and leaves them at her sides instead. Clark never thought he'd see them without her wedding ring again.

"It's been–months, I know," he says, hating himself for thinking he even deserves to say this. "For you. But I still . . ."

"I love you," Lois says. "Come home."

There is no possible world in which he could tell her "no".

Med bay makes him wait for another two hours of observation and runs some scans, but then they let him go. Lois waits with him the whole time. She doesn't call anyone or send any texts. Doesn't leave the room. Barely says a word. Hardly even takes her eyes off him, like she thinks if she blinks he's going to disappear.

Clark can hardly keep her heartbeat out of his ears, so he doesn't blame her.

He doesn't blame her at all.

They go to Smallville. Bruce had said he'd send Dick to pick up Jon from the babysitter's and get him to the farm, and as much as Clark had wanted to go straight to him himself . . .

Ma and Pa first, he reminds himself. This is going to be upsetting for Jon–most likely traumatic, once it all sinks in. And definitely disorienting. It'll be best if as many of the adults in his life as possible know what's going on in advance, so he can go to whoever he needs to go to; get whatever comfort they can prepare themselves to offer.

Clark doesn't know how to do this.

He doesn't . . .

They don't take two steps onto the farm before a familiar blur is crashing into him head-on.

"Oh," Clark manages, and Krypto barks excitedly and flies up to lick his face, tail wagging wildly as he jumps all over him. Like he's missed him. Like he's been waiting for him.

Clark nearly cries again.

"Good boy, Krypto," he tells him, quiet and rough. "I missed you too, boy."

He scratches Krypto's ears. Strokes his back. Krypto nearly bowls him over in delight.

Clark buries his face in his neck and cries a bit after all.

Lois watches.

Waits.

Clark spends . . . maybe a little bit too long crying on his dog, and then they all head up to the house. Ma and Pa are both standing on the porch; presumably they heard Krypto barking. They both look a little bit startled and a little bit confused and a lot more pained at the sight of him, and Clark swallows painfully and stops just before the porch steps.

He looks at them, and he loves them so desperately. Everything they ever did for him, and everything they've ever been to him, and . . .

"I'm sorry," he says. "I just . . . there was . . ."

God, the way this hurts.

"It was mind control," he says. "The past fourteen months or so. I was . . . I wasn't. Wasn't here. Or . . . anywhere."

"Oh," Ma says, and her eyes are instantly wet with tears. Pa blinks very quickly, his hand curling against the porch railing.

"I'm so, so sorry," Clark repeats tightly, his own hands in useless fists. "But I'm–back now. I'm home."

"Oh, Clark," Ma chokes, and then they both throw themselves at him. Clark's been hugged by people with strength far past superhuman, but it's never felt . . .

No. It's never once felt the same way as when his parents do it.

They cling to him. He clings back. Krypto barks again and swoops around the knot of them, wagging his tail hard enough to nearly knock Lois over with the force of wind it stirs up. Definitely some of the porch furniture gets displaced.

Clark feels so much.

They sit together on the porch, Krypto sprawled contentedly across Clark's lap and Lois on the steps beside him. Clark gives Ma and Pa what explanation he can–tells them everything he knows about Keystone and the electrocution and the watchtower and the surgery and waking up. They watch him just as intently as Lois does the entire time.

He doesn't . . . he doesn't mention his suspicions about what might've happened to Kon. Not . . . not yet.

He doesn't know how to. Not to Ma and Pa. Not after he brought the kid here and left him on their doorstep with no real direction and . . .

Just–he'll tell them. He'll tell them soon.

Just . . . not yet.

It's not a very long talk, in the end. Ma and Pa take in everything he says and just take it all in stride, just like they always have. Baby in a spaceship? Kid with superpowers? Son who thinks he can save the whole damn world?

Of course they take it in stride.

Clark loves them too much to even define. Too much to even wrap his own head around. They're the best people he knows. The best people he's ever known.

They don't even think there's anything for him to be sorry for.

It's . . . painful, a little, when Clark realizes that.

Or a lot.

So, so damn painful.

