#YOU DON'T FUCKING UNDERSTAND. THIS IS SO REAL AND TRUE IN MY HEAD
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all slasher killers know and hang out with each other blah blah blah whatever what they don't tell you is all FINAL GIRLS know and hang out with each other nancy thompson and kirsty cotton are pen pals since middle school and ash vs evil dead ash and halloween 2018 laurie go to bingo together. if you even care
#YOU DON'T FUCKING UNDERSTAND. THIS IS SO REAL AND TRUE IN MY HEAD#a nightmare on elm street#hellraiser#evil dead#halloween#nancy thompson#kirsty cotton#ash williams#laurie strode
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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}
Part 5.
Summary: Reader, Oliver, and the mortifying ordeal of being known. Plus clubbing, costume parties, and Oliver being a fucking tease.
{ masterpost }
Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.
Warnings: drinking/intoxication/drug use
A/N: 3148 words. now we're cooking with gas, folks! i might be too sleepy for a real author's note, but just know, as always, its unedited and i love you. have fun, please let me know what you think!
TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)
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"Can I be bold for a minute?" On the roof of one of the dorm buildings, you and Oliver are waiting for Felix. It's twilight, the sky painted lavender by the setting sun and encroaching night, and everything feels a little dreamy.
"If anyone would appreciate boldness, Ollie, it's me," you tell him blithely around the cigarette you're trying to light. Still, he's quiet for this one moment, watching the way you cup your hand around the little flame to shield it from the wind.
"How did you and Farleigh ever get so close, considering how he treats you?"
You're pretty sure you know why he's asking you, considering what few interactions he'd witnessed between yourself and Farleigh, but it's still unexpected coming from him. For a moment, your gaze flicks to him, eyes narrowed, not quite sure what to make of the interaction. When your gaze meets his, he's looking at you with that intent, inquisitive look he got in moments like these, moments he seemed to fish for information without seeming like that was what he was doing. The silence and look that you level at him seem to throw him off guard, and immediately he drops his gaze to his feet, swinging off the edge of the building.
"That is bold," you finally settle on, watching Oliver fidget. His ankles cross, his shoulders slump; again he makes himself as small as possible. You deliberately make your tone lighter when you continue, "what's got you worried 'bout me an Farleigh?"
"I mean, all I'm saying is that he was being nasty to you, but now you're both kind of acting like he wasn't."
It's true; since his apology that Sunday morning Farleigh had been keeping his word about not being too bitter about Oliver to or even around you and Felix. You, in turn, made a special effort to spend time with him, pay him attention, made him feel like your priority on occasion. Both you and Farleigh were well aware of what you were doing, but he always enjoyed your company and attention, so it wasn't like he was going to complain.
"Farleigh and I understand each other."
"He slept with your girlfriend."
"India's not my girlfriend."
"He- he keeps calling you a dog."
That hit a nerve. You hadn't realised he was paying attention to that back at the pub. You swallow hard and look out at the horizon.
"And?" Raising the cigarette to your lips again, you don't look at him as you take a very long drag on it, "there are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," you breathe out with the smoke.
"Doesn't seem like the way friends should talk about each other is all," Oliver says quietly, notes of apology in his voice; you can see him looking at you again out of the corner of your eye.
"Best friend, actually," you finally sigh, letting the tension drop from your shoulders and the moment. As you look at him over your shoulder, you give a faint smile in the face of his confusion, "we've known each other long enough that we can say pretty much anything we want to each other. Only problem is that Farleigh knows that pushing my buttons also pushes Fi's buttons, which is why he does it so often. He's a shit-stirrer, but you haven't known us long enough to know he doesn't really mean it," you tell him with surprising fondness in your voice.
"I'm sorry for prying," Oliver says earnestly, and you smile wider.
"I'm sorry for being so defensive; I realise how it must look from the outside."
Before anything else can be said, the door to the roof bursts open, and Felix greets you both with a hundred-watt smile and a packet of fish and chips in his hands. You descend on him like a seagull, swapping your cigarette for the hot food, tearing into the paper wrapping and settling by the wall at the edge of the roof near Oliver once more.
There's a beat where Felix is watching you and Oliver, his smile soft and fond and endeared, but there's something in his eyes that's been there since that lunched they'd shared at the pub -
"I shouldn't say -" there's a lot of things Felix shouldn't do that he does anyways. Considering his wealth, he could get away with a lack of self control, "I just genuinely didn't know, I mean I might have guessed- did you know?"
"Know what, Fi?" You're still in his bed, bleary-eyed and desperately wanting to go back to sleep when he'd come back from the pub buzzing instead of tired, as he'd predicted.
He'd spent the better part of the afternoon with his head on your chest, explaining the almost Dickensian tragedy that was Oliver's life. Sure you were listening, but you didn't have much to contribute other than faint noises of interest while your fingers carded through his hair.
There's something about the way Felix recounts all this information to you, the way he finds it salacious and heart-breaking all in one. You can hear in his voice that he'd captivated, that he's endeared by the struggle that has followed Oliver throughout his life. As much as you loved him, you'd watched time and again the way he'd fall for tragic tales and the people who'd recount them; Felix had a saviour complex, and it was the only thing the two of you had ever fought about.
Last year it had been Eddie, the worst of the bunch so far. Like Oliver but in the opposite direction; too much, too loud, too confident to hide his ugly secrets and desperation to be wanted. Eddie had been Icarus, taking for granted the wax wings Felix had given him, the good life, attention, a comrade who almost understood him. But he'd played with fire, played with Venetia too many times, and the wax wings melted. Not that you'd cared; you were the one who spotted them, you were the one that told Farleigh, you were the one who listened to Felix's furious rants every few days for the rest of that Summer. You'd never liked Eddie like Felix liked Eddie.
Oliver was different. You wondered if he was different enough.
Still, as much as you liked Oliver you could see it in Felix's eyes, hear it in his voice; he was already getting himself addicted to the idea of how much better he could make Oliver's life. But Felix had hated it the last time you'd pointed something like that out.
("Then why the fuck would I keep you around? Maybe it's because I don't pick my friends based on whether they're charity cases!")
So you keep your mouth shut. Maybe it's worth it for the way Felix smiles -
"I don't -" Oliver's fidgeting when Felix asks him to tag along to a costume party, "have anything to wear, really," he admits. Immediately Felix is offering to let him borrow something. There's a flicker that looks almost hungry in Oliver's eyes amid the gratefulness, and you wonder if he knows how many people would kill to get into Felix's pants. Still, he's humble, "you don't have to do that."
"I don't have to do anything," Felix shrugs with the easiest smile in the world. Then, in the next sentence, completely glossing over the act of kindness he looks at you, "tell me you aren't still expecting Farleigh to commit to that devil costume with you."
"He told me he'd put effort in this year -"
"He tells you that every year," Felix laughs, and you lean into Oliver's shoulder to explain.
"Me and Farleigh always organise to go to one costume party per year as an angel and a devil -"
"And every year," Felix rolls his eyes with a good-natured exasperation, "Farleigh wears some vulgar t-shirt and two party hats for horns, while Y/N puts weeks of effort in and wins best dressed every time-"
"Not every time," you protested, while Oliver looked faintly impressed, leaning back against you too.
"The only times you haven't won best dressed was if there was no competition to win," Felix points out, before looking past you to Oliver with an amused smile, "so I can't promise you a Y/N-level of costume, but it'll be more than two party hats."
"If you wanna give me two party hats, I'll wear 'em," Oliver says, hands coming up as if to placate the both of you. Instead, you grin wider, throwing an arm around his shoulders.
"We'll make you all pretty, Ollie, don't worry."
Unsurprisingly, on the night of the party, Farleigh showed up to 'get ready' at your dorm, which meant him lazing on your bed, drinking and sharing his coke with you while you put arguably too much effort into your makeup. He, of course, is wearing two party hats, and t-shirt that simply says 'EASY', and though you pretend to be annoyed for all of five minutes, he gives a shit eating grin as you chew him out.
"Fool you once, shame on me, sure; fool you six times, that's on you, Y/N."
You flipped him off with a grin.
"There they are!" India cheers from the sofas where your other friends are gathered when you arrive to the party. Farleigh, on your arm, makes a show of his entrance, "not you, Farleigh, obviously." India rolls her eyes, but thankfully Farleigh wasn't too put out. Instead, he swans towards the group to claim a seat.
"Give us a spin, angel," Annabel insists with a coy smile, and you oblige her to the whistles and cheers of the rest of your friends.
"You outdo yourself," Felix told you fondly as you dropped into a beanbag by the sofa he and Oliver had been occupying.
Felix is looking at you, that kind of dangerous look when he thinks you're especially hot and there's only a thirty percent chance that the two of you will even make it to a dark corner. For just a moment, however, your gaze flicks to Oliver, by his side, and he's watching Felix too, absolutely rapt by the way your best friend looks at you.
"Only in comparison to Farleigh," you shake your head, forcing yourself to be Felix's self restraint, especially so early in the night, "besides, look at you; you've certainly grown into this since I last saw you try it on," and you leaned forward as best you could, looking across the circle of friends to the pretty, redhead in the slinky nurse outfit, "how fucking good does Felix look, Annabel?" You ask pointedly, and you can see Felix give a restrained chuckle before turning his attention to his own not-girlfriend, who seemed glad for the chance to gush about him.
Sitting back, you chance a glance once more at Oliver, and somehow aren't surprised to see him looking back at you. All you do is smirk, well aware of what you were doing.
Felix's clothes are too big on Oliver. The costume, though you're not exactly sure what he's meant to be, kind of wears him instead of the other way around. Felix, of course, looks all kinds of gorgeous as a police officer, while Oliver looked rather like he's wearing his big brother's hand-me-downs. But he's rolls up the sleeves and always looks up at Felix with these blue, doe eyes shining with gratefulness, and no-one else cares enough to comment either way.
You wonder if anyone else has noticed, the way Oliver's personality changes with his focus. It's not in large ways, perhaps others think its like a trick of the light, but the way he looks at others, the way he behaves, it seems to vary from person to person. Tactile, distant, closed off, hesitant, open, honest, warm, skittish, never truly the same with each individual. It's like he watches, figures out what people want to hear, what they want from him, and does his best to give it to them. It's almost painfully familiar.
Oliver gives Felix what he wants in a way you know you never can; Oliver gives him someone to help, someone to feel like he's saving. As long as Felix is happy, you tell yourself, that is enough, and it's easy to like Oliver in your own way. The only problem you've found is that as much as you like Oliver, as intrigued as you are by him, you can't quite get a read on him, what he wants, what your place may be in his life. He's always watching, always searching for something, but you're never sure of what.
So you decide to show him love, show him appreciation the way you know best.
More and more you choose to stay by his side when you're all out, at the pub, at clubs, either of you are not with Felix, or if you're not otherwise occupied by someone requesting your attention, you'll be with Oliver.
Tonight, at the club, a girl from town had been occupying Felix's personal space for the better part of an hour, and by the time he has her against a wall down a dark corridor, Oliver's absconded from the dance floor to get another drink, but hasn't returned. You find him skulking against a wall, half drunk pint in his hand, gazing out through the crowd. When you join him, when you follow his gaze, you can see the silhouette of Felix and the girl, his hand up her shirt through the haze.
"It doesn't bother you?" Oliver asks, loud enough to be heard over the music, but not by anyone else.
"The girls don't bother me," an easy, languid smile spreads across your face, "the girls love me," you amend, smile turning a little smug as you watch Felix and the girl whose name you can't even been be bothered to recall.
"Felix's girls?* Ever-hesitant Oliver, even here and now, sounds carefully demure amongst his curiosity, "do you -?" He makes an awkward gesture, but you read his intentions and laugh dismissively.
"No, no... well," you pause for a moment, "occasionally I have my fun, I suppose, but not like that; girls who are into Felix aren't traditionally into me like that, no," you shake your head with an an missed smile, "but that's why they like me, I'm not a threat, see?"
Even through the haze and flashing lights, you can see Felix's hands on the girl; he's warm and rough and the way he holds always feels so fucking secure -
Looking away sharply, you're surprised by how intently Oliver's watching you. Its genuinely startling, and though he seems to understand this but doesn't look away. For just a moment your breathless, caught up in the night and the jealousy and want for your best friend that you usually have much more control over - your own words echo in your head; I'm not a threat, see? A smug lie, a joke at all those poor girl's expenses since you knew they were never going to last.
Oliver's gaze burns when you finally look him squarely in the eyes; he knows.
"I get the impression people assume a great many things about our Felix," he wets his lips, casting his gaze to darkened hallway, to where you had seen Felix with his mouth on the neck of his girl of the night, but you can't look away from him. Our Felix. "And about you."
"And you?" Your tongue darts out, wetting you lips as you draw Oliver's attention back to you, tone flirty. There's something exhilarating about this man that you can't help but want to tease out.
"Not much to assume," he gives a faint smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "I'm more the observant type than one whose observed."
"You make the assumptions."
"I make the assumptions," he actually smirks, a bit of that usual gentle hesitation that he approached the world with slipping for just a moment.
"And?"
"And what?"
"Do you have a lot of assumptions about Our Felix?" You tease his earlier wording, but once again his gaze drifts to your best friend, if he still is in the crowd. Them, quieter, almost as if you don't mean to you murmur, "or me?"
"Had."
"Had?"
"Had a lot of assumptions," there's a kind of mischief in his eyes as his tone takes on an air of nonchalance, "'bout him, 'bout you too." As he speaks, you step towards him, hand on his arm, moving steadily higher. He can feel it, you know he can, but all he does is smile wider, refusing to break your gaze.
"Like what, Oliver Quick?"
Leaning in, Oliver takes your face in his hands, bringing you close, sharing breath, lips inches from his.
"Like how they write Odysseys about your kind of loyalty," he mumbled, and you feel like his gaze alone could swallow you whole. There's a aching, yearning that you feel in this moment, when you crush your lips to his. It's quick and desperate, and he pulls back, "like how you show love with every fuckin' bit of that body of yours," this time he pulls you in and it's rougher, it's needy, he bites at your lip and you whimper against his mouth, press yourself against him, "like-" he kisses you quickly, "like- like-" but as you find yourself trailing rough kisses down his jaw, he seems to lose his train of thought.
"Yes?" You prompt with a laugh.
"Like how you're desperate to feel needed."
"Observant," you tell him softly, raising your head, arms still around him. In this moment, his expression is open, watching you, waiting for you to react, "more observant than anyone else."
"You wear it on your sleeve, sweetheart," he says bluntly, but something about being seen, about his unwavering honesty, that sets your heart beating, burning in your chest. Or perhaps it's that he called you sweetheart; it's rare that someone is so sweet to you.
"Then need me, want me."
"I do," this time when he kisses you, it's gentle, full of warmth and unexpected love, and the way he holds you close makes you feel so precious and desired at once, "but not like this, not now." And he's letting you go, despite the way your lips tingle and the damn butterflies in your stomach. You desperately want to cling to him, to ask him what the fuck he means, but he kisses you on the forehead and tells you to get back safe, wearing an almost smug, knowing smile, disappearing into the crowd. You can't even go after him, he's made you damn weak in the knees and all you can do is lean against the wall for support.
Felix and his girl have disappeared.
Your friends are still living it up on the dance floor, you're sure, but you have only one thought on your mind.
Oliver Quick is a fucking tease.
#felix catton x reader x oliver quick#saltburn x reader#felix catton x reader#saltburn imagine#felix catton imagine#felix catton x y/n#felix catton x you#oliver quick x reader#head heart hand fic#oliver quick x you#oliver quick imagine#manic writer
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Be honest: do you think there are femboys who aren't just eggs?
Yes, and tbh I resent that their existence is questioned so much. And I know this is gonna be considered a Bad Take by many people I've fostered a community with, so uh. Yeah.
As a former femboy, and current dykey/tomboyish trans woman, gender nonconformity within your actual gender is an essential part of a trans or genderqueer identity. In a lot of ways, my transition goals are the inverse of being a femboy- I'm going from a feminine man to a masculine woman. And yet, the trans community doesn't question my feminimity as a masculine woman in the same places where many people would question the masculinity of a feminine man. And don't even get me started on where NB identities fit into all of this. This is largely coming from the same place where people are okay with women wearing pants, but men or AMABs in general wearing skirts is Bad (tm).
Like don't get me wrong. The caricature of the Bad Trans pushing all the femboys to become eggs is a wildly overexaggerated, and I've met many, many femboys online that used that caricature to excuse rampant transphobia. But. I hate that there's a but. But.... I literally experienced it myself many times during my femboy days, especially online. Here's a short list:
-Had a transmed bombard me with harassing messages and comments on reddit telling me that I was a "fencesitter" and I just needed to "fucking transition already and stop making trans people look bad"
-Had a trans woman I knew irl shove an estradiol pill in my face, and try to order me to take it, in front of a group of people I wasn't even fully comfortable presenting as a femboy to, until she was eventually asked by someone else to stop.
-Had several comments indicating that I should be force femmed in femboy subreddits
-Had many, many DMs trying to tell me I was a "failed man" that should just transition already
And to clarify- all of this is so, so mild compared to transphobia that myself and others face. But it is a very real thing that happens. To many femboys, I think this is the first time they've received any kind of queerphobia or questioning of their identity, so it feels far worse in their heads than it really actually is. And, to be fair, I think it mostly happens from the more gender binary minded cis community than it comes from trans people- but as I've said, I've had it coming from trans women both irl and online.
I've also tangentially noticed that it seems to be transmed adjacent. Not saying that this anon is, or others who try to encourage femboys to explore their gender, but there certainly is a correlation. If its difficult for you to acknowledge cis gender nonconformity, then its easy to see that extending to a lack of understanding of nonbinary people or others with different trans experiences.
Every time one of these things happened, it didn't put me any closer to transition. It made me feel unsafe. It made me feel on the spot, and scared, and almost outed.
I've said this before, and I'll say it again- if you want historical parallels to femboys, we have a perfect example in drag. Drag is performative, over the top femininity that has become its own artform, style, and means of expression in a way that is intrinsically tied to gender nonconformity. Being a femboy is also all of those things. And guess what? Many drag queens have used it as a way to explore their own gender and realize that they're trans. There are also many who are cis, and remain confident in that identity. Is the percentage of trans people among people who have done drag at some point higher than the general population? Of fucking course- its one of the few places where exploring gender is encouraged and celebrated. Of course trans people flock to that. And the exact same thing is true of femboys. Are a higher proportion of femboys trans or eggs than the general population. Of course. It's a great venue for trans people to explore their identities. But even more of them are
Am I saying you're a bad person if you encourage femboys and gender nonconforming people to consider the possibility that they're trans? Of fucking course not. It was the gentle, affirming pressure with respect and care for my comfort levels from several incredible trans women I know irl that eventually made me confident enough to start HRT. Their continually support is a key factor in my social transition plans for the future. I needed that pressure, and I think everyone, including people who aren't actively engaging in gender nonconformity, needs some push to question their gender and start unlocking cis+. But to be blunt, questioning whether cis femboys even exist is not gentle, comfortable, and affirming pushes.
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Making out with True form!Sukuna while his mouth tongue eats you out then tongue fucks you……i need him so bad😩
SUKUNA mOUTHS.. AgHH YOU SO FUCKING REAL!! YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I THINK ABOUT THEM!!
cw: suggestive! nsf/w! trueform!Sukuna!
Honestly, as much as Sukuna treats sex as its intended purpose, splitting your cunt in half on his cock and filling you with cum, Sukuna is also a self-declared pussy man. Whether that be stuffing it with both dicks, fingering you till you've got his monstrous fingers wrinkled, or best of all, mouth-fucking you. Cause Sukuna is ravenous, and your taste is his favourite.
Best part about Sukuna is he has.. Multiple mouths. Sharp toothed each and terrifying to any other mortal whose best bet is to be his dinner served like a pig roast, if not ripped apart by his claws and jaws. For you though? It's his most favourable asset. Thick tongue(s) constantly all over you, especially shoved between your thighs licking you till you're slick.
Any day to all day Sukuna keeps you around him, cumming on his tongues. It's always for his own gratification funnily enough, as selfishly arrogant as he is towards his own pleasure, he doesn't actually need to be touched to be satisfied, it's the sight of your pleasure that gets him off more.
"It's just my hand, why're you squirming?" He'll tease, his head above yours, licking over your jaw then lips and using his nearest arm to hold your head in place while he shoves his tongue into your throat. Large wet muscle on his palm also shoving into your cunt at the same time. Poking and wriggling in your gummy walls while you spasm against it, and moan into his lips.
"You taste fuckin' delightful," He laughs into your mouth, tasting your slick in his hand from the mouth-hand fucking your pussy till it's creaming all over his palm. Glaring in delight at the way your face twists in onslaughts of orgasm as he kisses you through it.
Don't even get me started on his stomach-mouth man… Shamelessly makes you ride it when he's too lazy to pull out his cock. ALL THE TIME.
#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna smut#ryomen sukuna smut#ryomen sukuna x you#fem reader#jjk x reader#true form sukuna#trueform!sukuna#asks!#thirsts!
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so for my bday ficcc i have two ideas
idea number one: male reader is based on my demon oc. basically personality wise they very sassy and flirty. kinda a bitch ass ho. idc who u pair it with imma be real. it could be ghost, soap or or price. or like batman. he summons them n junk
idea number 2:
polycule ghost, soap x male reader. male reader is a smart dumbass. like they’re an airhead all of the time minus work. they’re a colonel but honestly dumb as shit outside of work. obvious as hell.
if u want more ideas i can tell u love u mwahhhhh
A/n: Hey Webbie!! Happy birthday!! (Or late birthday depending on when I get this out) decided to go with option 2 kay? also i didnt know how to end this- fight me-
Idiot Boyfriend
Poly!GhostSoap x airhead!male!reader
( summary: Ghost reflects on how he fell in love with two dumbasses )
Warnings?: swearing, mentions of alcohol, talks of guns and violence, reader being a dumbass
!-!more under the cut!-!
Ghost sighed as he watched you chase Gaz around base. He'd apparently tickled you which you saw as a threat, immediately taking off to get your revenge. Hearing a laugh beside him Ghost turned, seeing an amused Soap who was also watching your silly antics. "Go get 'em sweetheart!" He cheered you on and Ghost groaned. "Don't encourage 'em Johnny," "Why not? This is a funny sight," He smirked, sitting next to Ghost, his head instinctually falling onto the taller mans shoulder.
Ghost rolled his eyes as he watched you trip, Gaz stopping to laugh at you. "Oh damn, think he's alright Lt?" Soap asked only to get silence as a response. "Lt?" Ghost had heard him, though he was too busy wondering why he was even with such an airhead anyway. He'd already been dating one headache why did he feel the need to worsen his pain with another.
When he'd first met you he was already with Soap, their relationship being monogamous at the time. Though that was more of a suggestion than set in stone. Maybe it was the fact that the first time he'd met you- you were choking some guy out with the power of your thighs alone that'd intrigued him. Either way you'd easily clicked with Soap after meeting him, and after exchanging war stories and silly jokes with the two men all day they both knew at the end of it that they liked you. Initially, it wasn't going to go anywhere but Soap was the one who suggested adding you to their little relationship. Ghost was hesitant at first, not because he didn't like you but because he wasn't sure if you liked him.
You'd obviously liked Soap, romantically or not you both clicked immediately, but for some reason for Ghost it was so hard to read you on your feelings for him. Sure you were polite out of respect but could it ever go deeper than that? He knows sometimes his dark humor can fall flat and his stoic tone doesn't help either. Soap had reassured him that he had a charm that couldn't be beat, but of course he'd say that. You and him clicked so easily, you both told terrible jokes and fucked around when you shouldn't. You both had a mutual love for explosives and beer and karaoke and had this natural bond he could only wish for with you. After talking about it they sort of dropped it for a few weeks but it was clear that Soap had liked you and he could understand why. Especially after what he considers the true turning point for him.
It was a pretty normal night on base, everyone asleep in their barracks, everyone except Ghost. He often had nights like these where sleep was the last thing on his mind, memories plaguing his brain as he fought desperately to think of anything else. He would wake up Johnny, tell him about the bad thoughts, but he really needed the sleep after the last mission they'd been on. So he thought to deal with it alone, going into the kitchen to hopefully find a stashed bottle whisky to drown his sorrows for the night. Only upon entering he found you, leaning against the counter, pouring yourself a freshly brewed pot of coffee. You both locked eyes, a mutual understanding flooding you both as you held out the warm pot, asking silently if he'd join you. He, of course, was hesitant but had nothing better to do. So he grabbed a mug from the cabinet and watched as you poured his coffee, black.