Clark hears the definitely-not-a-Batmobile coming, far down the road. Three heartbeats inside it. Dick, Damian, and . . .

Jon.

Obviously.

Clark strokes Krypto's ears one last time, then gets up. No one asks him why, but he supposes the look on his face must be answer enough right now.

He steps off the porch and goes to wait by the driveway.

It's not that long a wait, but it feels like the better part of eternity.

#clark kent #lois lane #clois #superfamily #bruce wayne #diana of themyscira #rinfic #anonymous #wip: the parasite

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faevi · 3 months

Text

COMFORT. // GOJO.

Scenario: Today was a bad day for you. You couldn’t even get out of bed to take care of yourself. You need comfort. Gojo Satoru, your boyfriend, is eager to be that comfort for you.

Word Count: 4,072.

Content / Trigger Warnings: female reader (she/her), implied depression (?), bad mental health basically, not taking care of yourself, gojo basically comforts and takes care of you, lots of crying.

I think that's it! Please (kindly) let me know if I missed something.

Note: No, Coral Island is not out on Switch yet :’ ) I have it on PC and I thought it was on switch but it’s not. Do look out for it, though! Cute comfort farming game. This probably won’t be the last time you’ll see me writing about Gojo comforting, as I like to write things deep from the heart or what I face, y’know? Like I started this when I was having a sad day, so dfjkgdfklg and, I know I’m not the only one. Mental health is important!! Please always take care of yourselves. If thinking about Gojo comforting you helps with easing your mind & heart, then hell yeah.

I know technically this is SFW so minors could read, but my entire account is basically NSFW still and I don’t feel comfy. So….

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!!!

“Baby?”

There’s a gentle knock on the bedroom door, the deep yet soft voice being muffled by it. You’re currently curled up in the king-size bed, pillows plumped up and eyes glancing from the Nintendo Switch screen to the door. Shame washes over you and you sink further beneath the blankets, voice timid.

“I’m in here.”

Satoru didn’t hear it, but he still pushed it open. He doesn’t want to be apart from you. Not when you’re like this. He could sense something wasn’t right in the morning, but you insisted he went to work and that you would be okay. Low energy, you said. You peek up at him, the hood of his hoodie that you’re wearing pulled right over your head, not wanting him to see your puffy eyes and dried-up tears on your cheeks. You haven’t left the bed unless it was to go to the toilet or get water. Really bad, you know that. You should have at least eaten something. Even if it’s just a banana or a bag of chips.

“Welcome home, ‘toru.” You say, voice a little raspy but still holding that sweetness that’s only reserved for Satoru. You feel too drained to greet him like you wish you could. That’s another sign to the white-haired male that it’s one of the low days. Thankfully, they are rare but, they still prompt him to be wrapped up in his concern. He drops his satchel at the side of the dresser before he walks over to the bed, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white shirt. “Thank you, princess. I missed you all day.” He expresses, emphasising the ‘all’ in a sing-song voice that coaxes a smile to appear beneath the hoodie. Good. He’s a little relieved to see it.

Satoru settles on the bed beside you, arm wrapping around your body to pull you in close. He’s low enough on the bed to tuck his chin over your shoulder as you twist a little to adjust yourself for the position of the half embrace. His stunning blue eyes focus on the screen as you continue to play the switch, his long fingers mindlessly stroking along your shoulder. Satoru knows you refuse to pull the hoodie off just yet, so he won’t force you to. He knows that you have been crying and is desperate to comfort you but, he’s not about the ‘forceful’ ways like some may think he would be. Baby steps.

“Coral Island?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder and you hum, thumb on the analog stick moving around. It makes you happy that your boyfriend makes sure to remember the games you like. “You’ve made a lot of progress on your farm, baby. It looks cute.” He praises sweetly, keeping his voice soft so as to not disturb too much. You smile at his words, ignoring the way your hands start to tremble and your eyes sting. What did you do to deserve such an attentive and loving man as your boyfriend?

“Though, I’m still a little grumpy that you want to marry, what’s his face… Wakuu. I think I’m a lot cuter, they should put me in the game.” He whines lightheartedly and you can’t help but laugh. “Baby, I think you’d make the game crash from how desperate people would be to date you. You’re too pretty and you’re all mine.” You huff a little, mind lingering a little on the thought of others wanting Satoru. Why did he choose you? He could have anyone he wants in the world.

“I’d hack the game so I reject other players aside from you.” He insists, noticing the tremble in your voice. He looks down at the top of your head, wishing he could see through and know your thoughts. Well, he can usually guess right, at least. He’s pretty good at reading people. Especially you. Calmly, Satoru takes hold of the console and puts it on pause before setting it on his bedside table. You let him do it. “Th-That would be too much work, s-silly.” You stutter out as tears for what feels like the hundredth time spill down your cheeks.

He hums softly, tugging the hood off of your head slowly, giving you time to stop him. You didn’t. Your shoulders shake and you can barely process anything now as you cry; not even when he moves your body so you’re facing him and between his long legs. He pulls you in close enough so his hand can rest on the back of your head and you sob against his chest, apologies babbling out between the heavy cries and obnoxious sniffling. “Nothing is too much work when it involves you, Y/N. Let it out, hm? No more hiding from me. Just let it all out and let me be here for you.” He whispers, the other hand rubbing soothing circles against your back.

Your legs that were tucked beneath you, slide until you’re laying against him with your legs extending out next to his, face still buried against his toned chest, fingers curling into the shirt that is becoming wet with the continuous stream of your tears. Your chest hurts so much. The tightness lingers, even as you cry your heart out. No wonder it feels impossible to breathe. You swear you could feel each teardrop as it rolls down your cheeks. Gross. It’s so gross. Small hiccups escape as you struggle to breathe properly between your heavy sobs, feeling his hand stroking along your hair as he holds onto you so lovingly. You couldn’t help but feel guilty that he has to comfort you through this. You thought that after hours of festering in your misery, you’d pick yourself back up before he got home.

He shouldn’t have to do this. It’s not the first time that he has had to help you and you just feel so bad about it. Sure, it may not be common. It may not happen all the time. Not happen weekly or even monthly but, it must be so stressful to deal with. Mental health can be so exhausting and every time this creeps up on you; you just wish you were someone who stinks of positivity 24/7. Always smiling. No dull clouds in your life, so no chance to spread it to those you love. Satoru deserves better than you.

Satoru frankly doesn’t give a fuck about your opinion when it comes to that matter. It sounds harsh but, it’s true. In his eyes, you are exactly what he deserves because you are everything that he wants in a partner. He’ll tell you that as many times as you need to hear. It’s not exhausting to him. Not at all. Nothing about you exhausts him. Satoru does feel concern when these particular days blossom but, isn’t that normal? Lovers are meant to be there for one another. Through the good and the bad. No one is perfect and, he knows. He knows that you’ve had partners who would snap with anger the second you showed a glimpse of insecurities or sadness. They would tell you that you’re making them miserable for having a sad day every so often. That it’s all your fault and that you’re exhausting. Even though, truth be told; these days aren’t that often. It’s just being human. Some may experience it more than others but, Satoru doesn’t think it means they should be treated harshly. Maybe with more kindness.

Besides, anger and guilt-tripping always cause more bad days because you learned to try and bury it all. To never let it out. Then it just grows like a nasty virus in your system, slowly bringing you to the point of feeling overwhelmed and unable to contain it. It surprised him that you used to apologise profusely at the beginning of your relationship. You had bad relationships that just added to your insecurities and made you feel like complete shit. All you need is reassurance and comfort. It took some time at first but, Satoru thinks that you’ve ‘improved’ in the sense that you have fewer sad days because of feeling like a terrible partner. You have insecurities like everyone else but, you knew deep down of his love for you and felt reassured by it. Especially since Satoru never expressed anger towards you. Just patience and love. The white-haired male of course wishes that you never felt anything bad. It’s natural for a lover to want that for their other half but, he’s not going to curse those bad days and make you feel worse. Together, you’ll get through it. That’s how he sees it and if it takes time to slowly ease your mind into that direction; Satoru will go that way and hold your hand.