You'd both sat in silence for some time before you asked quietly why he was up. He told the truth, nightmares, but didn't go into much detail understandably. You hummed, replying with the same answer when he'd asked you a similar question. Your jokey manner was all but lost in this moment, at least for a second. You'd asked him to talk about his nightmares with you, saying that it'd be better than him just holding everything in all the time. He didn't expect it, but you were so easy to talk to. Just the smallest amount of convincing and he did what you asked. That night you both shared the stories of your nightmares with each other. You comforted him, gave him advice and told him things he definitely needed to hear. Him ranting only got the ball rolling as he found himself sitting on the common room couch with you simply talking about anything and everything, your company in the now silent base was warming. You'd even laughed at his horrid jokes, throwing back a few that he's now added to his growing roster of dark humor. He hadn't felt like this since...well...Johnny. As the sun rose and light cracked through the curtains he couldn't help but feel a little glad that he'd gotten to spend time with you. That night alone showed him he did have a natural connection with you. You understood him in ways he didn't even think you could. He found you also shared his insomnia episodes, his love for dogs and specific guns, his respect of stealth and going at it alone on missions.
When he saw Soap later that day he nonchalantly added that he's now considering asking you to join their relationship, and he couldn't help but replicate the smile on Soaps face.
One which he held now.
"Lt?" Soap glanced up at Ghost, noticing the slight crinkle in his eye and the small indent underneath his cloth balaclava. To anyone else he'd look completely normal right now, but Soap knew that those miniscule signs meant that he was smiling. Smiling at you as you groaned on the floor. Closing his eyes, Ghosts shoulders bounced in a silent laugh before he moved to stand, Soap following him with his eyes before realizing where he was going, and moving to go to you too.
Rolling on your back, you huffed, the cold floor on your rear as you stared up at the blinding white flood lights that shone down on you. Only they were blocked by a shadow, then two, the smiling faces of your boyfriends stood over you. "Need a hand sweetheart?" Soaps Scottish accent filled your ears and you couldn't help the small smile that found it's way to your face. Reaching out with both hands you grabbed onto one of each of theirs, laughing as they hoisted you up with ease. You felt Ghost pat your back before his arm wrapped itself around you. Looking at him you noticed the small smile beneath his mask and reciprocated his action, now committing to a full side hug. You just held each other there before Soap joined in, now you held both of your boyfriends in your arms. You rocked back and forth between them, your chase with Gaz momentarily forgotten as you accepted this newer task of being held.
Only momentarily though as Gaz came back into view you suddenly remembered what you were doing before this, your glare being set on his form. "Garrick!" You yelled and he ran again, you moved to chase him but the hands of ghost didn't seem to want to let you go. "No you don't, come on, we're leaving." "Awww but Simon come on-" you groaned, "I'm starving." He stated bluntly, practically dragging you away from the scene as Soap laughed at your pouting face, following the two of you to the kitchen.
Ghost simply listened as you began ranting about some random show that you and Soap had been watching, allowing you to completely forget about the Gaz thing as you got distracted by your own thoughts again. He watched as you and Soap recounted a particular episode that seemingly got on your nerves as it ended on a cliff hanger, silently smiling once again as he relished in the company of his two idiot boyfriends.
----!----
( HAPPY BIRTHDAY WEB I HOPE YOU LIKE YOU BIRTHDAY FIC SEXY !!! )
Thanks for reading! Have a great day/night!!
My requests are CLOSED !!
See my DIRECTORY for upcoming fics!
Masterlist
#prismuffin#“cause I'm an idiot and I'm ya boyfriend yes I am”#x male reader#male reader#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#ghostsoap#ghostsoap x reader#ghostsoap x male reader#cod mw2 x reader#cod ghost#cod soap#ghost x male reader#soap x male reader#simon ghost riley x male reader#john soap mactavish x male reader#john soap mctavish x male reader#simon ghost riley x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#mw2 x reader#cod mw2 imagine#cod mw2 x male reader#simon riley x male reader#simon riley x reader#poly ghostsoap#poly ghostsoap x reader#poly ghostsoap x male reader#soapghost#ghost x soap x reader#ghost x soap
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Sweet
Pairing: Dark!teammate!Max Verstappen x reader
Tw: NC, purity ring, smut, reader is 18, Max is 25, idk what else
Based on this request!
Max just couldn't understand how someone as nice, caring and dumb like you got into one of the most dangerous sport. After getting tired of racing in NASCAR, and almost retiring from motosport, Christian Horner saw the opportunity and got you a seat as their reserve driver.
Nobody thought it would go well, racing in such a different category and skipping all the previous steps to F1, it was just failure in plain sight. But when Daniel Ricciardo, their second driver broke one of his bones and you got in the seat, it was amazing. You loved Danny, he was so funny and such and amazing coworker who loved to tease you.
"What's that ring you got there?" He asked wiggling his brows, making the blood rush to your cheeks, you weren't ashamed of anything, it was a part of your identity, but something about him asking that in front of Max, who you knew would make fun of you, made you blush.
"Mmm, it's a purity ring" you stared at the floor.
"Oh, that's cool" he said smiling.
"A purity ring?" Max scoffed "what time are we in? In the 1800?" He laughed leaving you to deal with the shame in the form of prickling tears in your eyes.
"Not cool mate" Daniel shaked his head.
"Not cool how she's so proud of that thing, like everybody else is worse than her" he shrugged.
You rushed out of the garage, the word shame wasn't enough to describe how you felt right now.
Walking to the McLaren's garage, you saw Lando, changing your path towards the brit.
"Hey sweet" he hugged you sideway.
"Hey Lan" you smiled.
"Want to help me take some pictures?".
"Sure, would love to"
------------
Making your way back to your garage to finally get ready to race, starting to feel anxious about facing your teammate again.
You never felt ashamed of your ring, but it was itching in your finger, begging to be taken off and be hidden.
Looking to both sides you decided to take it off and save it on your pocket, finally reaching your side of the garage to start getting ready.
"Good luck sweet" Daniel said, bumping his fist with yours, frowning when he saw your naked finger.
"Thanks Danny, I wish you could be racing in my place" you said hugging him, needing the comfort of your friend.
"Well, I dont, you're going to do great".
------------
In fact, it went amazing, taking your first win on the Monza track? A dream come true, except for the part when you had to face Max again, breaking his almost record wasn't in your plans.
Showering and hiding away in your driver's room was the best idea on your mind. Not having to face your furious teammate.
Well it was a good idea, till he opened the door that you didn't lock well.
"Fucking hiding from me? Not even going to apologize for what you did?" Max was towering over you, looking down at you from your place on the sofa.
Starting to tremble a little, not liking how mean he was being "I'm sorry Max, I really didn't mean to" you hugged yourself "But I'm happy I won, it's my first win" you whispered the last part.
"And why should I care? You fucking ruined my record!" You flinched at his raising voice, not being used to be yelled at "You pretend to be so nice and sweet, but then you go and ruin everything for me, and I don't even get a real sorry? You are a bitch" he spat.
"I'm not!" You said standing in front of him "I've been nothing but nice to you, I don't know what you want from me" you saw his face change, frowning and a twisted smile appearing.
"Apologize" he said "You're not a dumb kid that doesn't know how to say sorry, you're fucking 19"
"No, I wasn't wrong, you don't deserve it" you shaked.
"Seat" he demanded.
"Wh-"
"Stop playing dumb, you heard me" he pushed you down "Going to teach you how to say I'm fucking sorry"
You watched in horror how he started to undo his jeans, trying to stand again, failing when he bloked you.
"Be nice" he growled "Open your mouth"
"No, go away Max" you cried.
"Open" he said squeezing your cheeks with his hand, hurting you till you gave in, his fingers pressing down on your tongue, letting you taste your own tears "If you bite me, it would be worse, be nice, like you always are, okay?" When you didn't respond he got his face closer to yours "Okay?" Shaking your head 'yes' to reply his demand.
Finally taking his aching cock out of his tight jeans, proding at your lips "Open" he said once more, smiling when you did as he said "That's it, sweet, so good" you flinched hearing your nickname coming from his mouth.
He started to fuck your mouth at a slow pace, moaning quietly "Fuck, relax, breath through your nose and you would stop choking sweet" he told you with a sigh, keeping his moves going "That's it, much better" he caressed your hair, making you cry even more pushing at his thighs, he pulled out.
"You got what you wanted Max, please go away now" you cried.
"Oh sweet, I just started" he chuckled "Take your pants off" he kissed you cheek "And put the ring back on" watching you fish the ring from your pocket, putting it on and freezing, he sighs "come here" he said pulling you by the loop on your jeans, taking it off himself.
"Max, please, stop" you whispered, trying to cover yourself.
He didn't listen to you, putting his hands on the back of your thighs pulling you on top of him.
"Please, I'm not going to said anything, I swear" you cried.
"Put your hands on my shoulder" he ignored you again, kissing you while moving your panties to the side, thrusting inside you little by little, not letting go of your lips.
------------
The next day, arriving to film some content for the team, you went to say hi to Daniel.
"Hey" you hugged him.
"Why the fuck does Max have your ring on a fucking chain?".
------------
A/N: Hellooo, more dark content bc is never enough, hope you enjoy it, love yall🤍
#max verstappen smut#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#dark!max verstappen#max verstappen x oc
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Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 2.1
Cynthia and John are worse and crazier for admitting what they admitted in the bio. But Jane and Paul are not exempt.
Will forever love this pic of Paul and Julian. He does not look like the fun uncle. He looks tired and dependable. Just stepped out of the womb as a father, didn't he? The sperm that fertilized his egg probably passed some fatherly advice and hair tussles to the other sperm as it passed them.
They should've bought the fucking island.
They never look more like a couple than when the women they're actually dating are right next to them.
The India footage actually looks so beautiful. Obviously it's a beautiful place, but they all genuinely look so free and at peace there. It really could've been so good for them. Getting enlightened, getting soberish, growing closer as a band, taking a much-needed rest. It should've been good.
The music choices in this documentary! The drastic shift from, “all you need is love” and “the dream I had was true” and “I don't need much to set me free.” to Paul leaving to “yes I'm lonely. Wanna die.” “I'm going insane.” “Look at me. Who am I supposed to be?” 8d8 psychic damage. And the thing is it's real. John really did flip a switch, just like that.
Smashing my head into a wall. It's the same as Yoko's quote about how ‘nobody hurt John more than Paul.’ Really Pete? Worse than after his mum died? Really Yoko? More than that drunk cop? Paul, what the fuck did you do to him in India, seriously, because at this point in the doc I can't accept the theory that it was just some lack of communication, I just can't.
It's also telling to me that when John's losing it, everyone's solution is some time alone with Paul. Nobody panic. Paul can fix him. Little do they know Paul's the one that broke him. Or maybe they do know and that's only another reason they know Paul's the only man for the job?
Old-fashioned ad voice: You liked Protective Jesus Scandal Paul? You'll love Protective LSD Scandal John! Really. Before the question is even out, he's making fun of it. I think he cuts off the interviewer at least three times with jokes before he can get the sentence out, and by the time he is, Paul's giggling too hard to feel bad about his little PR fuck-up.
Then he lets Paul talk a bit before jumping back in, this time with his Hard Man suit on. It's just so good. A testament to their unconditional love, really. Because, clearly, Paul's just hurt John pretty bad. And yet, here John is. Using every trick he's got to defend his friend.
But actually, though John is supposedly the one everyone's worried about, Paul's doing a pretty shit job of being the “stable” one. This entire press tour he's either fucking blazed and laughing at everything or disassociated and not contributing.
(((except during that political discussion – again! Paul secretly has actual thoughts on actual things?!)))
But for the most part, John's absolutely holding down the fort. I wonder if this is another case of everyone – all their friends and business associates, just like we as a fandom still do now – assuming John is the problem child, and Paul's the strong one, but actually they're both both.
Back to the political interview. They're just so in sync. Finishing each other's sentences when you're talking about the weather or your shared work is one thing. Finishing each other's sentences on complex topics like why poor whites often vote bigots in or the cause of rampant misinformation is quite another.
“Letting his dad cut his hair at sixteen, seventeen.” You all know that John hates Jim quote.
John: so there's war, and vegetables. There's relativity and absolute. Paul (absolutely smitten): that's great Johnny. Int: that's rather hard for people to interpret. John: well if they can't interpret it now, maybe they will later..... 1. John really was extremely intelligent. 2. That last statement sums up Beatles historiography.
Paul really just Won't be alone with John, will he? Well, two can play at that game, Paul, and John's going to win, let me tell you.
But he's going to do one last panic grab for attention first.
I really do think if John had done something like that *before* Paul would've given him that attention. Told him he's being insane and taken him home to splash some cold water on him or something and then given him whatever softness Paul was capable of. But not anymore.
I wonder if Paul could go back to 1966 if he just wouldn't have taken John to that Indica show where he met Yoko. If he would've just said “okay John, sure, let's just stay home and trip on the couch tonight.” I don't know.
Anyway, Yoko gets an A+ for persistence. Imagine being Paul, George, or Ringo, though, and John is suddenly madly in love with this woman whose been begging you all (and then him specifically) for a platform for over a year? It would be weird to say the least.
John: don't you hate me? I'm crazy, you know. Paul: no I don't hate you. John: aren't you pissed at me now, Paul? Even a little bit? Paul: I'm very proud of you. It's the unstoppable force (“Don't ‘nore me, Mimi!”) vs the immovable object (“I learned to put a shell around me”.) Someone get them some professional help before they nuke the whole world.
“There is, however, a desire to get power in order to use it for good.” One of those quotes that just really lets you see a person, you know? Benevolent dictator Paul.
Yoko, why are you talking about how bad your boy doesn't want to fuck you right in front of all his closest friends and on record for posterity? If you have to be talking about your sex life, shouldn't you be lying about how insanely horny he is for you? Oh, right, she will think of that, just not yet.
And then she waxes poetic about how turned on John is when he's working on music with Paul. Cool. Smart. Thanks for that, though, genuinely.
And Then (gosh, Yoko is such an asset to Beatles history when she's not actively spreading misinformation. Everyone give her a hand) she goes on about how Paul goes out of his way to make her feel respected and even valued. Compare that to John and Linda, anyone? And I want to be clear, I'm not saying this means John cares too much and Paul doesn't care at all, which might be the surface read. I just think John's reaction was to scream in everyone's face that he was in pain and Paul's was to insist ad nauseam that he was fine. You know?
#paul mccartney#the beatles#john lennon#mclennon#ringo starr#george harrison#yoko ono#linda eastman#ulm#understanding lennon mccartney
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allure. — roymen sukuna☆
pairing. True form, lord!Sukuna. Fem!reader.
Warnings. Misogyny. sexism. spanking. m!masturbation. sukuna being sukuna. he is still a big meanie. slut shaming. lil lord/king kink. sukuna is strong and manly and yummy
word count. 1.5k
notes. so sorry bbgs on the late chapter!!! hope this makes up for it !!
ch. three.
Sukuna muttered angrily, his frustration boiling over as he trailed behind you after your dramatic exit. The humiliation in front of his friends had ignited a fire within him. He couldn't understand why you were making such a fuss.
As he reached his bedroom, he realised the door was locked. He knocked impatiently.
"open the door, little girl."
You failed to respond, prompting him to knock once more. This time, he pressed his ear against the door, catching the sound of your soft cries.
How adorable.
"Y/N, open this fucking door or I'll break it down," he declared firmly, exerting his dominance over you. And it worked. The door clicked as it unlocked, slowly swinging open.
Sukuna stood tall, his imposing figure towering over you, his intense red eyes piercing into your very soul. You could sense his anger, his disappointment.
He pushed you inside and locked the door behind him.
"You're utterly pathetic, aren't you?" Sukuna sneered, his voice deep and husky. He advanced towards you, causing you to stumble back.
In an instant, he seized your wrist, forcefully raising it up. "Typical women, always complaining when they don't get what they want," he spat, shoving you against the nearest wall.
His knee slid between your trembling thighs, eliciting a gasp from you. "Shut your mouth," Sukuna snapped, gripping both of your wrists and pinning them against the wall.
As he noticed tears streaming down your cheeks, his other hand reached out to wipe them away. "Is it just because you couldn’t touch me?" he chuckled, mocking your vulnerable state.
You shook your head, attempting to speak but failing. Sukuna grabbed your face, his grip firm. "Tell me," he demanded.
With a gulp, you managed to stammer, "Y-you made me feel used."
He pushed you away, only chuckling in response. He rubbed the temples of his forehead and sighing before sitting on your now shared bed. Sukuna looked into your eyes, you were only new to this, you didn’t know how this worked.
“And what do you believe your duties as a wife are? Merely to sit there and look pretty?" Sukuna spoke, making you feel stupid.
Your heart raced, a part of you yearned for him to treat you like a real wife, to care for you. But you knew deep down that it was just a fantasy, something you could only dream about when you closed your eyes at night.
"You exist to be used, to be touched. I am the King, and I can do whatever I damn well please with my wife," he growled, his words dripping with dominance.
His intense gaze bore into your soul. Sukuna's hand tapped his knee, urging you to come closer. Without hesitation, you followed his command. "Tch, crawl, you slut," he commanded.
You were taken aback, your eyes widening in surprise. "I said crawl, don't make me repeat myself," Sukuna snarled, his impatience evident.
Feeling foolish, you dropped to your hands and knees, crawling towards your husband. He smirked, clearly amused by the sight of you. Eventually, you stopped and sat on your knees in front of him, locking eyes with him.
"Because you insist on acting like a brat, I have no choice but to treat you as one," Sukuna sneered.
"But you know, I don't want to, little one. You're still so new to all of this, I can tell. But as your husband, it's my duty to show you what's right," you nodded, determined to be his good girl once again.
"I'll teach you how to pleasure me properly, and then you'll receive your punishment. Understood?" he questioned.
"Yes, my Lord," you replied obediently.
Sukuna slowly began to remove his kimono, revealing his naked form. Your eyes drank in the sight of his chiselled abs, strong arms, and thick thighs. It was enough to make you weak at the knees.
Your gaze eventually landed on his cock. It was a sight to behold, with a flushed red tip and delicate veins tracing its length.
He took hold of his member, his voice dripping with authority. "This is how you please your King."
Sukuna's tip glistened with wetness, oozing with anticipation. The temptation to touch him, to bring him pleasure and make him release, was almost unbearable.
Slowly, he began to stroke himself, his low moans filled the air, his grip on his cock firm and unyielding. Unable to contain yourself, you whimpered, your lips forming a pout.
"Did I give you permission to speak, slut?" His gaze bore into you, his hand never ceasing its movements. You shook your head, your eyes cast downward. "Fuck, look at me, need to see your eyes, princess" he commanded.
Princess?
The pet name sends a surge of desire straight to your core, leaving you dripping with need. Meeting his gaze, you saw the hunger and lust burning within his eyes. His hand quickened its pace, more pre-cum spilling onto his fingers. Sukuna's moans grew louder, more desperate. "Ah, fuck," he gasped.
His crimson eyes locked onto yours, his hips thrusting into his own hand. "You like watching me stroke my cock slut, Yeah? I know you fucking do" he growled.
The sight before you was mesmerising. Your King pleasuring himself, causing your mind to blur with desire. You craved him, yearned for him.
“Bet that pussy is so wet f’me” Sukuna moaned, “fuck, lemme see”
Leaning back, you slowly revealed your body, pulling your kimono up to your hips. His eyes were fixated on your cute little panties, but you knew he wanted more. "Oh, look at that, I can see a wet spot right there," he exclaimed, pointing to your clothed clit.
"Take them off for me," he demanded, and without hesitation, you slide your panties down, exposing your bare pussy to Sukuna's hungry gaze.
"Such a pretty fucking pussy" Sukuna moaned, his hand moving faster along his cock. You could sense his climax approaching, his movements becoming erratic. "gonna cum, s-shit, gonna cum, spread that pussy, princess."
Eager to please him, your fingers delicately spread your labia open. Sukuna let out a primal groan as he released his load, calling out your name in ecstasy. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming.
"That's how you please your King," Sukuna smirked, his satisfaction evident. "Now, strip."
Without hesitation, you shed every piece of clothing, revealing your naked body inch by inch. “Lay down on my lap," he commanded, his dominance palpable.
Your body rested against his knees, your chest pressed firmly against them while your hand clenched the sheets, trembling with fear of the impending punishment. Suddenly, a light slap landed on your ass.
"Gonna have to smack the fuck outta this ass to make you act right, dont i?" he playfully taunted, his hands gently kneading your cheeks.
"I miss my good girl, you know? You're gonna be my good girl again after this right?" he said with a slight pout. You nodded in agreement, eager to gauge his reaction to your actions.
In response, he let out a low hum and said, "Count for me."
Without warning, he raised his hand and delivered a sharp slap to your backside, causing you to cry out and your hips to involuntarily jerk.
Again and again, he continued to strike your ass relentlessly. "That's five, fuck," you gasped, feeling the sting intensify with each hit.
His voice dripped with venom as he spat, "This is what you get for embarrassing me, disobeying me, belittling me." The room filled with his cursed energy, reminding you of the wicked and vile King he truly was. "I'm sorry, my Lord," you pleaded through tears.
Sukuna laughed sadistically at your state. "Be a good slut and take your punishment."
Suddenly, he ceased his assault, his hands now gently caressing your reddened cheeks. "Stand up," he commanded.
You complied, tears streaming down your face, standing naked before him. "There she is, my good girl," he remarked, a twisted sense of satisfaction in his voice.
He rose to his feet, his touch tender as he cupped your face, his thumb softly stroking your cheeks. "Go clean yourself up for me and get ready for bed," he instructed.
To your surprise, he smiled at you, actually smiled, before lightly kissing your cheek. He chuckled darkly and left the room.
Resting your head against the soft silk pillow, you curled up into a comfortable ball, yearning for sleep. However, slumber eluded you as you eagerly awaited your husband's arrival to join you.
The maids had adorned you in a delicate pink ensemble - the top barely concealing your boobs and the bottoms teasingly revealing your curves. With closed eyes, your thoughts wandered to Sukuna - reminiscing about the way he delighted in his own pleasure and how he would punish you. The mere memory sent shivers down your spine.
Suddenly, the door creaked open - Sukuna had arrived.
Pretending to be asleep, you felt a sense of anticipation as he approached. The back of his hand gently caressed your cheek, his voice barely audible as he whispered, "my sweet girl," assuming you were in slumber's embrace.
The bed dipped as Sukuna settled beside you, his strong arms encircling your waist while his other hand played with your hair. A rare sense of peace washed over you, a feeling so unfamiliar yet comforting.
Sukuna's chest pressed against your back, his warm breath tickling your neck. He placed a tender kiss upon it, whispering, "goodnight princess."
#jjk smut#jjk sukuna#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#jujutsu sukuna#ryomen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna#sukuna ryomen#sukuna ryomen smut#sukuna ryomen x reader
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Cremate me in your arms
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna x afab! brown reader
Too much confidence and simping has led to this second part. And I hope to do it justice. The following fic features an established relationship so to understand the dynamics and origins, find the first part here.
Minors, DNI. Word count: 4k
CW: generalized themes of death, murder and the likes, established relationship, dub-con, sex with Sukuna's true form, breast play, PIV, creampie, oral (m! receiving), mutual orgasms, worship, devotion, insecurity, jealousy, arguments, breeding kink, pregnancy, major character death, mention of sati (the ancient Hindu ritual of the very alive, and likely young, wife walking into the funeral pyre of her dead husband)
it gets really dark and angsty towards the end; i'm sorry
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who is astounded by how well you take his true form. He stuffs you with one of his cocks while the other slides along your puffy lips. He holds your breasts in two hands, toying with your pebbled nipples, while the other two keep your body in place as he rams into you. He loves your fluttery kisses, the way you grab on to his beyond broad shoulders, struggle to keep your head from lolling, back arching. He has a devilish grin on his face and abs as he empties his heavy tight sacks inside you. Again and again.