His large hand continues to stroke along your back, resting back against the various pillows and watches quietly as you sob heavily into his chest, heart quietly clenching at the sight. He wishes he could take the pain away completely. You feel as if your lungs now rattle from how hard you cry, tears both spilling down your clammy cheeks and soaking into his white shirt. Your fingers stay curled up in his shirt, face rubbing pitifully against his chest. It feels so warm and strong. One of the infinite reasons as to why you love this white-haired man. His strength never wavers when he embraces you. You always feel safe, even as you cry. Still, guilt naturally lingers for being a burden.

“I-I’m so sorry, Satoru..” You manage to whine out breathlessly, voice becoming high-pitched, tongue unintentionally licking up the salty tears that lingered on your chapped lips. You have been lacking in self-care today. Satoru hums thoughtfully, hand coming up to push the strands of white hair out of his crystal blue eyes. “Don’t apologise, Y/N. You haven’t done anything wrong. You know that these days will never be a burden to me.” He reassures, voice low and calm. It soothes your soul with ease. Sniffling, you decide to sit up between his spread legs, though one hand refusing to let go of his now wet shirt. Your head stays tilted downwards but it doesn’t stop your boyfriend from leaning in to scatter light kisses across your visage, not bothered by the tears. He knows it will prompt a smile to appear and that’s one baby step in the right direction. You do end up smiling very briefly as his soft tiers ghost against your cheeks, mildly amused by the quiet ‘mwahs’ he leaves with each kiss.

It’s funny, really. Before you met Satoru, during knowing Satoru and being his friend, even now as you’re in love with the tall male and dating him; people always painted him as a man who frankly does not fucking care about people or that he’s utterly oblivious. They see when he’s loud and playful. Yes, sometimes a little immature (deliberate) and cocky but; they refuse to see this side of him, even if it’s directly on a silver platter for them to be exposed to it. Though, you selfishly think of how happy you are to be the only one who gets to see the loving and romantic side of Satoru. Satoru cares. He cares so much for the ones around him. He’s subtle in changing his ways for certain people. Whether it’s to let someone else take the last seat or tiny praises laced in between playful advice. He can be serious or calm when the time calls for it.

You hate that people continue to paint him as a selfish man who thrives off of his own cockiness and talents. Satoru, your boyfriend — Is a human being created with all kinds of shades of colours and each colour deserves to be loved. Cherished. His hands caress along your bare thighs, head tilting as he inspects your face, thankful that you’re not trying to hide anymore. Not through a hoodie or burying against his chest. He does think it’s cute when you do that. He can’t deny it. You’re finally managing to calm down, the tears slowly stopping and not trailing down your cheeks any further. Did thinking about Satoru as a person calm you down once more? It’s not the first time. Ha… You really are lucky to have him. You watch as his lips already begin to curl to form a small grin. It’s infectious because you feel the corners of yours twitch and you have to press your lips firmly together to stop it from happening. Maybe it’s a punishment to yourself. You can’t smile completely yet.

“Look at you, my little love.” Satoru says, large hands coming up to tenderly cup your cheeks, thumbs a bit firm when they rub away the tears. “All out of tears now. It’s all thanks to me for being the best boyfriend with a magical touch, hm?” Satoru jokes lightly to coax that soft giggle out of you and his heart eases at the pretty sound. Your heart practically swells at the pet name he calls you. In the early days when Satoru learned that you’re weak when it comes to pet names, he instantly started to use them. It’s like he uses it as a weapon. Only sometimes. Jokingly. All the time it still feels natural and wrapped in love. You didn’t know that he’s discovered that he adores using them when it comes to you. Especially when your eyes light up in his direction.