Now that he has seen your face at the height of your pleasure, he wants it no other way. He doesn't need a surface anymore, he carries you around as he fucks. And you don't complain. You'll take him as he presents himself to you, human form or curse. You're his to have. But is he yours?
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who makes you look at him in front of Uraume-hime, because he knows you're insecure about them. Although, he does get a kick out of when he summons you to his chambers after locking himself in with the Oiran for hours. How needy you become. How territorial. And he pretends he didn't hear your soft pacing outside his doors only moments before, didn't see your shadow pass over the patio. They don't do anything that'd challenge your relationship with your Ryo-sama. In fact, most of the time, he makes Uraume do their books in his chambers just to see your flushed face afterward, your impatient grinding against his bulge, your willingness to take him in your mouth even though you choke every time you try.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who is luminous with bliss about his playful belle. You are ticklish on your tummy and he makes avid use of that when waking you up in the mornings. His extra mouth licks around, dipping occasionally into your belly button, making you laugh and squirm.
"What is this mouth for, Ryo-sama?" You ask once, feeding it potato fritters you had made that evening.
"It's to eat you out a second time when this mouth is tired." Ryo-sama is goofy now. You're no more scared of him like you used to be.
"Ryo-sama!" You've even been given the liberty to rebuke him every now and then, and you take full advantage of it.
He laughs. "It's my mouth, Paro." He points to his face. "This mouth is my brother's. Everything about me that's remotely human is my brother. The monster is the real me."
"Brother?" You've never heard of one before.
"Yes, my love. The brother I ate in my mother's womb. You see, I was supposed to be one of twins but when they pulled me out, I was covered in blood. My mother's, of course, and that of my brother. He reincarnated when I changed, finally enacting his revenge and locking me in this unsightly form."
You drop the chopsticks from your hand, and lean into his frame to kiss his mouth, the one on his stomach. Then, rise to kiss the un-human part of his face, the skin rough to your lips but it doesn't matter to you. To you, it's an act of reverence. He closes all his eyes and you place pecks on the lids of the ones he calls monstrous. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."
Ryo-sama laughs, his whole body shaking. He rests one hand on your shoulder while two others pull you down on him. "That's because, for some inexplicable reason, you're in love with me."
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who whole-heartedly supports your new project. It strokes his ego when you show your excitement about your new religion with him as the God. Cult, to be completely honest. Regardless, you've painted him, the form you most wish to worship. Where you see a benevolent guardian deity, he sees a grotesque monster. Really, beauty must be in the eyes of the lover.
"What do you want from me, Paro?" He asks one day, smoking opium from his pipe, blowing it out of the open window. You are writing an essay in Hiragana for your tutor to go over later. Your handwriting has improved a lot; even Ryo-sama acknowledges so. When you look up at him questioning, he sighs. "You know, if you want to leave, I won't stop you, right? I could never bring myself to harm you."
"Why would I leave, my Lord? I want to be by your side. Do you not want me here?"
"I have used your body for my own pleasure since your first day here, demanded that you learn a language to better my experience in the bedroom. I have been miserable to you for several weeks before suddenly springing a confession and my true form upon you. Putting up with me must be exhausting. And yet, you stay. There must be something you want. Fame, protection, wealth, what is it? Tell me. I promise I won't be disappointed."
You're speechless. For as long as you've been with Sukuna-sama, this is the first time his words have hurt you. "You doubt my devotion, my Lord." Your eyes water as you try very hard to keep looking at him. But you can't, so you concentrate on the wavering shadow on the wall behind him. The tears fall anyway.
"Paro, that's not... Please don't..."
Your writing equipment clatters as you get on your feet, running out of his room. The ink spills, seeps into the silk of your sitting mat.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who would kill for you, burn the world for you, and he knows better to do it behind your back because you shouldn't have to deal with the guilt. So he crushes the heads of mortals who speak ill of you, choke to death those who plot to maim you, and put your life in danger. Uraume-hime may not be too fond of you but they're loyal to Sukuna-sama and will execute his orders with precision; they keep an eye out for you, sneer at you when you look their way but protect you nonetheless.
When Ryo-sama finds you that night, you've already been in your bath for far too long. Your skin has pruned, your eyes are red-rimmed from all the crying; your newly appointed lady-in-waiting has requested you to come out several times lest you catch a cold but you've paid her no attention. You want to catch a cold, you want to suffer. If Ryo-sama wants you to leave, then you'll go away for good.
"Kiero." He orders the woman before settling himself beside your tub. Resting his arms and chin on the edge, he looks at you but doesn't say anything. You don't either; you only sniffle and wipe your tears and snot away with the back of your hand.
"Can I get a few days' time to find a job elsewhere before I have to leave?"
"No."
Your exhales are shaky. "In the morning then, Sukuna-sama."
"Sukuna-sama? Is that how mad you are at me?" He holds your face in his hand. You want to flinch, turn away, deny him any touch but you crave for his skin too. If you are to leave in the morning, you will never have it again so you might as well let him take you one last time.
"Who am I to be mad at you? I should have known this was going to happen."
"What should you have known?"
"That you'll lose interest in me. I'm not strong, after all. I don't have Uraume-hime's curse techniques. I'm just a puny, filthy—"
He sits up, offering his lips to you but you don't give in. "I don't want you to leave." If he really doesn't have a heart, what is this tightening around his chest? What is this fear?
"But if I do leave, you won't stop me. That's how unimportant I am to you. That's how disposable."
"I lied. I won't know left from right if I lose you. I have a plan for when, and if ever, you try to leave. It's from that story you told me about your Goddess of Destruction." He smiles against your lips. "I will lie down on the ground, in front of you, like her husband did. And you can't step on or over me, so you won't leave."
"I'll turn and walk in a different direction." You know your heart is softening. You're putty in Ryo-sama's hands, under his manipulations.
"I'll stop you, Paro. I'll change positions, get up and lie down in different spots every time you turn. Can I kiss you now?" His lips are so close but you must hold your ground.
"What about when I die?" You've always known he'll outlive you, and that's the dream of every devoted lover, is it not? But there's another dream you have. You don't want to leave him completely alone when you die. You know he's too strong and doesn't really need anybody, but that doesn't mean he has to be lonely.
Sukuna-sama sits back. There's not a day when he doesn't think about this, when he doesn't shudder just from the thought of seeing your lifeless body, your once beautiful face cold and pale from having your breath snatched from your lungs. The only answer that he comes up with is to use his Reverse Jujutsu and revive you but how many times can he do that? He is stuck in an invulnerable form but you will eventually be too old and frail to want to live any longer. "Whatever you want, Paro. I can bring you back, or let you rest."
You pretend to toy with a thought while he stares at your face. You've had an idea for quite some time. Back home, you'd have had to step into the blazing funeral pyre of your dead husband. But what can you do if he's an undying God? "Fire doesn't harm you, my Lord?" You know the answer, but you still ask to confirm. He shakes his head, wondering where you're going with this. "Cremate me in your arms then, Ryo-sama. I don't want a pyre; I want to be in your arms when I die."
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who comforts you, holds your shaking body with all his arms and rocks you when you cry for your mother. Unbeknownst to you, he has sent many of his people — curses and curse users alike — to the brothel in Bengal you had mentioned your mother worked at. But to no avail. He never told you this and doesn't plan to, ever, unless he actually finds your mother. You shouldn't have to know that your fears of never seeing her again might be true.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who knows no real God would ever listen to him. Still, he whispers a soft "Kami-sama" in your name every morning. He doesn't need a God to protect you but why risk it? Your new project has harbored a lot of attention, and not only the good kind. It makes him worry about your safety. He sends two of his most notorious curse-users with you every time you step out of his palace. He throws a fit every time he notices you're dressing for grocery shopping or to go oversee the building of his shrine. He can always send someone else, why do you need to go?
He impatiently paces the yard when you're on one of your trips until he hears the slow drag of the heavy front door, and your cheerful chattering with the guards. How you maintain your optimism and enthusiasm even while living with the epitome of negativity is beyond him. He needs you for this, to clear the smoke of his desolation, the stillness of his immortality.
"Ryo-sama." You walk up to him. "There was good cow meat in the market. What kind of curry would you like, my Lord?"
"You don't have to cook cow for me, my love. Aren't they your God's pets?"
"Yes, my Lord, but for you—"
"It's decided then. We won't consume cows in this household anymore."
You smile wryly. "After I die then."
You have been speaking of your death every so often, to the point where Sukuna-sama has had to summon the medic that he calls a quack several times over a month to evaluate your physical health. And every time, the charlatan has informed him that you're perfectly healthy. So he's decided that every time you say something about dying, he will medicate you in his own way.
He seizes your wrist and pulls you to his bedchamber. He strips you down to your breast band and loincloth. He transforms because he knows you enjoy having him touch you with so many arms that it feels like he's consuming you. But then you say something that makes him stop in his tracks. "Is there something wrong with me, Ryo-sama?"
"Did somebody say something to you?" His voice goes cold. You shake your head but refuse to meet his eyes. "Tell me the bastard's name and I'll send them a nice present."
"It's nobody, my Lord. Just me."
"What's wrong?" He tilts your face upward. He sounds demanding.
"It's... It's been over a year since... since you've first been with me, my Lord. And yet..." Your voice quivers, tears starting to gather on the cusp of your eyelid. "And yet, every month... on the night of the waxing gibbous, I bleed. Why can't I give you a child? What's wrong with me?"
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who is bothered by nothing. He's squashed many an eyesore under his thumb. Nothing gives him the ick, except for the water pooling in your eyes. This is the second time he's made you cry and he hates himself for it. For, it's not you who's wrong, inadequate, unfit to have a child. It's him. He's been so afraid of harming you with his cursed essence, he's been manipulating it so as to not impregnate you with a cursed womb.
"We're different, my dear." He tries again. "It's not that there's something wrong with you. It's our union that won't bear a healthy child."
Your heart breaks. Even though you try to hide it, Sukuna-sama sees it on your face. "I see, my Lord. I guess I was worrying for nothing." You put a smile on your face but it doesn't stay. With every passing day, you grow sadder. He notices it in your destitute of smiles, your limp enthusiasm in his arms, your shaky silhouette after he puts you to sleep.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who never, not even during his human life, wanted for a family, but your words have moved him. For a few years of his eternity, he can see himself being a loving father, and a doting husband. So this time, he approaches you.
"Paro." He pulls you to him one night as you two are resting after dinner. You have been fixated on making an army of origami swans but when he seeks your attention, you give it to him easily. You drop your half-folded swan and he springs the question on you. "Will you be my bride?"
You say, yes, because there's no reason to lie.
The ceremony is chaste. You follow rituals of both your cultures. When flakes of his sindoor fall on your nose, you smile. He already loves you; you don't need more proof.
His chambers have been extended to accommodate you and when you get to your bedroom, you notice the flower petals on the sheets, just like you had once told him happens back home. Sukuna-sama takes you by the hand and makes you sit on the bed. He kneels in front of you, like he had the first time he had shown you his reality. By the warmth on his usually hardened face, it's clear he has something to tell you. "Paro," he whispers, "do you still want to have my child?" Again, there's no reason to lie. "It might hurt you, my love."
"I can take it, Ryo-sama." You take his hand. "I... I've seen women in the throes of labor. I can endure that."
"It won't be the labor of a human birth, my love. Or have you forgotten who your Ryo-sama is? It's true that the heart I don't have in me is compensated by the kindness of your spirit but our child will be a monster at its very core."
"You and I will raise them right, my Lord."
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who has never been soft in bed but for you and for the child you wish to bear, he is willing to change his ways. He envelopes you with kisses, keeps your hips lifted with a pillow beneath your rear. He whispers your name and you whisper his. You touch his arms, his strong, protective arms, his chest, the heart behind it that only you've seen, his waist thrusting into you so lovingly. "Harder, Ryo-sama." You're aching for him, for the warmth of his seed. "Harder, please." He increases his pace, buries his face in your neck, groans as he releases inside you. He has done this before, every time, but this feels different, it feels fruitful.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who expects himself to keep his calm always. But when you tell him you haven't bled in two moons, he is beside himself with joy. He picks you up in his arms and twirls you, wants to run out and tell the whole world what a miracle you are. But he knows nobody would rejoice in the news of him furthering his lineage. Only you. And that's enough for him.
As the months pass and you grow heavier, his happiness only increases. He makes everything perfect for you, caters to your every need and want. He tends to the ache in your back, relieves the soreness in your breasts, even massages your feet. But he notices changes in your mien. You spend longer outside of home. He knows you're in the new temple but what you do behind the closed doors of the shrine, nobody can tell him. Not even the guards he sends with you. When he asks you, you only shrug and tell him that you've been praying. He knows you have an idol of your God situated in the same chambers as the idol of him and there's also a priest you’ve met recently, so he doesn’t question it anymore.
But when you decide to walk out the night you’re supposed to deliver, he panics. “Where are you going?” He calls out as you’re about to step out of your room. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go into the labor room? I’ve arranged for midwives from your home, priests to handle any rituals you want to partake in and yet… It feels as if you have other plans.”
“I’m only going to pray, Ryo-sama.” You drape a robe over your bump.
“Pray here. I’ll send Uraume to get your God.”
“No.” You lose your usual softness. “I’ll only be gone for an hour or so.”
“And what if your liquor breaks in that one hour?”
“The priest will help me.”
“The priest you don’t allow anyone to meet?” He is losing his calm too.
“I’ve told you the reason, haven’t I? It'll be futile meeting the priest who's supposed to carry out rituals in your name.”
He is exasperated. He shouldn’t have let you have this much power over him. “At least let me come with you. I’ll wait outside.”
“That doesn’t look good for the King of Curses, my Lord.”
“Who’s going to tell me that?”
“I will. The mother of your child. Please, my Lord, I beg of you. I know the labor will be easier if I just spend some time with my God alone.”
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna who knew love is worthless. Then why did he ever let himself love you? Why did he give in to your wishes? Why did he not force your hand when you acted against his orders? Why did he let you be the only human who could make him kneel?
When the hour is up and you’ve not returned, he storms out of his palace, trident in hand. If he has to threaten you for you to come back to him, he will. But he doesn’t get the chance to. When he reaches the steps of the shrine, the dread in his chest rises to his ears, ringing like bells of a temple in the storm. The establishment is in ruins, the guards who were with you had been slashed through their necks so brutally, their heads had tossed away from the rest of their bodies. He rushes up the stairs, trips. His weapon falls from his hand when he looks inside. The walls have been painted with blood. He can tell it’s your blood from the scent. A terror-stricken groan rises from his throat. His chest is even more hollow now.
“Paro.” He finds your mangled body up against the wall furthest from the door and scoops you up in his arms. “Paro. My love. My heart. My miracle.” He cries out. Long gone is the King of Curses; these are the desperate howls of a grieving husband. “Who… who did this?”
There’s some life left in you. And even if there isn’t, he is more than willing to bring you back. Not only because you must live, but also because they who did this to you, must die. And he will do it, he will go to the ends of this world and the next, and find the lowlife who dared to touch his Paro, the love of his immortality, his Queen of Blessings.
He touches your chest to revive you but you seize his wrist. “Ryo-sama.” You gurgle up through the seas of blood in your throat. He leans into you to let you touch his face, rub away his tears like you have removed the darkness from his soul. You manage a smile at the end of your breath. “You were right, Ryo-sama. I birthed a monster. But... he's still... my son.”
“Who did this to you? The brat?”
You slowly shake your head. “I was… so blind, so foolish. The… the priest. He was… after our son. Promise me… Ryo-sama. You will avenge… me. You… will… protect our son… for me.”
“Avenge you, I will. But right now, I’m bringing you back.”
“No.” You cough up, splattering blood across his face. “I’m… your weakness.”
“No, no–” You shush him with a hand over his lips.
“I am… your weakness. I am your disease. Let me go… and become what you must. For Yuji.”
“Yuji?”
“Our… son. Find him… please… and protect him. Make him… a little human. The priest…” You cough again, clutching the robe at your empty womb. “He had… stitches… across his forehead.”
Sukuna-sama knew him, the curse with stitches on his forehead. He will find him and kill him, even if it takes him a thousand years.
“You… promised me… one more thing… Ryo-sama.”
His eyes water at your request, the bloody smile on your lips he knows will haunt him for all of eternity. Love is worthless but you are not. You’ve taught him hope, you’ve shown him kindness, the selfless love that he knew was not for him to have. You’ve proved to him that to love and be loved is to change. “Must I?” He asks and you nod. He loses to you. Once again.
“I love you. I’ve loved you before I knew you, and I will love you after you’re gone. I will find you if you’re ever reborn but I will pray to any God that listens to me that they don’t send you here again. This world doesn’t deserve you. And I will punish them for it. Sleep well, my love.” He kisses your forehead.
King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna, feared by all, respected by some but loved by one. His atrocities are well-known, written and spoken about through ages. Even years later, people remember the villages he burned that night, the blaze crimson red like the petals of spider-lilies, the screams of the people louder than the crackling of the fire. He did that out of mindless rage, everyone says. They are wrong. He did that out of love.
please don't copy my work, or publish it elsewhere without my consent. all banners are from pinterest.
i'm sorry i had so much fun writing this
tagging (because you guys seemed to like the first part): @ghostslillady @iwonmx @kariatenoh @pearlsxandxpeonies
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk fanfic#jjk fandom#jjk sukuna#jujutsu sukuna#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#jujutsu kaisen ryomen#jujutsu kaisen ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#sukuna smut#smut with plot#smut and fluff and angst#true form sukuna#heian era sukuna#king of curses#king of curses ryomen sukuna#sukuna headcanons#sukuna x female reader#sukuna x brown reader#sukuna x bengali reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n
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𝐍𝐆𝐀 𝐘𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐄 𝐋𝐔 𝐎𝐄 pt.1
(avatar | human) JAKE SULLY X MALE (na'vi) READER
. i can't believe i did this. english isn't my first language. long one-shot!!
"Bold italics" = Na'vi "Normal" = English
YOU CLICKED YOUR TONGUE IN ANNOYANCE , jumping from tree to tree with multiple throwing knives clutched tightly in your three fingers. While the leaves of the tree you're in hide you, you observe the na'vi down below. He had the same blue skin as yours, patterns almost identical to that of a regular na'vi's— but you know that isn't what he is. As the chiefs son, you're well acquainted with many forest na'vi, and yet you cannot recognize the one below.
Perhaps it's because strange clothing covered his body, or because he walked around as if he were a newborn baby (fortunately even na'vi babies walk around better than him), and he stared at everything as if he were captivated by it— as if it were his first time seeing such things
And you knew it in that moment,
he is not one of your kind.
"Another demon." You spit the word out with so much venom, your hold tightening around your knives as you stare at the demon.
You don't know why the aliens think that you na'vi —real na'vi— would ever fall for a trick such as that. Those demons would never be true na'vi, they could try to look like one but they'd never know how to become one, they'd never know the heart of one.
They wouldn't understand the way of a na'vi, the devotees to the great Ewya. They would not share the same respect and care for your forest.
Humans only knew how to take and destroy, to break and to steal, they are filled with ignorance and greed. They do not properly think— and now they're assuming that they can just peacefully come into your forest!
Your hate for humans will continue to pulse through your blue veins. They took both of your sister's lives, for no apparent reason.
Sylwanin, Neytiri.
Their names rung through your head, and you felt your throat tighten up. The sounds of gunshots rang through your ears, but you knew it was not real. The ringing in your ears was not real, and the blood that now covered your hands was not real either.
I'm sorry, sisters.
You took a steady breath out, placing your hand on your chest as you tried to calm down your breathing, closing your eyes while doing so. Something your mother had taught to you, and you were forever grateful for her.
Once your breathing completely stilled, you looked back to the demon on your grounds. He still lingered along, observing the different plants. While he was distracted, you pulled back your hand, dagger held tightly, aimed perfectly at his heart and you were ready to throw, before Ewya had whispered to you.
The whisper of Ewya had landed on the tip of your knife, and you couldn't fathom why Ewya would want a demon like him alive. You clenched your hand tighter on the dagger, releasing a frustrated growl before releasing the dagger, purposely missing the most vital organ, his heart.
You watched with great satisfaction as the knife had grazed the demon's right cheek, enough to leave a scar for sure.
"I'm sorry Ewya." You truly meant it, but it's not like you had greatly injured the demon, so all was to be fine.
You felt horrible, but also relieved. Ewya's voice had slightly touched your nose, and you knew you had already earned her forgiveness.
You couldn't help it, you needed to see the demon's blood spill, and maybe Ewya understood.
"Ah shit! What the fuck?" The demon groaned, holding his cheek as his wide eyes turned to your direction. Thankfully he could not see you from all the plants that camouflaged you, but he looked extremely startled. You felt pride swell up in your chest as you internally congratulated yourself.
Now, startled and bleeding slightly, this demon should go back to where he came from. He should leave now— away from your people. Perhaps this would even be a message to the humans, that you na'vi would start to go for more violent methods.
But a graze on the cheek wouldn't do the job..
You, either way, had done a good job of protecting your people from harms way.
"Stupid demon.."
You didn't feel all too happy, because not a moment later the demon had ran off further into the forest, to your great and immense displeasure.
It seems now you'd have to keep your eye on him, so he does not wander further. You clicked your tongue in annoyance, not expecting to spend your time babysitting...
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JAKE HAS DONE MANY STUPID THINGS IN HIS LIFETIME, that he could admit, and perhaps running off while on an entire planet unknown to him was one of them.. He knew Norm would get on his ass if he damaged this avatar body further. It hasn't even been five minutes until Jake was attacked by a dagger, seemingly from out of nowhere.
With a sigh, Jake got comfortable and started to make a fire, he'd have to make sure this body is fine until he can switch back. While doing so, he heard bushes rustle and creatures chirping. In this body Jake was so much more. His hearing was increased, and he could finally walk and run.
It was his ultimate dream. Pandora was a beautiful place, but he couldn't get too comfortable because even with its beauty it was still incredibly dangerous.
Jake stopped what he was doing once a pack of wolfs— viper wolfs as Grace had called them once, came into his view. He held a torch firmly in his grasp, in hopes of intimidating the beasts, but it wasn't working. "Shit.."
Jake cursed, before yelling and swearing at the wolfs, they still stayed in place until they approached the male with a snarl.
"Shit ! Get back, ya wanna piece of this?"
Before one of them could jump at the demon you came down from your hiding spot, ears on alert and a hiss coming from your mouth as you barred your sharp teeth to the viper wolf. You skillfully dodged it's attacks, pushing your knives deep into their hearts and weak points. By the end of it your chest was painted a crimson red, and blood splatters were evident on your face— running down your jaw as if you'd even taken a bite out of one of the Viper wolfs, which you probably had done.
Jake was frightened, and in awe of the na'vi before him. The dark night illuminated your glowing eyes, and the blood surrounding your mouth was the most menacing visual Jake had the pleasure of seeing.
You brought your hand up to your mouth and wiped at the blood, although it didn't do much— considering your hands were also covered in the red liquid.
Sylwanin and Neytiri had used bows, and now you could understand why. Knives were up close and personal, and they'd leave you a bloody mess in the end. But perhaps having your entire being coated in your kills blood was what made you so prideful as you puffed out your chest and glared at the demon na'vi in front of you. A true, intimidating na'vi— you.
YOU were the most enchanting sight to the ex-marines eyes. Maybe it was the way you were coated in blood, or the way you looked like a true warrior while standing before him. Jake's tail swayed slightly, and he could hear his heart thumping— and he's sure you can hear it to with the way your ears flutter at each beat.
Bump,
bump,
bump.
"Than— thank you." Jake said, and all you did was hiss in response.
"You skxáwng! Foolish! Urgh!"
A great first impression, really. But that's how Jake managed to get an 'in' with your clan— by being himself, an idiot. Because if he wasn't in danger, you wouldn't have interacted with him otherwise.
You still couldn't understand why Ewya wanted him alive.
After that encounter, you had taken Jake to your clan, seeing as though Eywa had told you so. He would've been dead if it weren't for your great mother, and you didn't particularly enjoy having to teach him the way of a na'vi (as per your mother, Mo'at's, request).
"Jake Sully, you listen?"
"Mmh."
You could tell he was distracted as he watched your nimble fingers play around with your dagger, and you could only click your tongue— something Jake noticed you did often in his presence.
"Skxáwng." You grumbled, and you noticed the way his ears seemed to perk up at the word. It was not like he could understand half of the words that came out of your mouth, since he is even distracted when you try to teach him basic phrases.
"'M not an skxáwng," Jake watched with great pleasure as your eyes seemed to widen at what he had said. "You— where did you learn that?" You questioned, and Jake didn't miss the way your tail lightly swayed behind you. You came up close to him, until your tail snaked around his leg.
With a tight grip on his leg, you had pulled him closer with your cat-like tail, and your eyes still stared at him with wonder.
"I learnt from Grace."
"Grace?" It was a whisper, but given how close the two of you were Jake could clearly hear what you had said. A confused tone was evident in your voice.
"Mm.. You're always calling me skxáwng, so I asked what it meant."
You let out a scoff, stepping away from Jake once you heard the familiar sound of hooves trotting by.
Tsu'tey's here.
Jake seemed to realize this too, and you noticed the way his ears fell flat against his head at this own realization, you chuckled at that.
"My brother! You still wasting time teaching this demon our ways? Why don't you join me for a ride— it's been awhile." Tsu'tey asked, tilting his head as he stared at both you and Jake. "Leave this demon," He said, now in English, most likely to push on Jake's buttons.
You chuckled once more, staring at Jake as he let out a scoff.
"I cannot, my mother will surely have my head if I do not carry my duties and watch over this thing."
"Yeah! So back off." Jake agreed, and you're sure he could only understand the first two words of your sentence, since he did not have any reaction to you calling him a 'thing'.
You internally laughed at this anyways.
Tsu'tey gave an understanding nod, looking towards you before turning his gaze back to Jake Sully.
"Have fun thing!" Tsu'tey chuckled, guiding his way back to the clan while both you and Jake stayed.
Jake tilted his head slightly, confused as to why he had been called a 'thing' instead of a demon.
"You know why he called me a thing?" Jake had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with you, and when you only shrugged in response to his question while biting down on your bottom lip to hide a smile— he already knew the answer.
"Come, let's practice more skxáwng!"
He found out that he didn't really mind when you called him such names.
Training was finally done, and now you decided to relax in the open. Without Jake Sully here to bother you.
You grumbled underneath your breath as Jake came up closer towards you, his breath fanning your face as the two of you lay down in a clearing.
Your eyes remained closed as you whispered a quick "Go away."
"You'd miss me too much if I did" Jake smirked, staring at your irritated face as you clicked your tongue once more.
"You act like you hate me, but I know you love me."
"..."
You were silent as you stared at Jake's face, slowing sitting up and hissing at the male.
"Shut the hell up."
"You're even using sky people language!" Jake chuckled, leaning in closer as you pushed his face way with your hand.
Yet, he continued with his foolishness "It's a sign of affection if you adapt another person's speech— and I'm here adapting your whole culture."
"You are bothering me Jake Sully."
"What are you gonna do? Bite me?"
Your ears perked up at the word 'bite', and you stared at Jake's neck with a heated look in your eyes. He was annoying you, and his neck was looking awfully tempting..
You pushed the male back onto the grass, stradling his hips as you tilted your head down towards him, a low growl emitting from your throat. "I will make you bleed Jake Sully." Jake stared at you as if you brought him the stars and the moon, "Don't doubt it for one second kitty.."
"Brother! Mo'at is calling for you! "
Jake released a groan at Tsu'tey's words, and you huffed in amusement.
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YOU TRAINED JAKE FOR THE NEXT few months, and although he pretended to not know certain things, he was still a quick learner.
You stared at Jake's na'vi body, observing the stillness of it. He did not breath when he went to sleep, and his eyes were devoid of life. It was scary thing to see— and at first you had thought he died in his sleep, but he had simply told you it was because he needs to do 'swaps'.
Sometimes you wonder how he looks as a human, as you trace your fingers gently on the avatar body— afraid to wake it even though that's not how it works.
Jake had mentioned before that he looked different than you, and you obviously knew that.. But how different?
Was he smaller? Taller? Larger? Softer?
Easy to break?
"Uhg.." You jumped back as you saw Jake 'wake' up, rubbing at his head as he stared at you.
"Watchin' me sleep?" He asked, a smirk growing on his features as he watched you furrow your brows, not responding to his previous question/statement.
The silence was strange, not comfortable but not uncomfortable either. You just kept staring at him, and usually Jake would soak up this attention, but the way you were staring at him made him feel like his insides were your gallery.
After a long while the silence was finally broken.
"Jake, can I ask you a question?"
"Mm, yeah" Jake had his ears up, tail swaying behind him as you crawled closer to his sat down position. It was usually him asking questions and moving closer to you, so he was surprised by this.
"What do you look like— as a de- human?"
"Well..—"
"In detail, so I can imagine."
Jake avoided eye contact, feeling hot underneath your stare.
"I'm much shorter than you, way shorter"
You laughed at that.
"And well— I'm not blue"
You also laughed at that.
"You could— you could come and see me at the lab.." Jake trailed off, staring into your eyes as he felt his heartbeat quicken, and like always your ears fluttered in tune when hearing the beats.
"I come see you?" You questioned, eyes widened as you stared at the male before you.
"Mmh.."
You tilted your head and smirked, showing of your fangs as you stared at Jake with hooded eyes.
"Alright, I'll come and see you."
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IT TOOK NO GENIUS to find out that Jake was nervous, and the rest of the scientists didn't exactly know why.
Yes, Jake decided to make an on whim decision to let you see him as, well, him.
But now he was scared, as much as he didn't want to admit it.
Would you liked how he looked? What if you were weirded-out by him? Would you still see him as him, or would you view him differently? He wasn't exactly anything special— and how would you react when you find out that he's in a wheelchair? Would you—
"Jake, seriously what's got your panties in a twist? Some people are trying do their jobs and your distracting them, did something happen in the clan?" Grace questioned, taking a drag from her cigarette and raising an accusing eyebrow.
Norm joined in with his commentary, "I wouldn't be surprised if he managed to fuck over the clan— probably because he hasn't studied na'vi for I don't know, 9 years?" Cleary Norm was jealous, Jake noted.
"It's just— well (Y/n)'s coming here."
Everyone went silent. The sound of keyboards clickling came to an abrupt stop.
"The chief's son is coming here?"
".. Yes."
Unfortunately, now Jake wasn't the only one that was nervous. Norm had a crisis between being excited or terrified, Grace was in shock and doubted Jake's words, while the rest of the scientists tried to make the place more 'home-y'.
"Exactly when is he coming, Jake?"
Jake didn't respond to Grace's words, cringing a bit as he looked off to the side.
"Jake. When the fuck is he coming."
"I said you could come see me— and he said he would so— maybe now?"
Grace was about to shout profanities at the brown-haired male, but the lab doors had already unexpectedly opened.
Standing, slightly crouching near the door was none other than (Y/n). In front of him— trying to stop him from entering— was a random guard in SWAT clothing. The guard was easily pushed out of the way by the na'vi.
You stared at everyone with narrowed eyes. Lips curled down slightly as your eyes scanned the room.
Jake..
"Jake Sully?"
It was no surprise that you couldn't regonize Jake, but you suspectrd that he'd be here.
Grace turned her head towards where Jake was— hiding behind a scientist and quickly shaking his head 'no'.
Jake was stupid. He doesn't know why he'd say you should come and see him now— it was in the moment type of thing. He wasn't ready.
Grace gave a quiet sigh, seeing the look on Jake's fave that she could immediately recognize.
"Jake's not here right now, he's currently in his avatar form— which I suppose means he's waiting for you." Grace smiled at you, hurriedly killing her cigarette.
"What? —" Norm was quickly shut up by Grace's intense glare. Norm could easily piece the parts together.
"Mm." You hummed, turning around to leave as your eyebrows furrowed.
"Jake."
#jake sully x male reader#avatar x reader#dom reader#avatar#jake sully x you#jake sully x reader#top reader
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Okay. Let's talk Jamie and Roy getting beers and being idiots.
I know we are all still processing that whirlwind of a finale. I'm understanding that a lot of people hate the Roy & Jamie scene because it is 1) backslide-y (true) 2) they treat Keeley like a prize to be won (true) and 3) it's OOC (I actually disagree with this one, but I can understand why it's complicated). I want to start off by saying I completely see where this opinion is coming from and I respect everyone who just hates the scene because it shows normally kind characters being very unkind to each other etc. This is less me arguing against that as it is me trying to articulate (at great length, sorry) why it not only worked for me, but I genuinely liked it.
I like to think I strike a balance between loving everything the show has done and hating overwhelmingly on a show I claim to enjoy, but sure, you could definitely argue that I'm just giving my favorite characters the benefit of the doubt, or making excuses for them, because they're my favorite characters. I'll admit I'm historically very forgiving of all the main characters' many fuck-ups on Ted Lasso, but that's because I think the show works best when it emphasizes how kindness, forgiveness, friendship and love can still operate between imperfect, flawed people. I like seeing them make realistic mistakes much more than I like everyone handling everything perfectly, I'll bite.
So, back to Jamie and Roy. I enjoyed their finale plot because despite them making a world of mistakes, the regression felt very, very human. I don't agree at all with the take that this somehow erased all the progress they've made this season or the friendship the show has lovingly crafted between them. In fact, I think this actively reiterated it! (Note: I am operating with my ot3 goggles on at all times, so I'm going to write this with that at least partially in mind, but I think the gist of it works even if you ignore the bits that get a little shippy.)
For both Jamie and Roy, Keeley and their love for her is a major beacon guiding them. I think that is the crisp, clear thing in both of their heads this episode: Keeley is the love of my life. And they both believe that wholeheartedly, and they both want to be with her. (and it's goofy to pretend this came out of nowhere for Jamie/since when is Jamie still in love with her/etc. because he literally told her and us this last season and nothing that has happened since has indicated otherwise, btw.) But there's also something else now, which is their relationship with each other, battling with their Keeley thoughts. It's like, in Roy's head, for instance, I imagine there are two wolves: on the one hand he loves Keeley, and wants to be with her, and plans to win back her heart. On the other hand, there's his love and care for Jamie Tartt, which is much less defined and inarticulate and maybe still a little repressed, but just as overpowering. His love for Keeley feels so simple and clear in comparison, while his love for Jamie is something complicated and unsure, and in this episode, he's leaning hard into the first to avoid unpacking the second.
So Roy starts off strong. He sees Jamie with Keeley in the hallway and he doesn't flip out!! Instead, he approaches Jamie calmly, and invites him out for beers. Think about how different this is from his reaction to Jamie's love confession to Keeley in season 2. This is Roy's growth in action, and it's a resounding sign of just how important Jamie is to Roy now. Even when he is feeling jealous of the woman he loves potentially leaving him behind for a man he loves (a completely natural reaction, let's be so real, if not a "good" one), he also knows that for as much as he wants to be with Keeley, he doesn't want to lose his friendship with Jamie.
As for Jamie, I know some people took his reaction and subsequent response to Nate's question as like, shock at the realization that he and Roy are actually friends now, which I agree is something that had to have come earlier in the timeline (what was Mom City if not that) and would seem very out of place at this point. What I saw it as instead was Jamie's brain more just. sort of short-circuiting? Because: holy shit isn't this the best day ever? First Keeley agreed to go to Brazil with me and now Roy is asking me on a date for beers? this is so sound. This invite is out of place behavior from Roy even within the parameters of their friendship, because they still have a match to win and Roy has banned Jamie from beers as part of his training and despite them being close now I find it hard to believe that Roy often comes up to him right there in dressing room to ask him to grab a beer with no pretense.
Therefore, they're already walking into that bar in completely different head-spaces. Jamie isn't planning to discuss Keeley, and for Roy that is his major intention behind the evening. Jamie is nervous and downing his beer, and Roy is internally panicking, I'm imagining, over when and how to bring Keeley up. I think Roy is thinking: Well, I don't intend to stop pursuing Keeley, I genuinely don't want Jamie's feelings to be hurt when I get back together with her (and yes, it is a huge presumption for him to assume Keeley's going to eventually take him back. But I think it's also an understandable one), so I've got to tell Jamie I care about him, and that I'm going to keep going after Keeley, and he needs to be okay with that so that this won't get in the way of our friendship, which I also desperately need and am unwilling to give up. In his mind, Jamie is of course going to accept all of this, because Roy and Keeley are soulmates, which Jamie will clearly recognize deep down because it is so obvious and right and anyway, Jamie always does what Roy tells him to do (again, this is all misguided thinking. But we can see how Roy's anxious little brain that's bad at processing feelings and holding space for emotions could get himself here, can't we?).
So again, we start off strong with Roy saying he's proud of Jamie and them both thanking one another. But then Roy's blurting out nonsense about how Jamie just needs to pull himself out of the running and just let Roy be with Keeley. Which is obviously not on. And Jamie responds, simply, with No. I'd argue this is also a huge step for Jamie. Jamie really doesn't tell Roy no anymore, he doesn't tell anyone no. Jamie has spent so much of his time since coming back to Richmond working to be the person everyone around him wants and expects him to be. This is him fighting for something he wants for once, doing what is best for him. It was a fabulous progression to see. In the moment, boy does it work Roy up, because why is Jamie not agreeing with me, Jamie always agrees with me? but obviously at this point, Jamie is in the right. His relationship with Keeley was no less meaningful than Roy's just because Roy says it was, Roy doesn't have any claim on her, and there's no real reason Jamie should not try and shoot his shot with Keeley if Roy is going to do the same.
Here's where things start to spiral. Established flaws we know about Roy: he's competitive. He's bad at voicing his feelings productively. And he is territorial about the people he loves, a category that safely includes both Jamie and Keeley at this point in time, for better and sometimes worse. Yes, his next actions are grossly possessive over Keeley, yes Roy has made a lot of effort over the past year to do and be better than that, to break free of that cycle. But look, it's not a linear process. He's going to still mess up, and he does here. In fact he's downright mean, weaponizing Keeley against Jamie and throwing having sex with Keeley a month ago into Jamie's face, bragging about it, boasting. Same old cycle, same old patterns of ego-driven, prideful mistakes.
Which promptly prompts Jamie to also fuck up by bringing up the leak. It's a concentrated response intended to get a suitable rise out of Roy, because Roy has really, genuinely hurt him here, and Jamie knows bringing up that video is the one thing that will hurt Roy just as much in turn. It's not the right thing to do, obviously, but again, it's such a human thing to do. Hurt the person who's hurt you right back, even if you're hurting someone else (Keeley) by extension. Mind you, Jamie came here expecting a hangout (/date) with Roy over a rare beer, and instead he got Roy being a complete asshole and lecturing nonsense at him out of seemingly nowhere. He reacts to this change-up, well, not greatly. There is something so messy and emotionally complicated happening here and it hinges on how very much Jamie and Roy care about each other, not negates it.
Keeley, queen that she is, rejects them both out of hand and kicks them out not the curb immediately because they're both being complete idiots, acting like they're so gracious in giving her the honor and privilege of choosing between them. Not to mention they've clearly got something going on between them they haven't worked through and that sure as shit isn't her problem, is it? Keeley (presumably, and I wish we had seen this) calls them out their shit and tosses them right back out the door.
Which leaves Jamie and Roy to lament how they've let their egos get away from them, they've been idiots (which they acknowledge immediately) and decide that now they should go for kebabs, presumably to actually hangout this time, not to interrupt themselves with inflated talk about who "deserves" Keeley more. They both screwed up, they acknowledge it, and all they can do is try again tomorrow, and in the meantime, go on that kebab date.
I guess....I can just see where both of them are coming from? it's not mature behavior, obviously, it's maybe not what we would have liked to have seen from them in the finale episode of the show. But it was regression that I didn't feel impeded their overall progress. Roy in particular was being a complete dick about it, but that's why the very next morning he's finally knocking on the Diamond Dogs' door. And honestly, that conversation was heartbreaking. When Roy admitted he'd expected, after a year of putting in the work, to be a whole new person...god. This is a man who still completely hates himself, to the point where he can't quite grasp that he can be better where he's at now, that he doesn't have to transform magically into someone new in order to do right by himself and others. And so he has to consciously determine, once again, to do better, be better.
The message is: change isn't linear, you're going to fuck-up, and fall back into old patterns. What matters is trying every day to do better together, and be better for one another, than you were the day before. That is the meeting point all three sides of the royjamiekeeley triangle were heading towards by the end of the episode.
So yes, it was rushed, because no one gets much screen time in a finale (and the overarching issue with this season anyway is god awful pacing. The last three episodes could've easily been the second half of the season, while the first half of the season was stretched out and largely extraneous). And yes, I would've liked a more thoughtful follow-up conversation between Roy and Keeley or all three of them. My biggest issue was that we didn't get to hear Keeley's voice hardly at all. I would at the very least have liked to have seen her setting them straight at her kitchen table, because turning both of them down signifies very important growth in her, too, and I would've liked exploring that more explicitly. So it wasn't perfect. But I still liked it, I really did.
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Something Real - Soldier Boy x Reader
Summary: You had offered him the chance for something the two of you could build, something real, if he gave up the suit for good.
Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female Reader
Warnings: angst, character death, implied violence, implied injuries, mentions of blood, mentions of terminal illness/treatments/effects, implied sex, Soldier Boy being himself at times, language (I guess?), tears, heartbreak - I think that pretty much covers everything
Word Count: 9434
A/N: Something I started writing back on Thanksgiving. I was hurting that day, needing heat to ease the pain, and I was working on something else for SB. This just popped into my head (the idea of "warm hands") so I ran with it. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. I picked the name Violet because it's a bit of a reference to the other SB story I'm working on. Please let me know what you think (and please don't kill me).
I heard this song on a Soldier Boy fan edited video on YouTube and ever since then I can't get it out of my head for this one shot. It just makes me see Ben and the reader that much clearer in my mind.
SB Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith
<-->
“I forgot how warm your hands are.”
Ben could feel his devastation threatening to overwhelm him but he quickly forced it away. He had to be strong for you; no time to be a pussy.
As if you had heard his thoughts, you gave him a sad smile, your own eyes starting to blur with unshed tears that you were trying to hold back yourself, not wanting to make this worse for him than you already knew it would be. But then it suddenly hit you that life was indeed short; what did it matter if you let your feelings surrounding your current circumstances show? You had never held back before. Why would you start now? So you let your tears flow but you did your best to turn them into happy tears so whenever he thought back to this moment, he wouldn’t see how scared or sad you really were. You were determined for him to never know the true depths of your fear or despair in this moment.
Instead, you weakly lifted your hand and placed it against his cheek, watching as he briefly closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. His green gaze settled on you once more and you could have sworn you could see a slight shimmer there but in the next moment, it was gone, so you couldn’t be entirely sure.
Both of you were having flashes of the same memories that your words brought to mind.
<-->
You were both in bed, naked, you laying sprawled out over him, having just made love for the second time that evening. Ben always called it fucking but you refused to use that word to describe what the two of you did. Sure, he fucked you sometimes but things were more serious between you than you just being a bedwarmer of his or some random pussy for him to stick his dick into and get off as he’d crudely put it.
They had been ever since you’d caught him by surprise one night after too much whiskey mixed with conversation and you kissed him ever so sweetly. He’d tried to turn it into something else — because he was who he was after all — but you wouldn’t let him. Something changed between you that night and an understanding began to form. If he wanted you, then he’d have to give up everything that wouldn’t allow him to keep you. That meant the women, the drugs, the bad behavior — all of it. You weren’t trying to change him, not at all, but you knew those things weren’t really the true make-up of who he was; it was a mere reflection of the suit and persona Vought encouraged, expected, and enforced. Ben made his own choices of course, but you knew he could do better, be better. And that’s who you wanted; that’s who you loved — the man that belonged with you, not the Supe that belonged to a greedy corporation and the world. But it would have to be up to him to make that final choice. You made that perfectly clear and told him to come to you when he was ready, ready for something real.
And sure enough, despite his keeping away for a while to prove a point, he eventually ended up on your doorstep that night three years ago, dressed in modern day clothing and cleaned up in all manners of the phrase. Ben was ready. He wanted you, he wanted real and most of all, he wanted it with you.
You’d been together ever since and while things hadn’t been perfect, they’d been perfect enough for the both of you. So here you were, laid out in bliss, listening to his strong heartbeat underneath your ear as his hands glided up and down your bare back. You closed your eyes, smiling, and murmured, “I forgot how warm your hands are.”
Instead of answering you, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger there, as he tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer into him. He held you like that for a little while until you could feel him stirring beneath you once more and his caresses turned more insistent before he rolled you onto your back, his kisses feverish as you both started your third round of lovemaking for the night. Supe stamina and all that.
<-->
You winced as you felt another sharp kick to your stomach. “Damn,” you muttered.
Ben’s eyes were immediately on you, worried. “What?”
“Nothing,” you tried to lie but another kick had you flinching.
He laid down the wrench he had been battling the pipes with and wiped his hands with a rag before making his way over to you. “The kid kicking you again?”
A third kick had your face screwed up in a grimace as you nodded. His jaw tightened and he urged you down onto the sofa before joining you and holding you from behind. He lifted your shirt above your belly and you both watched in fascination as there was a slight movement to it right before you hissed in pain and bit your lip to keep from crying out. Ben lowered his hands and began to rub your skin soothingly. The pain eased and like always, your baby started to settle down, something it did whenever it sensed its father’s strong presence. You assumed it was a Supe thing, since your kid would have half of those V-mutated genes, and you refused to let that worry you in the slightest. There was no guarantee your child would have superpowers like its dad though you wouldn’t be surprised if it inherited his strength if these painful kicks were anything to go by. Either way, you’d cross that superpower bridge if and when you came to it.
You let out a breath of relief and closed your eyes, leaning your head back against Ben’s shoulder. “I seriously forgot how warm your hands are,” you whispered, enjoying how the warmth both settled your child and you at the same time.
“Don’t know how,” he murmured into your ear. “I hardly ever take them off you.”
You smiled wider at his teasing and wrapped your hands around one of his arms, humming your contentment. After a moment, you opened your eyes to find him watching you with an affectionate smirk. You lifted up and gently kissed him. “I love you.”
His smirk melted into a smile and he leaned down to kiss you one more time. “Back at you, doll.”
And almost as if your child wanted a say, to agree with the sentiments exchanged between both parents, it kicked against Ben’s hand albeit more gently this time, not causing any pain.
<-->
You grinned as you watched Ben teach your daughter, Violet, how to make a snowman. Which really meant he was making it for her. She had her father completely wrapped around her little finger. If there was anything that could bring Soldier Boy to his knees, it was his little girl. The strongest Supe in the world was at the mercy of the whims of your six year old.
You both had been surprised when the child you’d both eagerly been anticipating turned out to be a girl. You were excited — you’d always wanted a little girl. Ben — you weren’t sure how he would react. His heart had been set on a boy and while you could see a faint layer of disappointment shadowing his expression when you heard the doctor’s announcement, the moment he and your newborn daughter locked eyes, he was hers. It turned out you had nothing to worry about, on any counts.
He had promised you he would be better than his father and thus far he’d lived up to that promise. While you both had discussed extensively what type of parenting style you’d be implementing, you weren’t sure what would happen when the tough days of parenthood would hit. And while he had come a long way from his antiquated mindset (which had been beyond painful for the both of you back in the early days of you moving in together), you wanted to make sure that none of that would ever touch your child, literally and figuratively. But it turned out, you really had nothing to worry about. There were only a few instances that you had to gently remind him that it wasn’t the 1940’s anymore and each time he’d apologized, and set about making it right however he could.
Ben pleasantly surprised you in being there for all of the night time feedings, being willing to change a diaper after you’d eventually forced the issue and he found out that it wasn’t as big a deal as he was making it out to be, and taking her from you so you could sleep, shower, or get some time for yourself when he realized he wouldn’t break her. Her tiny form made him nervous and all the more careful. He held her hand when she started walking, read to her at bedtime (even though he secretly told you later there was a lot of pussy bullshit stories the world had available for kids these days), and beamed when one night she’d sleepily hugged him and whispered that Daddy was her hero after a particular conversation they’d had about a story he was reading, when she asked why the main character was going to fight the dragon. “Because he’s the hero, sweetness, and heroes fight the monsters.” You’d found him later standing at the foot of her bed, watching her sleep, an expression of sadness mixed with realization in his face.