“You are the best boyfriend..” You manage to say, voice strained from crying so much. Snot threatens to drip out and it must make you look so unattractive. He doesn’t care. You’ll always be pretty in his eyes. Satoru smiles warmly at your words, playfully shaking his head. “Alright, this is about you. So don’t try to put the focus on me and think this can just slip away… Unless you want it to. I won’t force it.” He sighs, plucking a tissue from the box on the bedside table. You can sense it. He might become a bit agitated if you don’t express your thoughts, even if he’ll politely agree to move on and clearly treat you lovingly… You can already understand why he’d be annoyed. Locking it all up isn’t healthy and he’s been encouraging you for so long to be open with him. He’s not like past lovers so don’t treat him as such. It is true. He’s nothing like them. He may not be perfect if he’d secretly become annoyed but, he’s human. Just like you. On trivial matters, he’d usually whine as his form of complaint but, this is no trivial matter. It’s serious to him; your wellbeing.

“I won’t hide anything from you, Satoru.” You promise, nose scrunching up a little as he wipes it before carelessly tossing the tissue towards the small bin. Naturally, it lands in. He’s Gojo Satoru, after all. You shift to sit cross-legged between his open legs, slightly apologetic that he has to spread his long legs so wide. Satoru isn’t bothered by it. You bring a sleeve up to wipe at your eyes, chewing on your bottom lip. How do you even speak? It feels like the words are lodged in your throat. “It’s just a bad mental day. There’s nothing really behind it. One of those days, I’m sorry..” You trail off and you glance up to see him looking intently at you, arms comfortably crossed against his chest. Satoru isn’t blocking you out and you know that. He tends to position himself like this when he’s listening.

Still, he’s waiting for that one thing. Even with his eyes clouded with warmth for you, you know what he wants to hear. The tiny bit of truth. “Bad mental day, but… I feel guilty. I wanted to hide this from you so I— So I wouldn’t be a burden. Wouldn’t make you tired of me and I’m scared! I’m scared that if... if the bad days happen more, you’ll..” You don’t want to say it out loud. It feels like a knife is lodged in your throat. It might come true.

“Leave you?” Satoru finishes your sentence of worry. Hearing it out loud brings on a wave of nausea and your head falls down, fingers gripping the sheets. The white-haired male’s heart aches to see you so sad and vulnerable. Terrified. Maybe a normal person would feel hurt and offended by their lover having such fears. Complain about their lover having no trust in them. Satoru knows to not see it like that after dating you for a long time. People have thoughts that they can’t control. They’re like intrusive little gremlins ready to happily feast on the brain. Again, what heals is comfort and giving that reassurance. He repeats that to himself as a reminder. To never doubt. Not that he ever would but, it’s better to be safe. Tears threaten to spill again as the guilt bubbles up inside of you for admitting the scary thought. You don’t want to lose Satoru. Not ever.

Satoru sighs softly. You sense it’s not an annoyed sigh. You're sure if you ask, your boyfriend would jokingly say he’s just exhaling air. “Why do you have to sit cross-legged? It makes it hard for me to cling!” Satoru whines, large hands reaching forward to encourage your legs to uncross before he tugs you forward, strong arms wrapping around you once more, gripping firmly as if to show he’s not leaving. You gently nuzzle his shoulder as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m never leaving you. You’re stuck with me for life. Y/N, it’s okay to have bad days. Whether multiple in a row or sporadically. I don’t care about— Well, I mean. I do care. I’ll always care. I just want you to try to remember that you’ll never be a burden. This is never a burden.” Satoru says, keeping his voice soft against your ear.

You pull back a little to look up at him and his hand comes up to cup your cheek, shifting his hand to smooth his fingers across your hair, keeping you in place. “I want to be here with you on your darkest days and so you’ll never be left alone there. As cheesy as it sounds, I’ll be that glimmer of light for you. Just like you are for me. You have no reason to ever feel guilty about moments like these.” He finishes with his arms draped around your figure. A small smile manages to appear, cheek squishing against his shoulder. It doesn’t take much talking from Satoru to bring you comfort. He always knows what to say.