You’d wrapped yourself around his arm, hugging him, as you joined him in his study of your daughter. “You okay?” You whispered after a moment.
He looked unsure how to answer you so you gave him a little time to think of what he wanted to say, smiling as you noticed your daughter’s quiet breathing, her little lips curled up in the cutest pout as she dreamed — of what you had no idea but you hoped it was warm and wonderful and everything she could possibly want in her four and a half years of life.
“She said I was her hero,” Ben admitted quietly.
You turned to glance up at him and caught the furrow of his brows.
“I’m not really a hero, though.” He pressed his lips together. “Not with the things I’ve done.”
You slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers, and squeezed. “Then be one.”
His eyes snapped over to you in question.
You gently framed his face with your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Ever since you decided you wanted something different from what you had before, you have made better decisions every single day. Who you were back then, Ben…that’s not who you are now. So if you want to be a hero,” You briefly glanced at your sleeping daughter. “Her hero, then be one.”
Ben contemplated your words as you released him and his eyes drifted over the child that had somehow carved herself into his heart in a way that the fucked-up Homelander or the idea of any kid of his that possibly existed out there never had. He was already trying every single day to be better, for her, for you, for himself — and it was something he would keep doing.
“But just so you know,” you whispered to him. “No matter if you wear the suit or you’re just plain ol’ Daddy who reads her stories and threatens the monsters in her closet before she goes to bed each night, you’re already going to be her hero.” You gave him a soft smile and watched as your words played out upon his face. His lips lifted up slightly in the corners and he ran his tender glance over his little girl. It surprised you though when he then turned that smile and gaze onto you.
He marveled at just how simple you made it all sound sometimes. Not that you hadn’t acknowledged his effort or the strides he’d made in attempting to be a better father than his old man — a better man period — but he secretly admired when you gave it to him straight, no bullshit, no matter the subject. And while he wanted his daughter to always see him as the hero she called him earlier, he was grateful that you made sure to make such a distinction in your words: he didn’t have to put the suit back on to be his little girl’s hero. That’s not who she saw him as anyway. She saw him as her hero because he was her dad — and that was enough for her.
There were times like this where he’d remember exactly why he chose to give everything up for you, why he chose you. You’d seen past the suit, past his public persona, saw all of the good and even more of the bad, and yet you still chose him first, still loved him, and still gave him the family he’d been craving even if it wasn’t how he’d imagined it for years on end. You gave him exactly what you’d promised if he chose you back: something real. And Christ did he love you for it.
Ben had never been very good at saying the three words that seemed to take no effort whatsoever to roll off your tongue every single day, even when it came to your daughter. While he might have had no issue speaking his mind back in the day, when it came to the two important things in his life, he struggled to put into words exactly how he felt about you two or to return the sentiment because it was unfathomable to him. He had never known that he could feel the love he did as a husband, a true partner, never mind as a parent. You both were his world and he wasn’t sure how he’d function without either of you in it. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how he functioned before either of you came along though a small dark part of him knew the answer to that: booze, drugs, sex, violence, and enjoying the Supe high life all combined. But right now, he was feeling that overwhelming feeling again that he hesitated to put a name to but deep down knew what it was. However, instead of just being able to say it, just once, he did the second best thing like he did every time you made him feel like this: he showed you.
He took your hand in his, squeezing, and glanced once more at Violet. Noting again that she was sleeping soundly, he then turned his attention onto you and led you from the room. Once her door was shut, he was on you, his kisses passionate and insistent yet desperate, his hands hungrily trailing your body, before he picked you up and walked you down the hall to your bedroom.
So watching him now making the snowman your daughter wanted — old hat, scarf, pipe, and all — you were amused but also couldn’t be prouder. Ben had heard you that night and he had chosen to be the hero his little girl wanted him to be: her dad while also being a good man and someone she could be proud of. It didn’t erase his past but it was just another step in the right direction towards his future. The suit was still hidden away in a closet but he hadn’t pulled it out for which you were also immensely grateful. Vought International and The Seven had been annihilated years ago at the same time Homelander had been killed. Supes had scattered across the globe, now not being run by one single entity anymore. Some had world governments after them for crimes they had committed previously and were still committing to this day. Compound V as well as Temp V had now unfortunately hit the streets so random fresh Supes were turning up everywhere. The world certainly had its hands full when it came to the whole Supe thing. Maybe it was incredibly selfish of you but you were relieved when Ben chose to stay out of the fray and instead concentrate on living the life he’d chosen to live with you and focus on your family.
Your grin grew when your daughter excitedly hurried over to you. “Mama, mama! Did you see the snowman Daddy made?”
“I did, kiddo. He looks great.” You arched a brow over at the snowman though when you noticed something. “Well, just a tiny bit lopsided, but that’s okay. It gives him character.”
Ben huffed, appearing next to you. “I don’t make lopsided snowmen.” He then turned to Violet. “Your mother needs to have her eyes checked.”
“Hey,” you cried out indignantly. “Who are you telling to get their eyes checked, old man? Considering it’s a lop-sided snowman, I say you should get yours checked.”
Ben flashed his teeth in a grin. “My eyes are perfect, like everything else about me.” You couldn’t help your eye roll though in your estimation, he wasn’t too far off the mark. Never aging thanks to Compound V would do that to someone you guessed. You tried not to be too envious when you remembered back to the few gray hairs you’d managed to find coming from your scalp a few weeks back.
Violet was giggling watching the two of you and you couldn’t help but join in her merriment. “Sure,” you teased. “So instead of Frosty the Snowman, we’ll call him Skewy the Off-Balance Snowman?”
Ben sent you a mock glare and you shrugged, smiling, making your daughter laugh again. He handed an old ratty coat to her. “Vi, why don’t you put on the finishing touches so your mom can stop being a critic and finally appreciate our hard work?”
“What? I am appreciating it. I even appreciate that you have to tilt your head a bit to see it straight. Off-kilter is all the rage now, I get it. See? I’m appreciating it.”
Your daughter grinned and took the proffered coat before rushing back over to the snowman.
Hands suddenly on your hips whipped you around and Ben was on you before you could utter another word. He kissed you hard and you swore you could see stars when he finally pulled back, letting you catch your breath. He smirked down at you, muttering “Pain in the ass” good-humoredly, before you both caught movement out of the corner of your eye. You both glanced over in time to see your daughter leap gracefully into the air to toss the coat onto the tall snowman. Ben’s smile was proud and you watched in awe as she landed lithely back down on the ground. As you had wondered often enough when pregnant with her, your daughter had inherited some Supe DNA from her father after all. Something you and Ben both worked hard with her to keep tamped down when in the presence of other children and especially their parents. Your life was blissfully lowkey, normal (as normal as it could be with two Supes in the house), and safe — you and Ben both wanted to keep it that way and you both especially wanted to make sure your daughter’s life continued in that fashion as well. You didn’t want your daughter to be ashamed of her special abilities and Ben was able to teach her restraint, something he had to teach himself long before she was born.
Ben watched as she used her strength to shift the snowman a little to the left so it would indeed be a little straighter. He rolled his eyes at your triumphant smirk but his smile never left as he cupped your face between his hands. “There. Happy?”
“More than you know,” you answered honestly. His smile faded slightly when he realized you meant more than the adjustment to his recent snow creation. You saw an all-too familiar internal struggle play out in his eyes that you had seen often enough over the years, especially lately. When he was making love to you; when he quietly watched you and your daughter working on her homework together; when he found you in the kitchen late at night when you couldn’t sleep and without speaking you’d turn on a slow song from his era and hold out an expectant hand to him; when you wrapped your arms around him from behind in a hug and snuck in underneath his arm as both of you observed Violet playing out in the yard with the dog she’d managed to convince you both to get — you knew what that struggle was and while it might have bothered another spouse that he never properly vocalized his feelings, you more than understood. How could you not after you knew how Ben had grown up, what he’d been taught? He’d made tons of strides over the years to undo all of that programming, but this…this was the hardest for him, and you knew why. So you didn’t push and instead willingly took what he gave you, knowing he was doing the best he could to show you how he felt instead.
You pushed yourself up on your toes and kissed him. “I love you, too,” you whispered, letting him know it was okay; you knew. You felt his thumb glide along your bottom lip as he studied you intently, and you could feel the heat radiating on the sides of your face. “I always forget how warm your hands are.”
He gave you a suggestive smirk. “You better not have forgotten how warm the rest of me is.”
“Might need a reminder,” you murmured, leaning into him.
His smirk widened. “Then you’ll get one.” He kissed you and before you could get too carried away, the sounds of your daughter giggling and calling “Daddy” had you both pulling apart. “Later,” he promised, pecking your lips one last time before looking over at Violet and the snowman whose apparel had changed to wearing her coat and hat instead.
Ben gave her an indulgent smile. “What’d you do, Princess?” Violet giggled again and her father shook his head as he headed over to her. You watched as he picked her up, tickling her and making her squeal in laughter, and you smiled. Life really didn’t get much better than this.
You laughed yourself when Violet tried to tickle Ben back.
Not by a long shot.
<-->
You gave your husband a tired smile when he walked into the room.
“Did she get to school okay?” You asked.
He nodded and removed his coat, hanging it up on the empty hook on the wall.
“And you gave her the envelope I left on the table, right? The one that had her pictures and money for the yearbook?”
“Yeah,” he gruffed out, taking the empty seat next to you and ignoring the curious stares directed his way. Ben was huge and even though he hadn’t been recognized in years, his hulking stature still attracted inquisitive gazes every now and then.
“Good. Thank you for doing that.”
He took your free hand and frowned when you involuntarily shivered.
Your smile was immediately apologetic. “I always forget how warm your hands are.” You gently gestured to your head where a cold cap sat. “This is freezing so with your hands, it felt like I stuck mine over a fire for a second.”
His frown intensified but he let your hand go.
“No, no, it’s fine.” You grabbed at his fingers and intertwined them with yours once again. “I like warm.” You then tried to give him a flirtatious smile. “You know that.”
His responding smile was more of a grimace but he kept his hand in yours. “There anything you need?”
You noticed that once again, he was hardly making eye contact with you while you were receiving treatment. You hated it when he did that though you understood. He hated to see you like this, knowing there was nothing he could do to help you. Correction, nothing you would let him do that is.
You’d found a lump in your breast during a self-exam and you’d gotten it checked out right away. More examinations and tests later, it was confirmed: you had cancer. Thankfully, it was not the aggressive kind but your doctor wanted to go after the tumor just as if it was anyway. Your daughter was only in high school; of course, you agreed to whatever plan the doctor suggested. So now here you were, getting chemo after a successful removal of the tumor.
Ben and Violet had been worried but you assured them that you would be fine, even if you didn’t know that to be true. Ben kept it together in front of your daughter, but once she had gone to bed, you could tell that even though he wouldn’t admit it, he was scared shitless. He knew what cancer meant like everyone else but he didn’t understand the mechanics of the treatments you would be receiving or the rates of survival depending on the ability to remove the tumor and keeping it from spreading versus the percentage rate of success of said surgery and treatments. He asked you question after question after question which you tried your best to answer while trying to keep from falling apart yourself. Eventually, he got frustrated and assured you he would get a hold of some Compound V. Though the government was still currently fighting the sale of the drug on the black market, they had to have some locked away for evidence or testing or they were just simply hoarding it. And if that didn’t work, he planned to track some down and get you a vial. Even if it was only Temp V.
You were horrified at this suggestion. “Ben, no. I’m not taking that stuff!”
“Why? It’ll make you healthy! It’ll get rid of this fucking cancer! Why wouldn’t you take it?”
“I can think of several reasons. If you break in somewhere to steal it, you can get caught and thrown into some max security prison or CIA black op site that I’ll never be able to get to, never mind being able to find, where they’ll keep you locked down with that gas! Or if you get it off of the street or from the black market, you have no idea if it’s been tampered with or if they’ve laced it with anything else. Temp V is completely out of the question, from a legit source or not. Not to mention, we don’t even know if this would work. It might not heal me or it could even kill me instead. That’s why!”
“You don’t know that,” he insisted.
“I don’t care. I’m not doing it, Ben.”
His eyes were darker than usual and he looked as if he was about to say something that you probably would both end up regretting. And sure enough, he did. “You’re fucking taking it and that’s it.”
“Excuse me?” You hissed. “This is my life we’re talking about. My life, my decision!”
“We are your life, goddammit!” He roared. Your eyes began to burn as you held back tears and he noticed the familiar sheen in them. When he spoke next, his tone was a bit quieter but no less firm. “So, it’s our decision. You’re taking it and that’s final.”
He had stormed out of the house after that and you had burst into tears. You knew he could hear you but he didn’t come back. You’d cried out all of the fear and anguish and despair you’d felt since receiving your diagnosis.
It was only later that night when Ben crawled into bed, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his body, that he whispered an apology into your ear. You squeezed his forearm, letting him know you’d forgiven him.
“If I can get a hold of some, will you please take it?” He begged.
You thought it over for a moment, weighed the risks heavily against the rewards that it could yield, and then shook your head. “No. It’s too risky. It could kill me, Ben. At least with the surgery and chemo, I have better odds.”
“What if I gave you some of my blood?” You heard his voice break near the end of his question and that shocked you. The entire time you’d known the man, he had never once cried. Not in front of you, at least.
You slowly turned in his arms and while you didn’t see any tears, you saw the shimmer in his green eyes along with pure, unadulterated fear that you’d only seen rare glimpses of over the years: during your pregnancy; the birth; when Violet was a baby and he held her small body in his too big arms, afraid he might break her; when you’d gotten into that car accident on the way to Vi’s dance recital that left you with a few scrapes and bruises; the one time a new Supe in the making claimed to the media that he didn’t believe the death rumors and he was hunting Soldier Boy down in order to prove himself as the strongest Supe which ended up with Ben relocating your family to somewhere even more lowkey (you’d had to talk him out of going to find that damn kid and teaching him a lesson). But now, here it was, naked and laid out plain for you to see. You’d been right; he was scared shitless.
You ran your fingers soothingly through his hair and he briefly turned to kiss your wrist. “We have two different blood types. It wouldn’t work.”
“I could find a scientist that’ll make it work. With all of these watered-down Supes running around, you can’t tell me there isn’t another Vogelbaum out there somewhere studying them. I could nab him and make him help us.”
You gave him a sad smile. “It doesn’t work like that. This isn’t something that can be fixed by some mad scientist or some miracle superhero-making drug.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Ben,” you pleaded. “Please…”
He laid a hand against your face and stared into your eyes. “I don’t want to lose you.” You heard the breaks in his voice again.
A tear slipped down your cheek and he gently wiped it away with his thumb. “One day, you’re going to. Whether it’s now or later, it’s inevitable.”
You could see how hard that hit him, even though you both had known this truth for some time. This wasn’t the first time he’d brought up the possibility of you taking Compound V in your relationship and it wasn’t the first time you’d refused.
He wanted to keep you with him, always. You didn’t want to live forever and once Violet came along, you definitely didn’t want to outlive your daughter. And that was only if the drug was successful and didn’t outright kill you. Not to mention, even if it was successful, who was to say that it would work for you the same way it worked for Ben? Perhaps you could still easily be killed or you would still age. Perhaps your abilities would be completely different to his. He’d offered to get you some Temp V to preview what it would do, but after what you’d seen happen to Billy Butcher from taking that stuff, you refused.
Now, having cancer, as much as that terrified you, you still didn’t want to risk it. The doctors knew you wanted to see your daughter graduate high school. That was enough for you, for now.
You’d watched as Ben compulsively swallowed and pulled you up to meet him. He kissed you and you could feel the desperation, this time layered by a whole new level of it. He’d made love to you that night, the most tender in his touches and movements since the accident. He took his time with you and even though fear clung thickly to both of you, by the end, you felt loved and cherished and warm.
Such a contrast to how you were feeling now. You let out another involuntary shiver and Ben frowned over at you. By now, he would have picked you up and deposited you on his lap, wrapping you in his embrace to warm you up. But he couldn’t due to the goddamn machine and tubing you were connected to. So instead, he got up and laid another blanket over you, leaning in to murmur into your ear, “When we get home, I’ll warm you up.”
He pulled back with a wicked smirk and you gave him a grateful smile before he returned to his seat. You knew he only meant that he would hold you until you warmed up or until he had to pick up your daughter. You were much too tired for anything else, especially after each treatment, something you hated but it couldn’t be helped. You missed being intimate with him, you missed having the energy to do your usual flurry of picking up after your family around the house, you missed being the one to take Violet to school every morning — you missed it all. You lived your life as normally as possible but the tiredness, the lack of energy, the sickness, the effects this drug had on your system…sometimes it was beyond frustrating and that was putting it nicely. But Ben and Vi had been there through it all, ready to help and step in wherever needed. Violet did her chores like always but she also helped her dad whenever he would allow her to. And Ben…well, he had really stepped up. There were zero complaints that men shouldn’t be doing the laundry or the cooking (something that had been a leftover contention point from the early days of your relationship). He did his best to help Vi with her schoolwork if she had any questions and you were napping. He did the picking up around the house now and he took care of you when you got sick, his nose no longer scrunching up at the smell of vomit (something you had noticed when you had morning sickness and he sat with you, rubbing your back; he later explained to you just how sharp his sense of smell was). He did everything you asked him to and even things you didn’t. He had been a pillar of strength and support that you hadn’t even known you’d needed in the beginning.
When he took your hand again, you carefully lifted his and kissed the back of it. “I love you,” you whispered, smiling as you nuzzled his warm skin.
He watched you, a familiar struggle taking place inside of him as a tell-tale shimmer started in his eyes that he didn’t want you to see. By the time you opened yours and looked over at him, the shimmer was gone and a tender smile was in place. “Back at you, dollface.” He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, staying like that a bit longer than he usually would have. You thought he was telling you what he still couldn’t put into words and he was. But he was also doing his best to warm you up. He’d felt the cold when you’d kissed his hand and rubbed your lips against it. Cold wasn’t something he felt easily so if he felt it, then he knew just how cold you really were. He hated these treatments, how sick they made you, how cold those damn caps made you (at this point, he didn’t care if you lost your hair, it wouldn’t change how he felt about you and he just wanted you warm and alive), he hated that there wasn’t anything he could to make you better — he hated it all. He meant what he’d said to you, when he got you home, he was going to strip you both down and hold you under the thickest, biggest blanket he could find in your house until it was time to pick up Vi from soccer practice. Warming you up, now that was something he could do. Which is exactly why he made sure to keep his lips connected to yours until the ice cold feeling disappeared and some color came back into them. He stared into your eyes, making you a silent promise that he would always chase the cold away and he would keep you here with him, warm, for as long as he could.
You smiled and leaned in to kiss him again, not caring in the least that you might have an audience with other patients and their family members or nurses. You loved Ben with everything you had; you didn’t care who knew it or even saw it.
<-->
“Oh, come on!”
You could hear Ben’s chuckle from the other room and you smiled.
“You cheated!”
“No, I didn’t,” Ben insisted, sounding offended.
“Yes, you did! Dad, admit it!”
“Oh and you didn’t? Those bombs came out of nowhere, right?”
You heard your daughter groan. “It’s battle mode, Dad. You’re supposed to battle it out!”
“We did and I won.” You could practically see the triumphant smile on your husband’s face.
“Yeah, by cheating. What do you think, Rose?”
You could hear the poor girl practically stuttering out her response, trying not to offend either party. “Uh, I think it was…pretty fair…”
“What?” Violet yelled. “You call what he did fair?”
“Y-Yes?”
Ben let out another chuckle. “I knew I liked you, kid.”
You shook your head, smiling to yourself. The two most competitive members of your family had decided to play a video game while you were cooking to help pass the time. Vi had offered to help but you shooed her away since she had brought a friend home with her for the holiday. Ben had looked over at you expectantly, wondering what you would ask him to do, but you’d simply put a beer in his hand and sent him off to entertain the girls. He’d tried to hide his relief as he made his escape but you saw right through him. Thankfully, he didn’t see your own relief. You loved that Ben would do whatever you asked of him when it came to the kitchen, but sometimes he had his own way of doing things (from the time you’d been sick) and it clashed with yours. So, for a meal this large, as much as you loved him, you’d prefer for him to be out of the way. While it was a lot of work, your time to yourself in here was peaceful and you were amused at the bickering you overheard between Ben and Vi. Video games, board games, puzzles — it didn’t matter. If they were involved, there was bound to be claims of cheating by one of them or both, and massive competitive drives. You’d learned long ago to let them battle it out while you would be happy to be in 3rd place in Mario Kart or own St. Charles Place and maybe a railroad during a round of Monopoly. Most of all, though, you loved spending time with your two favorite people in the world, whether they were bickering over a game or competing against each other for a pixelated trophy on the television screen.
You heard voices start to rise slightly, Violet’s in particular. Someone else might have been nervous, especially for the young girl who was your guest, considering two Supes were locking horns, but you weren’t worried. Vi was now in college and thankfully, you’d been in remission for a couple of years. If your family had managed to survive that, you knew they’d overcome any argument over something as silly as who won a race between a plumber and a mushroom man.
But just in case, you called out, “Guys, remember it’s just a game, please. We have a guest.”
Sure enough, Violet lowered her voice but you could still hear her accusing her father who scoffed his denials. You rolled your eyes in amusement.
It wasn’t long before you felt strong arms wrap around you from behind, and lips pressed against your neck. “And the victor returns,” you murmured, smiling and leaning back into him.
“Mm-hmm,” Ben hummed against your skin. “He wants his spoils.” You felt him attempting to lift the hem of your dress and you slapped his hands away.
“Ben,” you hissed. “Not right now with our daughter and her friend in the next room.”
He didn’t let you deter him; he was determined. “Then let’s go upstairs while this bird cooks. The kids can entertain themselves for a few minutes.”
“A few minutes?” You teased. “You mean like this morning?”
Ben had sweet talked you into sneaking out to the garage after you set everything up and put the turkey in the oven. He’d had you up against the hood of your car, his hand covering your mouth as he went to town on you, both of you in a hurry because he’d heard your daughter starting to wake up on the floor above you.
Instead of being insulted or rolling his eyes and glaring over at you, a dirty smirk settled onto his face. “Mmm, that was hot. You were hot. So hot I want to lift this dress up and do that thing with my—”
A loud throat clearing coming from the other room had you both straightening up. Right. Your daughter shared super senses with her father. Whoops. “Uh, Mom? Is dinner ready yet?”
“Uh.” You quietly cleared your throat yourself as you moved away from Ben, making him frown. “Not for another two hours or so.” You had just checked the turkey before you’d been interrupted.
“Okay, well, Rose and I are going to go walk outside for a bit. We’ll be back.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Be careful and make sure to take your coats. It’s cold out,” you warned.
Violet laughed. “Yes, Mom.”
She must have said something too quiet for you to hear because Ben suddenly went rigid. “Listen to your mother,” he added for good measure.
Another laugh. “Sure, Dad.”
You continued prepping dinner and once you heard the front door shut, Ben was on you. “Ben,” you laughed. “I don’t have time!”
He picked you up and moved you to the one area of counter space that wasn’t covered. “Yeah, you do. There’s always time for a quickie.”
“A quickie? Another one of Ben’s infamous life rules?”
He lifted the skirt of your dress over your thighs and quickly worked your underwear down your legs. “Another one of my infamous life rules with you.” You and Ben were used to having the house to yourselves so anywhere, anytime had become a sort of routine you two had. You missed Violet tremendously but you also had time to physically reconnect with your husband.
Almost as if he heard the direction your thoughts were going in, he framed your face with his hands. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.
You gave him a grateful smile. The truth was, while you were grateful to be in remission and for more time with your family, you had worried about the toll chemo had taken on your body as well as your sex drive. The doctor assured you that while it would take time, there was a good chance you would start to feel normal again. Ben had been understanding but you had been frustrated. However, the doctor was right; it took a while but you started to feel back to normal, libido included.