You’re just glad he’s finally home from work. You’ve been feeling so lonely without him. Carefully, you nuzzle against his shoulder before pulling away to look up at him, meeting his crystal blue eyes. It’s then that you notice he still has his sunglasses on, pushed back against his fluffy white hair. You pinch the bridge of the glasses and slide them off to set aside on the bedside table, not wanting to ever block the pair of gorgeous eyes you get lost in daily. “I love you.” You say softly, tilting your head to press a kiss against his wrist as his large hand pauses against your hair.

You watch him slowly form a grin at hearing the words, hand coming down to gently cup your chin. Satoru admires you in silence for a while. Even with a puffy face from crying and lack of sleep, you’ll always look beautiful to him. All his, too. No one else can have you. “I love you, too.” He says, voice filled with loving warmth before he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, not bothered by how chapped they feel. He’ll never pass on the opportunity of kissing you. You both pull away from each other and you can’t help but slump against him, feeling exhausted. It’s funny how you slept through the day between crying sessions and you’re still so tired.

The sight practically kicks a certain side in Satoru to wake up and so he sits up, arms caging you in as he looks down at you between his legs. “Alright, princess. I know you haven’t eaten. How about we order in? Whatever you like. I don’t want to force anything on you but you have to eat, at least.” He says, hand reaching for his phone that’s tucked in his pocket. You puff your cheeks out and look at him. His eyebrows are furrowing out of concern and his lips pouting. It’s hard to say no to him and, well, he is right. Again. “Okay, ramen.” You say, planting a kiss on his cheek. Relief washes over the tall white-haired male, thumb rapid against the screen as he orders your preferred ramen, along with his and a few entrees before he places it down.

“Do you have some energy to shower?” He asks, pausing for a moment before his hands come up in defence, eyes comically wide. “Swear you don’t stink, princess. I just want to take care of you and usually showers make you feel better. If you’re too tired, you can share a shower with me?” He offers with a hopeful glint in his eye. Satoru knows he’s being a little selfish because he enjoys showers with you. You roll your eyes at your boyfriend quickly getting all defensive, somewhat endeared by the fact that he emphasises that you don’t stink. Only Satoru would do that. You really do love him. Every single fibre of his being. His entire existence.

With your heart swelled up with love, you dramatically throw your arms over his shoulder before wrapping them around his neck, smiling. “Only if you carry me. I’m a princess, right?” You giggle softly and instantly, Satoru plants a kiss on your lips. He really can’t resist you. “Typical princess behaviour. You’re lucky I’m such a simp.” He grunts out as he lifts you in his arms with ease, large hands cupping your ass cheeks to hold you up as you wrap your legs around him. You raise an eyebrow at hearing his words, amused to hear the older male use fangirl terms.

It’s the exact thought that prompts your realisation. You don’t feel sad anymore. Not currently, anyway. You look at his gorgeous visage as he carries you to the bathroom, not a single thought of worry about dropping you. Satoru is too strong to do that. You bite back a smile and cling tightly onto your boyfriend as you think to yourself that being around him is healing and good for your heart. You’re determined to do the same for him whenever he feels any sort of negative emotion. No matter what, you’ll love him hard and take care of him like he does for you.

“You’re choking me—“ He rasps out, face scrunching up dramatically before you loosen your arms and smile sheepishly. “Sorry.” You say with a quick peck to his lips. He happily accepts it. Satoru sets you down on the bathroom counter, one hand already unbuttoning his dress shirt to reveal his beautifully toned body. You watch as he adjusts the taps for the shower, seeking the level of warmth that you like and notices you watching him with a dreamy look and smirks in your direction. “What are you thinking, baby?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. You shrug innocently.

“Just that I love you and would do anything for you. Want to always take care of you and make you happy.” You find yourself blabbering out and eyes locking with his. His smirk fades into a smile, endeared by your words. It’s rather comforting to hear. To know that you are here for him just as he is here for you. Satoru extends his hand out for you to take. “You already do that and more. I love you, too. Come on, let’s undress and shower before our comfort food arrives.” He says, wiggling his long fingers to entice you to take hold. You simply smile before taking hold of his hand to pull yourself off of the counter.

Right. It is time to shower with the love of your life.

Life is really good when you have Gojo Satoru as your lover.

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