Luckily, you hadn’t lost a lot of your hair, the cold caps having helped, and once the treatments were over, whatever was gone did indeed grow back. Unfortunately, a lot of gray hair also came with it. You’d wanted to dye it back to your original color but Ben urged you not to. “You look fucking sexy as hell with it,” he’d murmured before you watched him nibble on your ear in the bathroom mirror. You knew his preference for older women, something you knew before you’d even gotten together, walking into the bar you’d found him in and seeing him making out with a grandma one time. So you knew your aging wasn’t an issue; he’d told you often enough that he didn’t care how old you got, he only wanted you. That was why he had wanted you to take Compound V, far before your diagnosis, because he wanted to be with you forever, or as long as forever would be given your actual life span and his. But you were still struggling with all of the changes your body had gone through in the last couple of years and you’d broken down into sobs, letting your face fall into your hands. He’d held you and whispered reassurances into your ear that everything was going to be okay.
And thankfully, he had been right. It had all turned out to be okay. You’d gotten to see Violet graduate, you’d gotten to go on campus tours with her as she decided on a college, you got to drive up with her and Ben to move her into her dorm room, you’d gotten to spend more time with your husband who loved you deeply — you’d gotten more time period.
And here you were, able to cook a full Thanksgiving dinner for your family on your own, and all three of you were thriving. Most people would be stating what they were thankful for on this day but you — the gratitude you felt overwhelmed you and it was something that couldn’t be put into words. You had a beautiful life, a wonderful life, a daughter just as beautiful and wonderful, and you were thankful for the man who had given it to you. Who had laid down his shield (and everything that came with it) and chosen to make this life with you.
You stared into his green eyes, seeing a certain amount of reverence mixed with affection watching you back. You felt his skin warm against yours, reminding you of all of the days and nights he spent trying to keep you warm during and after your treatments, and you smiled. “Your hands are so warm,” you whispered the familiar words. “I always forget how warm they are.”
And as expected, he grinned and responded with, “Not sure how, dollface. I never take them off of you.” He ran a thumb tenderly along your bottom lip. “And I never will.”
He kissed you then and you couldn’t help the tear that escaped and rolled down your cheek. The quickie ended up being not so quick. The turkey was a little drier than you liked but your family ate it all the same while Rose politely complimented you. Violet gave you a nod, smiling, missing her father unapologetically smirking over at you while shoveling forkfuls into his mouth. You gave him a look when your daughter glanced back down to her plate and he chortled before digging in again. You gazed around the table, smiling, content as could be. Gratitude. Thankful. Those were the two words that repeated themselves over and over in your head as you watched your family eat the food you’d cooked for them, even when Violet insisted that Ben had still cheated in Mario Kart, her father told her to let it go, and both agreed to a rematch right after dinner.
This is what you’d wanted back when you gave Ben your ultimatum, but never in a million years did you think you’d actually get to have it. Thankful indeed.
<-->
Being awash in these memories, you failed to notice that a tear was making its way down Ben’s cheek until it fell near your hairline when he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. You didn’t really feel anything that wasn’t pain or cold, except for him. Even his tears were warm. So warm.
“Not sure how, baby,” he answered you, smiling, his eyes wet. “I always have them on you.”
You couldn’t help but smile in return at your familiar exchange. That smile fell, though, when you heard what he said next.
“I’m gonna get him. I promise you that.”
You could see the faint edges of Soldier Boy peeking through as you saw your husband’s green eyes harden in an all-too familiar fashion. You slowly shook your head, even that tiny movement causing you pain. “I don’t want that. I want you and Vi to be safe.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. Instead, his eyes softened once more and he gave you a nod. “Okay, baby.”
You and Ben had been walking through town, buying last minute Christmas presents. Ben wanted to order them online and avoid the crowds, but you wanted to take a walk, breathing in the fresh air and be imbued with the Christmas spirit that permeated the town. Ben had begrudgingly indulged you and you enjoyed yourself as you bought gifts for Violet, her fiancee, and you even managed to sneak one for Ben when you’d sent him to ask the guy manning the stand in the outdoor market for a price on an item. The woman from the stand next door had just bagged your gift when you noticed a young man walking through the market, commanding everyone’s attention. He had a suit on with a cape so it was obvious he was a Supe and he was looking for something or someone. His eyes flickered in Ben’s direction, who had his back to him, and a dangerous smile formed on his face. Within seconds, you recognized him. He was the Supe you had seen on TV a few years back, though he’d been wearing a different suit then and he wasn’t nearly as bulked up as he was now. He was the one who had been saying he would hunt Soldier Boy down to kill him. You quickly glanced back at Ben who was completely unaware, involved in the discussion he was having with the older man. You saw the Supe’s eyes begin to glow and you knew what would happen before it did.
You dropped everything in your hands and ran as fast as you could towards Ben, yelling his name. He glanced up at you, his brows furrowed, and he tensed seeing your expression. It was mere moments that passed before you were in front of him and you felt a lava-hot feeling erupting from your insides, making you scream.
You fell to the ground and you watched as Ben went to catch you but was forced to let you fall when he looked up to see more lasers coming his way. He moved out of the way just in time. As you lay, unable to move, hearing some of the sounds of battle all around you and people screaming and stampeding out of the market while your ears were still ringing, you prayed to whoever was listening that your husband won and that he and your daughter would be safe.
It wasn’t until you heard something that sounded like a jet taking off into the sky and saw Ben’s boots come to a stop in front of you that you realized he had survived. You nearly cried at the sight of those worn work boots that you kept urging him to replace. He managed to roll you over though you cried out in pain as he did and he settled you onto his lap, his eyes wide as he took in your injuries. Not only could you feel how bad it was, but you could also see it on his face. It was a miracle you were somehow still alive, able to talk even, but you didn’t have long. You didn’t need to be a doctor to know that the rapidly-spreading cold wasn’t a good thing. Your hands and arms were practically numb at this point. And you thought cancer would be the one you’d have to worry about showing up.
“Make sure you take care of Vi. She’s going to need you,” you urged him.
He gave you another nod. “You know I will.”
“And don’t let that asshole find her.”
His jaw tightened and his eyes hardened again. “He won’t.” You knew what that meant but not having much energy left, you could only hope that when he thought back to this moment, he remembered what you had told him you wanted.
It worried you a little when he picked up your hand and kissed your palm that not only could you not feel it, but your hand looked the palest you’d ever seen it, even during chemo.
More tears rolled down your cheeks but you made sure to look up at him. You had no idea how much time you had left but you needed to tell him, you needed him to know. “Tell Vi that I love her and I’m so proud of her.” And you were. Inspired by what had happened to you years back, she became a doctor, specifically an oncologist. She was determined to find a cure and in the meantime, help people who had gotten some of the worst news of their lives. “And, Ben.. Thank you for our life together. Thank you for our daughter. Thank you for everything.”
You could see his eyes beginning to glisten once more and he compulsively swallowed. “I should be thanking you for that.”
“You made the decision to walk away. If you hadn’t…”
“It was an easy decision.”
You tried to give him a smile that probably came out more of a grimace. “No, it wasn’t. But I’m thankful you made it.”
He leaned down to press another kiss to your forehead before staring into your eyes. “I’m thankful for you.”
You tried to smile wider but instead a cough erupted out of you and you could feel something wet on your lip. Ben gently swiped his thumb across it, moving it out of your sight, and a slight panic set in when you realized you could barely feel the action. “Ben,” you croaked. “I’m so cold.” You could barely feel the pain anymore and it felt as if someone had turned on an A/C inside you at full blast and the icy air was making its way up to your head.
Ben attempted to give you a familiar smile. “Then I’ll warm you up, doll.” You heard the breaks in his voice but when he leaned down to kiss you, you let him, taking comfort in the familiar show of affection. You breathed through your nose and you relaxed, feeling the last bit of warmth that was infused into your lips.
Ben stayed there long after you took your last breath, long after you went limp. He knew you were gone but a small irrational part of him told himself that if he just kept trying to chase the cold away for you, he might somehow succeed. But ultimately, as he knew it wouldn’t, it didn’t work. He lifted his head and stared down at you, silently willing you to open your eyes. When you didn’t, more tears fell down his bearded cheeks and a sob tore out of his throat that he had no idea was there waiting to escape. “Baby,” he choked out, shaking you as gently as he could, still mindful of your wounds. But still, nothing. Then he said the words he’d always struggled to give voice to, thinking if nothing else would bring you back, this might. “I love you,” he let out in a broken whisper against your lips. When that didn’t work either, he knew that was it and subsequently broke down, rocking you tenderly in his arms as he buried his face in your neck while his shoulders shook. For the first time ever since becoming a Supe, Soldier Boy cried and didn’t care who saw it or knew about it. He ignored the cries of people looking for their loved ones, he ignored the police cars showing up and the sirens of the fire trucks on their way, he ignored people clamoring around the site asking what happened or trying to help others — he ignored them all. All he focused on was you. You had knowingly put yourself in front of those lasers to save him. …And now you were gone.
#soldier boy x you#soldier boy x y/n#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x female reader#the boys fanfiction#soldier boy#soldier boy fanfiction#jensen ackles#jensen ackles character#human!female!reader#soldier boy x human!female!reader#thebiggerbear
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With All That I Am
Billy Russo x Female Reader
Part 7 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series
Warnings: Hospitals, injury recovery, cockwarming, oral (f receiving), angst, hurt/comfort.
SIX MONTHS AGO
There's something about Dominic Saintclair that Billy had never liked.
He could never put his finger on it. Maybe it was the pretentiousness of his actions, the way he looked like he'd never had a hard day in his life, the lackadaisical way he treated things as if they were replaceable.
The way he didn't understand that the most valuable thing he had, was the one thing he was mistreating right now.
"I swear, she doesn't know when to leave me alone." Dominic says loudly in the opulent bar, a place that was more red velvet seats and accented gold ornaments than anything else. It was somewhere Billy brought the clients he could impress easily, ones that didn't understand what the best brand of gin for a negroni was, or that whiskey shouldn't be served with ice. It was simply a place that glittered, gorgeous on the surface with no real substance... or character... not unlike the man in question.
Billy looks down at Dominic's cloned phone. All you had said was that you hoped he was having fun.
"Maybe you're just not fucking her enough." One of his friends joke.
"Oh fuck off. I fuck her more than enough, maybe that's why she's so needy." It gets a round of laughter from his friends, and a disgusted frown from Billy.
At the bar, only a few tables away, Billy's hand tightens on his glass of whiskey, his back is to the group, and he's positioned in a dark enough corner to be unnoticed while still being able to hear the conversation.
"Anyways, enough about that, finish telling me about the red head." Dominic says, and Billy is forced to listen to him talk about other women when he has the best one.
Billy thinks about how stupidly simple it would be to kill your boyfriend, but doing it now would create more problems. You wouldn't know how much of an asshole he really was, for starters, you'd probably convince yourself that you'd been deeply in love with him before his untimely death. People tended to put dead loved ones on a pedestal, forgiving them unless their crimes were truly heinous.
No, you had to see Dominic for his true colours first. Then, and only then, he would wipe your stain of a boyfriend from the earth.
Billy listens to Dominic say some more vile things, fully understanding his hatred for the man now. Dominic was manipulative, showing you one face, and yet secretly thinking something else behind your back. With a frown, he scrolls through your older messages.
You always seemed to be reaching for him, supportive of the things he said. He never voiced his support for you in return.
What a fucking waste of space. To have someone as precious as you, and to take you for granted.
If he had you... he'd worship you. Without a doubt, Billy would kiss every inch of your skin, kneel at your feet if you asked, kiss you at every waking moment.
When another text comes in from you, he smiles.
As predicted, you text a second time after you've seen his read receipts and no response has come in from your idiot boyfriend.
'Are you alright?' You text.
The corner of Billy's mouth lifts, he wishes you were sending texts like this to him.
Dominic responds.
'Yes. I'm fine. Stop bothering me.'
Billy's smile drops.
You don't respond, but you see the message. He knows that you're hurt by it.
Billy's thoughts go violent again.
Anonymously, Billy has bought round after round of shots for the men, until they're wasted, and their lips are loose and he can soak in all the information possible. He plots while he listens, and he learns so much, until he could pick apart any man there in his sleep.
Their numbers dwindle, until it's just two men there, and he waits patiently for Dominic to stand on inebriated feet and head off to the bathroom.
Billy knows that Dominic is barely functional right now, having taken shot after shot, Billy is aware that Dominic will not remember any bit of whatever is happening right now.
With that information, he texts Dominic's companion from the cloned phone.
'Feeling better now, ordered an Uber, you can go ahead without me.'
Billy watches his friend read the text, finish his drink and then leave.
Too easy.
Dominic is so far gone that when he returns to his seat, he barely notices that his friend's things are gone, and Billy acts fast to stop Dominic from realising that anything is amiss.
"Saintclair." Billy greets, whiskey in hand, looking around to make sure that no one is looking, "Drinking all by yourself?"
Dominic looks up at Billy and squints.
"Mister Russo?"
Billy hums the affirmative.
"Got room for company?" The words are bitter in his mouth.
Billy doesn't wait for an answer, pushing the inebriated man deeper into the booth and sliding into the space next to him. He hates this place, literally just designed for showing off, he glances at Dominic, who's lost in his own head, staring at his drink.
Nothing this man was thinking could ever be worth your time.
He raises his hand to the bartender, calling for another round of shots.
Dominic only has time to adjust his body, from his slumped, hazy demeanour, to appear like someone with all their critical thinking skills functional.
Billy spikes the drink with a little bit of melatonin, it's more than enough at Dominic's current level of intoxication.
"Wasn't drinking by myself, but the rest of guys have already left." Dominic slurs, and Billy raises his eyebrows, extending the spiked shot to the already drunk man.
He gives Dominic the opportunity to decline the shot, doesn't force it into his hands, just holds it out expectantly and watches the younger man choose his own self-destruction.
He kind of delights in it, the anarchy he's capable of. Each person has a role to play and it's always nice when they do it as expected.
Dominic throws back the shot with him and internally, Billy begins his internal stopwatch.
"I hope the job's treating you well." Billy hums, uncaring of what the man next to him has to say. He just has to make small talk for fifteen minutes, before the drug kicks in.
Billy asks about some of his coworkers, and then his phone pings, alerting him to a message.
"Clingy." Is all Dominic has to say, looking at his phone when Billy inquires casually.
His eyebrows raise, watching his employee yawn, the drug beginning to take effect.
"If you don't like her that much, then why are you with her?" Billy asks, trying to keep the anger out of his tone.
"Why not?" Is the last thing Dominic says before he slumps over onto the table, asleep.
Billy blinks, an angry sneer growing on his face. What a careless piece of shit. He reaches for Dominic's phone, unlocks it and opens your messages the way he's done a hundred times before.
'At least tell me you're okay.' You'd texted.
"Prick." Billy swears, typing out a message to you on Dominic's phone.
'I'm alright sweetness, just getting ready to go home.' After a moment, he sends another message.
'I'm sorry about that last message, you don't bother me.'
He finds himself smiling when your text bubbles appear almost immediately.
'That's alright! I understand that you probably just wanted some time with your friends.' You say.
You were so quick to forgive, it made Billy's heart sour with the thought that Dominic didn't deserve your forgiveness.
'How was your night?' He asks, smiling fondly when he gets a picture of you wearing a fluffy robe and face mask.
'Very pretty, baby.' He replies, which earns a little '😳' face in response.
How sweet you were, saccharine and sticky, Billy could find himself eating you up quite easily.
'I mean it. I think you're fucking gorgeous.'
It takes a moment to get your response.
'How much have you had to drink exactly?'
Billy grits his teeth, looking over at the unconscious fuck. He barely ever tells you how pretty you are. It's why you think he's drunk now.
'A bit, but that doesn't make it any less true. You are beautiful.'
You don't respond immediately, Billy spends five minutes refreshing Dominic's phone until he gets a very shy 'Thank you,' in response.
He smiles, pockets Dominic's phone.
"Time to get you home, Saintclair." He says to the unconscious man.
He gets someone from the bar to help him get Dominic into the back seat of his car, uncaring of how he's placed, thanking the larger man with a hefty tip before getting into his car.
'You didn't tell me what you did today.' He sends before driving off.
He hears several different message notifications while he drives, and he can't help smiling, because for once, you were finally talking to him, and not as a stranger, but as someone familiar.
It was much harder to get Dominic to his apartment due to the lack of help he'd had from earlier, yet Billy made do with tossing the unconscious man over his shoulder, and then putting him down when they were in the elevator.
Billy really could have left Dominic anywhere, at the bar, or at the front steps to his apartment, or even at the door, with his keys in hand to have him wake up there in the morning horrified that he was so drunk he couldn't even make it inside.
But Billy drops Dominic on his bed instead, after accidentally bumping his head on a few door frames, he decides that he'd keep the drunk asshole safe this time...for you.
After, Billy sits in Dominic's living room, and opens up his phone once more.
'Okay, this doesn't mean anything but I went to a jewellery store today. I was looking at earrings and then I couldn't help looking at the engagement rings.'
Oh? Billy thinks.
'They were all shiny and even though I like shiny, they didn't feel like me you know? I feel like if we ever... uhhhh.... you know.... get married, I'd want something more unique you know?'
'Hello? Are you there? Did I scare you off? This isn't me asking for a wedding, I'm just saying.'
'Dominic?'
Billy sucks in a breath.
'I'm here, sorry, just got home.' he replies, tries to ignore the pain inside of him that worsens with the thought of you getting married to anyone other than him.
'Oh... Hi' you respond.
Billy smiles.
'Hi, do you have any ideas of what you think might be for you?'
He can almost see your excitement.
'Are you sure? If this is weird, you can say so.'
How cute, the way you care.
'I'd really like to see them.' He answers.
You send a link, and indeed, they're beautiful and unique and Billy can't help the thoughts of wearing it, and having you wear the other.
'These are the ones I've always dreamed of.' you add on with the attached pictures.
He bites down on his bottom lip, closes his eyes, and imagines how perfect your hands would look linked together, decorated with matching rings. The thought makes him hard.
'They have to be custom ordered though, really expensive, I'm sure we can find something cheaper.'
Absolutely not.
'They're beautiful. Tell me your ring size so that I can surprise you.'
He makes note of it when you send it.
'I can't wait to marry you.' He says.
'Well now I know you really are drunk.' You respond.
Billy has a quick moment of realisation when he remembers that you think you're talking to Dominic.
His smile drops.
'I am drunk. But you're still the most amazing person on the planet. I think you might be it for me.' And Billy means it. He means every word. He plans to marry this sweet girl that waltzed her way into his life and believed in him after two conversations.
'I love you.' Comes your reply.
Billy smiles.
'I love you too.'
He stays with you until you fall asleep, telling you all the sweet things he's ever wanted to say, dodging personal topics that he doesn't know the answers to. When you're finally asleep, he stands, checks the time, and goes back to Dominic's room, dropping his phone onto the bed beside his sleeping form.
Billy almost considers hitting him, enjoying the thought of giving him a black eye in the morning, but that had the possibility of scaring him into not drinking again, and Billy couldn't have that.
So he leaves, walks out of your boyfriend's apartment, and does not set it on fire like he wants to.
.
NOW
You stare calmly at the elevator doors. The smell of hospital filling the air around you. In a way, there was an ease to it, a comfort in the sterile cleanliness, a place designed to turn chaos into order.
You sip on your coffee, feeling refreshed after popping back home for a quick shower and supplies for Billy. You didn't want to leave, but you knew you wouldn't be able to stay while the nurses changed his bandages, the wound too fresh to introduce any foreign bacteria. So you'd decided to make yourself useful in the meantime.
Frank was still here somewhere, waiting for you to return so that he could leave. You'd both had tentatively agreed that Billy should not be left alone under any circumstance, surprised that you and his best friend had been on a similar wavelength when it came to caring for him.
Frank's in the waiting room taking a call when you see him. He gives you a little nod, and a gesture of his head that tells you it's okay to go see him.
You do exactly that, making your way to the nurses' station to sign in before heading to his room.
You stop short when at the door, you hear the sound of female laughter.
It's not laughter exactly, it's... giggling.
It's obviously flirtatious, in that pitch that's just too high to be normal.
You hear Billy's voice next, too far away to make out what he's saying but he sounds polite.
Followed by more giggling.
Pure jealousy rears its head.
You had only been gone for an hour and someone had taken the opportunity to begin flirting with your husband?
Something dark blooms inside you, and you take a deep breath, and walk through the doors with your head high.
Two pairs of eyes turn to look at you.
"I'm back." You say calmly, smiling.
Billy smiles at you, his hair askew in every direction as if he hasn't ever heard of a brush. It's adorable, makes him look so much more boyish than usual. Your eyes go to the young nurse, that's currently taking Billy's blood pressure, quietly sizing her up, deciding if she was worth any sort of trouble at all.
"Hey baby, did you get one of those for me?" He asks, referring to the cappuccino in your hands.
You look down at him, close enough to see the tiredness under his eyes although you know this is the most amount of sleep he's ever gotten.
"Sorry, doctor said no." You respond.
Billy lets out a pained groan, and you can't help it, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his temple.
He sighs, reaching up to take your hand in his, you watch his eyes linger on your wedding ring.
"I was just explaining to Becca here how easy it was to ignore the pain for so long."
Becca?
Your eyebrows raise in amused displeasure.
"Yeah," she adds in with a wistful smile, "If he didn't pass out from the pain he probably wouldn't have gotten help in time."
Great, a reminder that you weren't there when he'd almost died. You're pretty sure that the only expression you show her is one of disdain.
'Careful,' you think maliciously in her direction, 'If he likes you enough he'll cage you like a bird.'
"How are his vitals?" You ask blankly, trying to get her out of here as soon as possible, ignoring the way Billy looks up at you in confusion at your clipped tone.
"They're uh, they're good! But-" She begins to say, but stops short and presses the back of her hand to Billy's forehead. You blink, clenching your teeth together. You're pretty sure this wasn't medically professional, and you suck in a slow breath to stop yourself from smacking her hand away from your husband.
"Are you feeling okay Bil- Mister Russo? Your heart rate is a bit high." she continues.
You glance up at her monitor in question, and sure enough the little number on screen next to the pulsing heart symbol was just a little above one hundred.
You knew that his heart shouldn't be going at near a hundred beats per minute if he was mostly stationary in bed.
Billy lets out a nervous laugh. You look down at him in confusion.
"Yean, that's- I'm fine- It's just... well... her." He explains, glancing up at you for a second.
Me? You think incredulously, blinking.
His heart is beating fast because you were near him?
Your anger dissolves as fast as it had appeared, stomach fluttering, you try to fight the smile pulling at your face but you inevitably fail.
He doesn't look up at you, so you grip his jaw, tilting his head up.
Absentmindedly, you're aware of the nurse excusing herself from the room.
You press your lips to his swiftly, delight spreading down your body when he groans against your mouth. You deepen the kiss and he accepts it eagerly.
After a moment, you pause, turning your head to look at the little monitor, His heart rate having gone up to one hundred and twenty.
"Still jealous?" he asks, with a cheeky smile.
You don't answer, leaning in to kiss him softly once more.
.
"Please." Billy begs.
"No." You whisper, bumping your nose against his, adjusting your body under the sheets so that you're both fully covered.
"Just a little bit." He tries to bargain.
"You move, and I'll stop. You cum, and I'll stop."
He lets out a harsh breath.
"You're being really mean to me." He pouts.
"If you rip a stitch, I won't touch you until they come out."
He groans, frustrated.
Unable to resist, you clench around his cock.
"That's not fair." he gasps desperately.
"Sorry, this isn't entirely easy for me either."
Currently, you were both under his sheets, on your back, both legs draped over his hip, while he lies on his left side facing you. It was a position that had made it very easy for him to slip himself inside of you, allowing you to keep his cock warm.
He swallows, looking at you with warm eyes.
"You feel so good around me. You know that?"
How was he allowed to say things like that while literally stretching you open? God, you could feel the tip of his cock nestled snugly in the very deepest parts of you, every inch of your cunt sighing in relief at finally being so full of him.
You feel yourself get smaller under his gaze, soft, gentle, unnameable in its unfamiliarity.
"If it feels half as good as it does for me, then yeah, I know." you reply easily.
He smiles, it causes butterflies to flutter in gentle circles within you.
"You're beautiful." he murmurs softly.
It's your turn to swallow and look away.
Your eyes are drawn to his bare chest, and the snake tattoo that resides on his shoulder. He could not be real with the way he made you feel, like all the air in the room had simply vanished by his command, held even further out of reach by the thickness of his cock sitting still inside you.
"You really mean that?" You ask, your insecurity gaining a foothold in your head.
He reaches for your left hand, raises it up to his face so that he can lay a swift kiss onto your wedding ring.
"I do."
The door swinging open has your eyes widening from your shared spot under the sheets. Thankfully, you were still mostly clothed, where Billy was fully naked.
"Bill?" comes Frank's voice in question from his spot by the door.
Billy winks at you, before moving the sheet off your top halves to reveal you both to the open air.
"Hey Frank." Billy greets.
Frank takes one look at your positions and lets out a tired sigh.
"You two are fucking, aren't you?" The exasperated sound of his voice drawing a smile from you.
You can't help the laugh that leaves you, giving everything away.
Frank's disappointed expression makes Billy laugh too.
"Alright. I'm walking out this door, I'll be back in five minutes, your pants better be on, Russo."
"Make it ten!" Billy shouts just as Frank gives another disappointed shake of his head, and leaves the room.
.
Clothed now, in long blue linen pants, Billy kisses your temple, one arm wrapped securely around you as you lie beside him.
"Thanks for being here with me." He says softly, his hands gripping onto any available part of you he could reach, anything to pull you closer to him.
"What? Is Frank not good enough company?" You tease, beginning to laugh when you feel the scratch of his beard as he kisses your throat.
"Frank is usually in the bed beside me." he says into your neck, and you laugh at the imagery.
"Plus," he says in a softer, more serious tone as he pulls away for a moment. You turn to look at him curiously.
"I've never had someone worry about me the way you do."
"Ever?" You ask.
He shakes his head, looks down.
You're not sure what he's thinking, but it looks like guilt, all soft lines and sadness and you ache to make him feel better.
You lean forward, cupping his jaw. His eyes are so open for you that you think you can see his soul in them- a dark web of shadows, that glitters with vulnerability the more you look.
You wanted his vulnerability, you wanted him to open himself up to you, and share everything he was, everything he could be, until you were full of him.
Until you could taste him in your mouth, even when he wasn't around.
"I'm here now, and I'll worry. I'll fight anyone that stops me from getting to you. Including Frank Castle." You promise.
His frown grows into a smile.
"You're sure you don't wanna ride me? I'll stay really still."
You groan.
"No, no vigorous activity for at least four weeks."
"You riding me isn't vigorous."
"Yes, but I'd consider your orgasms vigorous." You reply, contemplating the way the muscles of his abdomen tended to tighten up when he came.
"Wait," Billy says in horror, "I can't come for four weeks?"
"You'll be fine." You huff.
"No I won't be." He protests.
"Just let me take care of you."
He couldn't argue with that.
.
"You hate me don't you?" Billy asks.
You try not to grin.
You turn to face him, clad in only your plainest underwear as you get ready for work. Somehow, he still saw beauty in you, even when you weren't trying. It was exhilarating.
Unfortunately you couldn't stay with him, a meeting had been scheduled that you didn't want to push back due to the difficulty in actually getting the meeting in the first place.
"Why? Is there something wrong with it?" You ask, turning playfully to show him the back and the front.
"Everything's fucking wrong with it," Billy grumbles from his spot in bed, head tilting back for a second in what looks like a plea to God himself.
"When I get these stitches out, you're gonna be in so much trouble." he says with a little grunt.
You hum, in thought.
"You know, now that I think about it, I don't think I'll wear underwear today." You taunt.
Billy groans loudly.
Something delightful blooms within you.
.
Wrong.
This was supposed to be wrong.
The more you think that, the more you know that this is the most right feeling in the world.
There was nothing in your old life that could ever possibly compare to him.
Usually, people coerced into marriage were subjected to inhumane treatment, impossible and abusive environments, that sucked the very living soul out of them.
The most soul sucking being done to you was when you'd been forced to deny Billy the pleasure of tasting you last night.
The pleasure of tasting you... because to him... it really was a pleasure.
You swallow, sitting at his desk, tense in his comfortable chair. You'd become someone he'd wanted.
Or maybe you'd always been. When had he decided to marry you anyways?
You blink, shock spearing through you.
What if your feelings weren't real? But simply a defence response to your circumstances.
A tired sigh leaving your lips. A shake of your head.
Would you want him if you weren't trapped by him?
The question eats away at your sanity. You spin it around and around in your head and still you can't find an answer.
You're scared by it. By the notion of losing him.
You're also scared by the idea of staying with him, still not fully understanding what he was capable of.
Which fear was right?
And which one would break your heart?
.
Billy says your name in question when he hears a door slam shut.
"Just me, Bill." Is Frank's answering voice.
"Where is she?" He murmurs, throat dry, looking up at the ceiling. The pain meds held him in a state of mild confusion, spaced out so that he wasn't in any pain, but unable to truly focus on the things happening around him.
He hears the slow pour of water, peeks an eye open to find Frank beside him. He struggles to sit up, tucking a second and then third pillow behind him for support and gratefully accepting the glass of water from Frank.
"It's only two, her meeting just started so you'll see her a little later."
Billy nods, ignoring Frank's gaze as he sips the water.
"I've never seen you so down bad before."
Billy's laugh bubbles in the glass he's holding.
"What can I say? I'm a romantic." He answers flippantly.
Frank snorts loudly in knowing disbelief. Billy frowns.
"You don't think it's fast? Is she... does she have something on you?"
Anger spears itself through Billy, some at Frank, most at himself.
I'm a monster, he thinks.
He turns away, not wanting Frank to read the expression on his face, wondering if his look of guilt alone will put the pieces together in Frank's head.
"It's not like that." He says easily, thinking to himself what a sick fuck he must be to coerce someone so glorious, so awe-inspiring, into marriage against her will.
He thinks he hates himself for it.
"She told me you got accidentally married. I can't imagine a version of you, however drunk, that would accept marriage."
Frank was getting too close. Billy had to say something to appease him.
"I'd met her before, at... a company party or two. I liked her, but she had a boyfriend."
When Billy doesn't continue, Frank is forced to prompt.
"And?"
Billy stares down at the sheets. The very sheets you'd slept under last night.
"And when I met her in Vegas, they'd just broken up, and I wanted something with her, and I don't remember how, but the next day I woke up married to her and I was so happy."
It's mostly the truth, the best tale he can spin in his state.
"I know it doesn't make sense, Frankie, but when I'm with her... I'm the man I've always wanted to be."
Frank is quiet for too long now, and Billy is forced to turn his head and look up at his best friend curiously.
Both men stare at each other in silence for a moment.
"Alright, okay, I'm sold, bring her around to meet Maria and the kids." Frank says finally.
If anything, this was Frank Castle's ultimate seal of approval. Introducing strangers to his family was not an occasion to be taken lightly.
Billy grins up at Frank.
"I can't believe I had to lose my appendix to get her invited to a Castle family dinner. You're so gullible, Frank." Billy teases.
He's rewarded with a gentle smack to his shoulder.
.
You run your hands over the fabric of your dress, deep in thought.
Was it too much? You think you might be overdressed.
It was a lovely beige colour, maybe tan, knee length with a vintage design and little puff sleeves. You'd liked how it looked in the store. Now? You honestly felt like it was a little much.
Maybe Billy would be able to help you decide.
You call his name, walking out of your shared closet and toward the living room where you saw him last.
You spin the corner and find him already coming toward you.
"Are you okay?" He asks, dressed casually in a grey shirt and black pants.
You stumble over your words, your brain spinning too fast for you to keep up.
"W- yeah- I was coming to ask your opinion, but I am so clearly overdressed." You turn on your heel to go back into the bedroom.
"Oh no you don't." Billy says, and before you know it, he's grabbed a hold of your wrist, pulling you into his body.
You gasp, eyes widening on his face as he presses you against the wall of the hallway.
Your heart pounds in your chest at his proximity. Your need for him outweighs rational thought until you have to remind yourself that he's still recovering. If he touched you right now though, he'd find you already wet, and eager for him.
While you've been fighting your aching desire, he's taken the time to run the tips of his fingers across the apple of your cheek.
"God. You're so pretty." He whispers, warm eyes spilling euphoria into you.
He couldn't mean that. Could he?
You glance away, only to be forced into looking back at him when he grabs your jaw roughly.
The tension between you feels like an electric charge, that heightens as he gets closer.
It's like he's never touched you before, like the sensation is brand new, and not months old.
"I should change," You whisper, "This dress is too much."
He takes a deep breath, his hand glides from gripping your jaw to curl around your throat. Your breath stutters at the feeling. Something flutters low, an ache to be filled rears its head.
"You're gorgeous. In anything you wear. I'd want you in a ball gown or a potato sack."
Good lord.
When you smile, he brings his fingers up to press against your lips, exploring the shape of your smile, appreciating the softness.
"You mean that?" You ask, a little unsure.
His dark eyes devour you, unfocused as he looks at you, balancing on the precipice of admiring you and imagining just exactly what he wants to do to you.
"Why don't I show you?" He offers.
You reach to grip his elbows when it seems like he's going to kneel.
"No, we- you're still recovering and I don't think it's fair that I get to cum if you can't."
He lets out a low grunt, pressing his body roughly against yours, his palms against the wall on either side of your head, his forehead and nose pressed to yours. The intensity of his gaze makes you turn your head to look away, he's got the demeanour of a man starved, desperate, borderline unhinged.
He doesn't let you move far, fingers curling around the back of your neck to bring you back to face him.
"Little wife," he says so deeply that you're not sure if it's a promise or a threat.
"Lift your dress up for me, or I'll tie you up and lick your cunt anyway."
You gulp. The very thought of being helpless while he-
Fuck, but you didn't even have the time, Frank would be expecting you in an hour.
You let out a breath, feeling more than seeing the smile that forms on his face as you begin gathering the materials of your skirt into your fists.
"Good." he says finally, and you can only feel your body throb with heat in response.
There's the gentlest kiss to your mouth, something of a promise, a pledge that when he's done with you, you won't remember how to walk.
You squeeze your eyes shut as he kneels, you know that when he reaches up to tug your underwear down the length of your legs, that he'll see the desperation he causes.
He swears when he sees it, drawing out the syllables as he witnesses the way your arousal clings to the little piece of fabric protecting your modesty.
You swallow, the materials bunched in your hands no doubt wrinkling with the force.
He takes his time, tracing coarse fingers over your calve, behind your knee and up your thigh, pulling gently to guide one of your legs over his shoulder.
He doesn't bother to touch your centre, circle your sweet bud with his thumb like he wants to, he uses his tongue right away.
You take in a sharp breath at the contact. The tip of his tongue meeting your clit affectionately, like old friends reuniting.
A shiver goes down your spine, you crush your bottom lip between your teeth.
"Billy." You whisper softly, tilting your head back as his tongue flattens on you.
He takes it slow, remarkably gentle on your hypersensitive body, having gone relatively long in recent times without an orgasm, you feel like just the right move will pull you apart at the seams.
You let out a little groan, sighing as his pace quickens, his tongue pushing deeper, so that he can get a taste of you directly from the source.
It's primal, soft, ritualistic in the way that his tongue worships you, your eyes rolling back in your head as he draws you close to your peak.
There's an obscene sucking sound, followed closely by a hum of pleasure from between your legs. You feel your body tense, coiled tight on the precipice of bliss, thighs trembling as he keeps his tongue focused on your clit, lapping gently, and then a little harsher, to be gentle again.
His beard scratches your thighs, and even that is an aphrodisiac by itself, reminding you constantly that it's his mouth on you, his tongue on your cunt, his head between your thighs.
A sharp whine of warning, your stomach tightens, your breath stutters.
A groan of approval from him, the soft twist of his fingers on your skin, as if to encourage you, to tell you how good you're being for him, and all you ever want to do now is be good for him.
Being deconstructed by his mouth should be a lot harder, and yet, Billy makes it look like a basic endeavour.
Your toes curl, head knocking the wall, you feel like you're coming apart, atom by atom, the force of your pleasure barely contained within your skin. You feel the walls of your cunt clamp down into a tight vise, as wave after wave of bliss fills every square inch of your body.
You barely make more than a quiet gasp- too inebriated on his tongue to even scream.
He keeps licking you gently, lazily, trembling shudders working through your system until you're forced to tap his shoulder for a reprieve.
Another obscene sound when he pulls away, looking up at you, his mouth and beard shiny with your release.
He puts you back on two feet, but your knees buckle once the full weight of you is on them.
He stands swiftly, arms wrapping around you to pull you to his body keeping you upright, a small grunt leaving him.
You blink, struggling to restart your brain.
You realise his grunt is one of pain, as he tries to hold you up, it's what kickstarts your brain into working.
You grip his biceps, straightening your legs under you and willing them to stay that way.
"Sorry." You whisper, trying to take a deep breath.
"It's alright. If I could, I would have picked you up myself." He whispers back, and you raise your head to look into his eyes.
Something unnameable passes between you, you can't put a finger on it- but it feels like quiet appreciation for each other.
He helps you to the couch, sitting you down before disappearing into the bathroom.
When he re-emerges, it's with a clean face and a damp washcloth.
He encourages you down to the car after cleaning you and redressing you. You try to tell him that you're capable- but he won't have it.
He slides into the back of the car beside you, and almost immediately tucks your body against his, pulling your legs over one of his for comfort.
You sag, still fatigued from such a powerful orgasm.
Jesus, was it always going to be like that? All mind-consuming and explosive?
You smile when he kisses your forehead, tilting your head up to let him kiss you softly on the mouth.
Delightful, consuming, everything about him was just so... tantalising, you wanted to spend hours learning him, take days to map every thought in his head, every idea in his heart.
He was a dangerous enigma, a slippery slope.
And you were falling.
.
When Frank pulls the door to his house open, he gives you both a very suspicious look.
After a moment, he lets out a long sigh of disappointment.
"You two better not fuck in my house." He threatens.
"How can you even tell?" Billy asks in disbelief, reading into the quiet accusations being made by Frank.
"Isn't it obvious?" Frank asks, opening the door wider to let you in.
"Hi Frank," you say in greeting as you walk past him. He says your name, with a small nod of acknowledgement.
You take a moment to appreciate their house, it's warm and cozy, with lots of baseball trophies lining the mantle over the fireplace. There's a lot of pinks and beiges, a cozy line of couches near the fire.
Before you can do more looking, you hear a woman's voice.
"Is that them?" She asks, spinning into the room.
This must be Maria, you think, as you watch her take Billy into an aggressive hug, giving him a kiss to the cheek before letting him go in a flourish, a look of violation comically painted on his face.
When she turns to you next, you gulp.
She's very pretty, with lovely auburn hair. You notice a large scar curving from the corner of her eye down to the edge of her chin.
You only get a second of awareness before she's taking you into a hold just as violent as the one she'd trapped Billy in.
You can't help but giggle at her blatant showing of affection.
She says your name in greeting.
"I hear you kneed Frank in the balls. Well done."
You splutter for an excuse.
"I'm sorry-"
"-Don't be," she interjects, "I wished I'd seen it myself."
You smile, looking over to Frank, who is mid-roll of his eyes.
"That'll cost you later, big boy. Come! Dinner is almost ready." Maria says quickly, turning away and you let out a little chuckle in response to Frank's apologetic face.
"Billyyyyyyyyy." You hear someone shout, and you watch in horror as a small blur begins racing to your husband.
Your mouth opens, subtly stepping in front of him, ready to catch said blur.
Frank beats you to it, grabbing his son under the arms and picking him up for a second before putting him back down.
"Woah there slugger, take it easy on Uncle Billy, he just had surgery."
You sigh, moving away from Billy so that he can hug his godson in peace. You catch Maria staring at you. You give her a smile of apology before looking away.
"Frank, I want you to meet my wife," Billy says, turning the younger Frank's body in your direction.
You can instantly see the suspicious look on his face.
You tell him your name, extending your hand politely in greeting.
He takes it, shaking your hand politely, it's the best you can hope for, being a stranger in their home.
"You're not a gold digger are you?" Frank Jr. says suddenly.
It's met with lots of scolding from his parents. You can't help laughing at everyone's shocked expressions.
"Where did you even learn that word?" Frank says, exasperated.
"In school." Younger Frank answers honestly.
Billy straightens, gives you an apologetic look.
"She's not with me for my money, junior, I'm with her cause she's sweet." He wraps a hand around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.
You can't look at him, leaning in and accepting the comfort.
You meet Lisa next, Frank's older daughter, she's polite, but you can also see the accusation in her eyes.
You figure it's nice, that at least there are people looking out for Billy, though, you almost want to shout his crimes so that you stop being treated so abrasively.
Billy had warned you that the Castles could be protective, that they'd like you once they got to know you.
You'd hoped that were true.
.
When Maria asks how you and Billy met during dinner, you both pause in horror as the answer comes to mind.
You let out a long sigh.
"We met a couple of years ago, at a Christmas party, my boyfriend at the time was working at Anvil." You say with a smile.
Maria nods eagerly in understanding. You can see how bad it looks.
"Alright," you say, finally having enough. Your fork clatters onto your plate and you watch Billy turn his head to you in alarm.
"Cards on the table. No, I'm not with him for his money- and I'm not pregnant either if any of you are thinking it. I like him. I like his stupid face and his stupid laugh and I feel safe around him and I never really had that before." You pause for a second, taking a sip of water before continuing.
"Sure, how we met wasn't the best, and how we got married was even worse, but I like him."
Billy reaches over, taking your hand in his, you glance up at him, your stomach tying into knots as you meet his eyes.
"He's my best friend." You finish.
You feel his hand squeeze yours.
Billy leans forward, his other hand cupping your cheek and hiding your mouths from view as he kisses you softly.
The entire table erupts into groans, mostly from both Franks and you can't help laughing into his kiss.
It lightens the mood though, and there's less tension in the air by the time dinner is finished.
.
Everyone helps with cleaning up, and you find yourself drying dishes next to Maria while the rest of the family clear the table.
"He's not someone we'd ever thought could settle down." Maria murmurs.
You look up at her curiously.
She sees your confused expression and tries to explain.
"He's always just been so focused on himself, there were a lot of bad things about his childhood, and more in the military, and we just never thought he could be in a spot where he could live with someone. He tends to push people away after a while. Even us."
You look down, letting out a long sigh, wondering what you would do if he ever tried to push you away.
Accept it, you guess. What could you really do if he decided he didn’t want you anymore? Nothing.
“But don’t worry.” She interjects, you look up at her, eyes settling on her wicked scar for a second before you look down at your dish, “He likes you, he really does, maybe you did have a rough start, but I have faith in both of you.”
Your mouth pulls into a smile, you thank her for her kind words.
.
You play Jenga with them next, laughing and tickling Billy’s left side affectionately to distract him while he moves.
He grins, his hand remains remarkably steady while you torment him with your fingers. Everyone jeers, encouraging his loss, booing him when he manages to get the block on top of the tower without toppling it.
Your turn is next and you smile happily as you lean forward to make your move. You feel his hand on the small of your back, rubbing affectionately as you pick your piece. He doesn’t try to shake you or cheat like you did while you pull your piece out. The rest of the Castle family boo you in funny ways, and you have this moment of realisation that this is what family feels like.
When you get your wooden brick seated next to Billy’s, he kisses you on the temple, murmuring a ‘Good job, baby.’ into your ear in a low voice that has your body responding eagerly to him.
There’s a look that passes between you, something warm and electric, the silent guarantee that if you were alone right now, you’d be ripping at each other's clothes.
It’s Frank that drops the tower, after Maria whispers something into his ear quietly, and you smile at the way he looks at her in half betrayal and half adoration as everyone cheers for his loss.
You see it, you understand why these people are so important to him, the humanity inside each Castle is a unique thing, that makes the whole family unit just work so easily.
You’re glad to have met them, and you’re also sad when you have to bid them goodbye at the end of the night.
Maria hugs you both, Frank gives you an almost friendly pat on your shoulder. There’s a bittersweetness to it that you’ve barely felt before, a real family that you can be a part of, a promise to reunite soon that sparks hope inside of you.
You leave, hand in hand with Billy, a little bit happier than you were when you first arrived, feeling like you understood your husband just a little bit more.
.
In the car, he lets out a slow breath, tilting his head back. He’s in pain, you realise.
“My scar is starting to hurt.” he confesses, turning his head to look at you.
Your heart squeezes in your chest.
“We’ll get you home and get some medicine into you, okay?” You say softly, leaning into him, till your nose rubs affectionately against his.
He nods, eyes drooping as he feels your hand move to cup the healing area of his abdomen over his shirt gently. He leans into you, resting his head into the crook of your neck, your other hand moving up to play with his hair.
You feel him sigh in bliss.
.
You tug your heels off so that you have better balance to support him, encouraging him to lean into you a little so that he’s in a little less pain while you get him up to your apartment.
His pain has worsened by the time you sit him in bed and rummage through your cabinet for his medicine.
You get it to him first, making sure he finishes the glass of water you gave him before you begin taking his shoes off.
“You don’t have to-” He tries to sit up, “I can-” He grunts in pain when he curls forward too much.
You push him back gently, giving him a kiss to his forehead.
“Let me take care of you, yeah?”
You stroke his cheek with the backs of your fingers while you wait for him to respond.
“Yeah,” he sighs.
You tug his shoes off, and then undo his pants, giggling slightly when he struggles to lift his hips to help you.
You can’t help touching him, feeling over his thick thighs as they’re exposed to you. You kiss his happy trail when you see it, giggling when he groans.
“Tease.” He pouts.
You kiss his pout too.
Only after you strip him down to his boxers and carefully check his scar, do you tuck him into bed, moving to dress down for the night too.
When you struggle for too long with the zipper, you sit on the edge of the bed beside Billy and ask him for help.
He kisses your exposed back when he gets the zip undone.
When you’re finally in your silky PJs, you slide into bed beside him, noticing that he’s still awake, but blinking slowly.
“Are you still in pain?” You ask, tilting your head to observe him.
“No pain.” He answers, “Groggy.”
You sigh in relief, sliding closer to him, till you’re pressed to his side. Your hand slides into his rough one, and you quietly enjoy the feeling of being next to him until he speaks.
“I’ve never had this.” Billy whispers. You raise your head to look at him, noticing how unfocused his eyes are, staring up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, as if to remind himself that he’s still awake.
“The old me would have never confessed to anyone that I was hurting.”
He turns his head, glassy eyes focusing on you.
“But you… The way you fight for me makes me want to trust you more and more each time.” He swallows, “It’s scary.”
He raises a hand, cups your cheek and you can’t help leaning into him, closing your eyes in hopes that it puts him at ease, that he doesn’t feel stared at while he opens himself up to you.
“No one has ever taken care of me before. Not like you have. You look at me- and I- I mean something. You know?”
You open your eyes then, staring at him for a long moment, finding that your throat has closed up from your abundance of emotion.
“You mean a lot.” You whisper, your hand raising to cup his.
His eyes are glassy, almost on the brink of tears.
“I didn’t know.”
.
You’re in the kitchen making coffee two days after, scarily deep in thought.
In the quiet of the morning you think about everything that’s happened. From Dominic dumping you to the despair you felt when your annulment request had been denied. You think about it all, and you think about your mother, whose call you had ignored yesterday after walking out of her house when you found out Billy was sick.
You didn’t know how to approach her, or what you would say when she asked you the question she’d asked before.
Before you can think yourself into a downward spiral, an arm wraps itself around your waist. His hand is broad, spreading over your tummy and leaving warm tingles behind, his touch so comforting that you can’t help but smile and lean into him a little.
“Good morning, Mrs. Russo.” He grumbles softly, letting you know exactly what he thought of waking up alone in bed.
“What can I help you with, Mister Russo?” You tease, smiling as you both sway together.
There’s a moment of silence, filled only with the sounds of your shared breaths as you enjoy the presence of each other.
“I would like you to come back to bed. It’s a Saturday and you haven’t cuddled me for nearly long enough.”
You grin, rolling your eyes.
“Yeah? And what do I get if I come back to bed with you right now?”
He hums, nose pressing against your ear, one hand on your stomach and the other rising up to cup your jaw securely.
“I can think of many imaginative ways to thank you.” He murmurs, the heat of his breath tickling your ear gently.
It’s something you could never even think to dream of.
.
.
.
A/N: Sorry I've been so inactive... bad things have happened, just popping in to post this cause I don't want it to sit in my drafts for any longer.
#accidentally on purpose#accidentally on purpose married billy#billy russo#billy russo x reader#billy russo x female reader#the punisher#frank castle#my writings#billy russo smut
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My Personal Weatherman and the D/s element Ep 7
If you haven't read my other commentary on this show, you can find it here.
Ahhh, I'm so excited for this show. I've been looking forward to it so much. Yoh sweet baby is till watching Segasaki on his show. Aww... "I could watch his face forever." This miscommunication is crazy, but these two really love each other so much.
Yoh really does have an awesome friend in Minnie aka Manju.
Segasaki worrying that Yoh left again. This is a jealous Dom, but that's because he isn't secure in what he has. I've said countless times, there are no bad emotions, only bad reactions. Yoh knows there is something wrong, but he doesn't know what. He wants to fix it, and he is hitting all his usually submissive ways, but they aren't working.
Omg... I can't tell you how many times I watched that side eye from Segasaki as Yoh goes to removed the bag. This is very much a Dom fed up with his brat. 🤣🤣🤣
Yay! Flashbacks from Segasaki's point of view! He is extremely observant. Interesting that he at first negatively viewed Yoh, even though he himself admitted that the people he was surrounded by were shitty.
Segasaki is arrogant, but not unkind. He observes, makes judgment calls, but isn't afraid to re-evaluate. That is actually a good thing to look for in a Dom. You don't want a Dom that is indecisive, nor one that can't admit when he's made a wrong call.
Like I said, kind but arrogant. "You're really talented." I can smile much better. He isn't saying that Yoh didn't capture him right because he clearly admires his talent and tells us that his drawings were so good. It's that he saw something about himself to improve.
He carefully cultivated what others saw, but Yoh saw through this. Knows his small little flashes of facial features. When I say that D/s couples really do watch each other this closely, we do. Remember, our relationships revolve around a lot of nonverbal communication. Each wanting to instinctively please each other, though in different ways. Each needing to anticipate the other's need. Verbal communication also needs to be good, but that's always why we often write guidelines. It helps us communicate our needs. However, you have to remember that this D/s relationship happened organically, so the verbal communication isn't there yet.
Side note, most Doms hate showing vulnerability to anyone other than their submissive. I do on here because I'm pretty much anonymous and this place is my therapy. In real life, though, I'm not very good at showing vulnerability even to my submissive. Though I've gotten softer since my kids.
There is that arrogance again. No one was worth showing his true feelings to. Got me questioning myself when people call me arrogant. But damn, I melted when he asked Yoh not to leave.
The famous curry. We're finally going to know the story. OMG, but I love how natural they both are in their positions. They might not understand their feelings towards each other, but they understand themselves. Segasaki's face as he eats the curry! I'm dying. And you can not tell me that Yoh can read all of Segasaki's facial expressions but didn't recognize Segasaki's facial expression this time? Segasaki covers himself well by bringing up the congee.
Segasaki goes right into commanding Yoh. Telling him to put the curry in Tupperware, and he'll be the only one eating it. He better not touch it. Yoh instinctively obeys. The way he taps Yoh's forehead and tells him, "This is mine." Damn, Yoh, how did you miss that? You is cute and you is stupid. Segasaki happily eating the terrible curry says everything.
Ahh, Segasaki rubbing Yoh's head. Bestowing a reward. The way Yoh's eyes literally twinkled due to it. Absolutely fucking adorable.
"I came all the way here for you. Go ahead and take a good look and draw." When they talk about Segasaki's face when he asked if he really looked like this. Who called it peeps? Who called it. "Draw more. If it's the depths of my heart, as long as it's you, then I don't mind." And there is that Dom intensity and possessiveness.
And back to present day with rain crashing down outside. Segasaki goes looking for Yoh, but can't find him.
OMG, the roof scene is everything. "Without you, I can't breathe." The kiss, that Yoh didn't even think of denying Segasaki. The fact that Segasaki cried because he thought Yoh left. Ugh. We have to watch this again.
I think this is my favorite episode. Yoh is so excited because Segasaki apologizing because he never has before. Nope, Segasaki is apologizing for trusting him and ties him up. Dead. This is the best.
Normies who might be thinking that Yoh is scared. Please note, other than saying "hold on, wait." He offers up no further struggle. Our little coconut is confused and maybe a little scared because he doesn't know why Segasaki is acting like this, but he isn't scared of Sagasaki or what he is doing. There is a fundamental comfort and trust there, hence the no struggle. Remember he is a brat, if he wants to struggle he will. Remember the last episode where he threw a fucking fit? As far as Segasaki doing it without asking, well remember their relationship has an in place agreement of Segasaki having total control. Yoh knew that Segasaki was controlling and a tyrant when he made the agreement. But let me say this, in real life there should be a safe word in place even in these types of relationships. Again, though, this is an organic lifestyle relationships, so we were lucky we got the agreement.
I'm so excited about the next episode!!! Why must we wait! Ahhh. Hope you guys enjoyed! 💜💜💜
#taikan yoho#my personal weatherman#segasaki x yoh#luta talks my personal weatherman#luta talks kink
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Vickie wasn't immune to being bullied. It happened to her all the time. Her teeth were weird. She talked too much. Why does she have to have so many freckles? One time, she went quiet for a month when someone told her to shut the hell up. Vickie knows how annoying she can be sometimes, and she always tries to real it in, but it was difficult when she found something she was passionate about. Then, there were times when she had thought that she had made friends until she overheard them in the library.
"God, she's so annoying!"
"Do you hear the way she talks?"
"She's so boring!"
"Well, she's a ginger. She's got no soul!"
Vickie had run all the way home and swore never to return to school. Crying and laying in bed, she didn't understand why anyone ever hated her because all she ever did was try to be nice to people. Does everyone think about her this way? She had gone down to the store not far from her house and bought a bottle of hair dye. Maybe they would like her if she wasn't a ginger. It didn't turn out well. Her mother had returned home and rectified the situation. She always knew how to make things better.
"What are you thinking about?" Robin said as they continued to make peanut butter sandwiches.
They had been volunteering at the same station for the last couple of weeks. Whatever happened with the earthquake seemed to slowly be getting better, but it was still pretty rough. Vickie refused to leave, though even though she had this feeling on the back of her neck, a couple of days after, like something bad was going to happen but then it was gone like it had fixed it self or something. It wasn't the first time she had those feelings.
"My mom. I was thinking about my mom," Vickie said softly. "When she was alive."
"Oh, I didn't know. I'm sorry," Robin said.
"It's alright. I mean, I miss her like crazy. Of course. I was just thinking about the time I tried to dye my hair blonde because I got it into my head that people would like me more. I had these friends or I thought they were my friends. Apparently, I talked too much, and my hair was too red," Vickie said. "It turned green for some reason. I was terribly embarrassed, and when my mom came home, she had to cut my hair. Then she sat me down and said: 'fuck them and what they think.' It shocked me because she doesn't curse a whole lot, not that she had anything against it. She said that there's always going to be people who are always going to comment on the way you live, and that's not on you to make them change how they see you but it is up to you how you see yourself. It's up to you and you alone what you like to see in the mirror."
"Wow," Robin said. "Your mom sounds amazing."
"She was the best," Vickie said proudly and paused. "She would have liked you."
"Yeah?" Robin asked.
"Yeah."
"My mom likes to bowl," Robin blurted out. "I don't know why I said that. I mean, it's true that she does. Although, she hasn't been bowling since she got pregnant with me. She raised me by herself, you know. Single mom. She didn't know who my father was, which didn't say anything about her except that I think she's the best and I never needed a father. She would like you too. What?"
"I like that you ramble," Vickie said.
"Yeah?"
"You know, I could use a break," Vickie said as she took off her gloves.
She started to walk away, and she paused before looking at her shoulder at Robin. Vickie grinned and shook her head, indicating she wanted Robin to follow her. She walked out of the cafeteria and moved far enough down the hallway before moving into an empty closet. She heard the sound of footsteps.
"Vickie?" Robin hissed.
Vickie giggled before opening the closet door and pulling Robin inside. She had apparently yanked her too hard, and she was now pressed up against Vickie. She placed her hands on Robin's hips to stop her from moving back. Vickie moved her face closer to Robin's.
"Life is short, you know," Vickie whispered. "I don't want to regret not doing something that I really wanted to do. You know?"
She brushed her lips against Robin's softly and tentatively. Robin froze for a moment, and Vickie thought she messed up, but then Robin started kissing her back. It was wonderful. Robin cupped her neck, her fingers moving into her hair as her lips moved against Vickie's. They both smiled into the kiss. Vickie wrapped her arms around Robin's neck as she deepened the kiss while Robin moved her arms around her waist to support her. A giddy, warm feeling rose up from her stomach to her chest, and she broke the kiss. They leaned their foreheads together, giggling.
"This is better than any dream that I had," Robin said, biting her lip.
"You dreamed about me?" Vickie asked.
"Yeah."
"I dreamed about you too," Vickie said, and she grinned. "Can I tell you something?"
"Yeah," Robin said.
"I own my own copy of Fast Times," Vickie said.
"Why did you rent it?" She asked.
"I was trying to let you know that I like women without being obvious," Vickie replied.
"Oh my god," Robin laughed. "Steve was right."
"You talk about me with Steve Harrington?" She asked.
"He's my best friend in the whole world," Robin said. "My platonic soulmate."
"That sounds nice. I don't think I've ever had a best friend. I mean, I have friends but. . .that sounds nice," Vickie said.
"It is," Robin said. "And the video thing. . .so cute."
"Really?" Vickie asked.
"You're so cute," Robin said.
Robin kissed her cheek, rapid firing a bunch of kisses against it, causing Vickie to giggle. She began moving her lips down until they were attached to Vickie's neck. Vickie squeaked when Robin started nibbling at her neck, but she pulled her back in when Robin tried to pull away.
"Robin?" A young boy's voice rang out.
Robin and Vickie sprang apart.
"Who's that?" Vickie asked.
"Dustin Henderson. He's one of the kids that Steve and I platonically adopted," Robin said with a sigh, and Vickie's eyes twinkled.
"She's probably in the bathroom," they heard Steve tell him.
"They're going to keep looking for me," Robin groaned.
She cupped Vickie's face and kissed her deeply. Robin pulled away and grabbed a box of gloves off the shelf. She burst out of the closet, right next to them and causing them both to scream. Vickie followed and laughed at the look on their faces.
"What were you doing in the closet, Robin?!" Dustin exclaimed. "You scared the shit out of me and Steve!"
"Looking for gloves," Robin said, shaking the box at him. "What do you want?"
"Oh, they cleared Eddie of all charges!!" Dustin exclaimed.
"Shit! Seriously?!" Robin exclaimed.
"Yeah!"
"Yeah, they arrested Jason Carver," Dustin replied.
"I always thought there was something off about that guy," Vickie muttered. "I mean, Jason, not Eddie."
"Who is this?" Dustin asked, realizing there was someone else there.
"Vickie Fisher," she said, greeted with a smile and holding out her hand. "I like your shirt."
"It's Weird Al," Dustin said, looking at her suspiciously.
"I love Weird Al!" She exclaimed.
"I like you. Robin, I like your friend," Dustin said. "You're automatically my friend now, too. You can come with us to tell Eddie the news."
Dustin took off ahead of them, and Steve pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.
"He's adorable," Vickie laughed.
"His moms certainly think so," Robin said, and Steve sighed.
"His moms?" Vickie asked.
"Claudia, his real mom, and Steve," Robin said. "I am, of course, the dad."
"Of course, that makes sense," Vickie said seriously. "I always thought Steve looked like a mom."
"You know, Fisher, I was going to warn you about the hickey on your neck, but I think I changed my mind," Steve said.
Vickie giggled as she buttoned up the collar of her shirt to cover it. She looked at him seriously.
"By the way, I have nothing but honorable intentions with your platonic soulmate," Vickie said.
"That's good to know," Steve said in amusement.
"You were totally right about Phoebe Cates," Robin said.
"I already owned my own copy," Vickie said.
"So, why did you - oh, I see what you did. Nice," Steve said and high fived Vickie.
Robin rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
"You really like me?" Vickie asked.
"Yeah, even if you do like Weird Al," Robin said teasingly and Vickie laughed.
"Oh my God, she would not stop talking about you. It was constant, nonstop," Steve rolled his eyes. "She even called you the girl of her dreams."
Vickie's eyes lit up as she gazed at Robin fondly. The smile dropped from her face as she realized something.
"Wait. . .Eddie's alive?!"
#stranger things#stranger things vickie#vickie fisher#fisher is her last name because i said so#robin buckley#lesbian robin buckley#bisexual vickie#robin x vickie#rovickie#rockie#steve harrington#robin & steve#platonic stobin#platonic soulmates#platonic with a capital p#dustin henderson#stranger things fanfiction#rueleigh writes
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Absolutely sucks that your blog is ravaged with proshipping apologia. Like yeah enjoying dark subject matter in fiction doesn't mean you condone it IRL (I myself am an avid gore and kink fan and use that to express my feelings in art) but uhhh there's a difference between depicting pedophilia in a story and actively jacking it to child porn which is what most if not all proshippers are trying to justify.
The Venn diagram between proshippers and anime lolicons is a circle. "Ohhh it's not real" yeah sure technically but that's still very much a child being raped on screen you're getting your rocks off to. Being in the second dimension doesn't negate that.
Most proshippers don't actually care about properly depicting complex subject matter in art. They just wanna write their incest rape South Park fics and call anyone who calls them out on it "puritans." (I doubt any of you really understand what that word means. If not liking child porn makes me a puritan then call me the Virgin fucking Mary.) It's all excuses, excuses.
Fiction affects reality more than you think. It's why propaganda is so effective. It's why Jim Crow and minstrelsy was (and still is tbh) so harmful to African Americans. Why do you think POC care about how they're depicted in media so much? It very much influences thinking, how people see the world.
(There is an argument to be made about the rampant racism in fandom, but that's a whole other conversation.)
Don't dismiss this ask. I want you to read it very carefully and get yourself out of the echo chamber you've put yourself in. Consider the points made at the very least. Use the "critical thinking" you claim to love so much.
I have considered the points you made and read them very carefully, and I have found them incorrect, relying on faulty logic, and full of unverified assumptions and false equivalences. I now bring you a full breakdown of exactly why, though I’m putting it under a cut in case anyone wants to avoid the Discourse™ because this breakdown is a long one.
*cracks knuckles* Here we go!
You clearly have a different definition of “proship” than I do. I and those that I have reblogged or liked (as far as I can tell) are “proship” in the sense that we’re arguing for the freedom to read what you want and write what you want because thoughtcrime isn’t real, no one gets hurt inside your head, and the ability to read and write what we wish is vital to a free society. That’s my definition of “proship,” and if you have a different definition and are determined to stick to it, there’s not much I can do about that. I can only tell you what my definition is so that you know what I’m referring to when I talk about it in this post or reblog posts mentioning it.
If you’re referring to what’s on AO3 (which is what I am mainly concerned with, as I don’t talk about other fanfic sites on my blog), that is not child porn. It’s not. The term child porn refers to sexual photos and videos of real children, not text-only stories about fictional ones. AO3 does not allow users to upload videos nor does it allow users to upload photos except for their profile pictures, and it is literally written into their Terms of Service that they do not allow child pornography on their site. You couldn’t put child porn on AO3 if you tried. Text by itself with no photos or videos accompanying it is not child porn, and that’s true no matter how disgusting and immoral you find it. I don’t support or justify child porn because I don’t support or justify real children being hurt, which is what actual child porn involves and requires.
What I do support is the freedom for everyone to read and write what they want, and I am not going to stop supporting that.
How do you know that the people reading or writing a fic are “getting their rocks off to” or “actively jacking it” to what's in it? Did they tell you? Have you developed telepathic powers and read their minds? How do you know that people “don’t actually care about properly depicting complex subject matter in art?” Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them. You don’t know why someone is reading something and you don’t know why someone is writing something. I have no idea whether the person checking Mein Kampf or Birth of a Nation out of a library is a racist who agrees with everything in both works or a scholar doing research for a paper on racism or just an average joe who wants to see what’s in there for themselves and form their own conclusions, which is a perfectly fine and intellectually healthy thing to want. I don’t know which of these is the case and I’m not going to automatically assume the worst-case scenario, nor am I going to demand that the person checking out those works provide me with an explanation because they don’t owe me one. You don’t know why someone is reading or writing a rape or incest story. Maybe they find it sexy or maybe they’re a victim themselves, working through their trauma by expressing it via the written word. You don’t know which one it is, and they don’t owe you an explanation. I’d advise you not to automatically assume the worst-case scenario either.
Because you know what happens when people assume the worst of an author’s intentions and assume they know what a work is doing? You get situations like Isabel Fall’s and Lindsay Ellis’ where people were sure they knew that the former was being transphobic with her short story and that the latter was trivializing rape with her “rape rap.” They were so sure, as sure as you are in your ask, not a doubt in their minds, didn’t think it was possible for there to be any other reason or interpretation, and so they felt totally justified in harassing those women. I’m sure each of them convinced themselves they were doing this because they were an ally who just cared so much and that those authors deserved the hate they were getting because (gasp!) they wrote something bad and if you write something bad, you should expect to be called out. And then they found out—oops! Turns out Isabel Fall was a trans person and not a cis person being transphobic after all, and was actually writing a story about a subject she had plenty of experience with, and—oops! Turns out Lindsay Ellis was an assault victim herself and she was coping with her trauma in the best way she could because making a lighthearted rap about the subject made it more accessible, easier to deal with, and not as scary and she wasn’t making fun of victims after all. Whoops!
How do you know the people writing these fics you find so horrible aren’t doing something similar to Ellis and Fall? How do you know they aren’t victims working through their grief and trauma in a way that helps them? How do you know you’re not misjudging and assuming the worst of them just like Fall’s and Ellis’ haters misjudged and assumed the worst of them? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them. How do you know?
Why do you get to be the authority who decides what “properly depicting complex subject matter in art” even looks like? Maybe someone else read it and decided it was properly depicted; why does your opinion and interpretation matter more than theirs? Why is yours the correct one? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them.
I don’t know what anime lolicon is, so I’m not gonna comment on that, though I will say it disproves your point about the Venn diagram being a circle since I am technically a proshipper and yet I don’t even know what that is. I’m sure if you look hard enough, you can probably find someone using the proship label who has done something bad or supports something bad, but the same can be said about antis. You get assholes in every group. Doesn’t mean everyone in the group is a bad person.
(Also I know this isn’t the most important point here but the fact that you’re more worried about the content of South Park fanfics rather than the South Park show itself says to me that you care more about finding an easy target than about minimizing harm because that show has plenty of racist and anti-Semitic “jokes” in it that are being fed to a much larger audience than any fanfic of it could ever have, yet I don’t see you being worried at all about that. Wonder why.)
(Another less important point but one I’m still going to indulge in: I find your line about “if that makes me a puritan then call me the Virgin Mary” funny in an ironic way because in trying to claim that people don’t know what the word puritan means, you proved that you yourself don’t know what it means by implying that puritan = virgin. Puritan and virgin are not the same thing. Virgin is a state of being that could be voluntary or, if you want sex but can’t find anyone to give it to you, it could be involuntary. One could be a virgin and still be sex-positive just like one could be a religious fundamentalist with ten kids who’s had all the sex required to make those ten kids but still be sex-negative and think that only the straight married baby-making kind is okay and all other kinds are impure and gross. Unlike virginity, puritanism is a mindset, not a state of being, and therefore it is always voluntary. You can be one without being the other. Again, not a super important point, but I thought the irony of that line was funny.)
You do know that Jim Crow was a set of laws and policies set down by the government and enforced by police and courts and not, like…a dirty fanfic or book, right? You do know that? It was and still is a legal framework that’s baked into the justice system and has been the driving force behind everything from mass incarceration to drug policy to redlining and housing to voter disenfranchisement. Bitch, I fucking wish that Jim Crow was nothing more than a bad fanfic or a bad story; that would make it a hell of a lot easier to fight! Acting like any one (fan)fiction writer or any one piece of (fan)fiction has the same amount of power as the fucking US government is some insane false equivalence.
As for the representation argument, you’re misunderstanding what that movement is about and why the founders of it cared about the state of media. We Need Diverse Books and organizations like it did not start their campaigns because they were disgusted by what White writers were doing and wanted to stop them and make sure they could never do it again. They started their campaigns to empower and encourage authors of color. It began when a few Black mothers were looking for books for their kids and realized they couldn’t find any with a Black child on the cover, not because they read something a White person wrote and were so horrified by it that they had to put a stop to it. Being so horrified by something in a story that you have to put a stop to it is what Moms for Liberty does. The goal of the representation matters movement is to diversify the publishing industry since it’s still majority White, to publish more authors of color because most of the authors being published are still White, and to update school curriculums so that students of color can read about and study characters like themselves. All of which are good and reasonable goals. It is not and never was about telling people what they were and were not allowed to write or read, or saying that they’re bad people because of what they write or read.
“Influences thinking” and “affecting reality” are not the same as controlling or determining thinking and reality. If fiction really does affect how people see the real world, then why, in a time when we have more positive books/movies/TV shows/plays of and by POC and positive queer books/movies/TV shows/plays than ever before, are we still dealing with vicious racism and homophobia? If fiction influences thinking and affects reality and how people see the world so much, then why, in a time when we have Drag Queen Story Hour and trans characters are being featured positively in popular TV shows and trans actors are winning awards, are we still dealing with some of the worst transphobia we’ve ever seen? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them.
Fiction doesn’t make things happen. Playing violent video games doesn’t make a person violent. Reading or writing about an immoral act does not mean you agree with, get off to, or are going to do the immoral act. And that’s true regardless of what the immoral act in question is, whether it's gore or kink or rape or incest.
The problem with “you can read/write what you want except for X because X is gross/morally wrong” is that the bigots and mean-spirited folks of the world will find a way to make anything they don’t like into X. That’s the part antis don’t think about. But we’re already seeing it play out in school board meetings.
“We don’t want to ban Maus because it talks about the Holocaust, we want to ban it because uhhh it has pictures of naked prisoners in the camps and therefore it’s pornography.”
“We don’t want to ban Beloved because it talks about slavery, we want to ban it because uhhh it has a slave getting raped in it and therefore it’s pornography and sexually explicit and won’t someone think of the children!”
“We don’t want to ban all of these books because they have Black kids on the covers, we want to ban them because uhhh they’re critical race theory and indoctrination that teaches White kids to hate themselves!”
“We don’t want to keep drag queens out of libraries because we hate them and are transphobic, we want to keep them out of libraries because uhhh they’re sexualizing minors and teaching them to mutilate their genitals!”
Those are real examples. And they will happen to fanfiction too if we’re not careful. Someone doesn’t like Sonadow? Well they’re not against it because they’re homophobic or just don’t like the ship, they’re against it because uhhh it’s pedophilia since Shadow is 50-65 depending on how you count it and Sonic is 15. If it can happen with books, it can happen with fanfiction.
We’ve already seen cases of people running for board positions on AO3 who talked about “cleaning up the site,” and each time it turned out they were homophobic and were very much including queerness in what they considered “dirty.” That’s going to keep happening because antis keep falling for it and getting swept up in a manufactured moral panic without thinking through what the enforcement would be like. The whole reason AO3 has the policies that it does is because these kinds of purges happened regularly on other sites. Every time, people insisted it was “just the bad ones,” “just the immoral ones,” “just the underage ones,” etc. And it never was. And after every purge, there’d be a lot fewer queer love stories in the world.
How are you going to make sure that doesn’t happen again? How will you decide whose definitions of terms like “pedophilia,” “grooming,” “underage,” “sexualizing,” “fetishizing” get used? That’s the part antis never think about, is what enforcement of what they want would actually involve. Some people think “underage” is anyone under 25 or under 20 and some think it’s anyone under 18. Which one is right? Who gets to decide? Which country’s age of consent is the correct one that fanfic writers around the world all have to abide by regardless of where they’re from, and why is that country’s age of consent the correct one? Whose interpretation of a work is the correct one? And whoever ends up making these decisions, how will you stop this decision maker who gets to say what counts as “properly and improperly depicting complex subject matter” and what doesn’t from shifting the goalposts and abusing their power? How will you stop them from applying those negative labels to just any work they don’t like? What checks and balances will be put in place to keep whoever does the fanfiction gatekeeping from abusing that position? Don’t dismiss those questions, answer them. I’ve yet to see an anti have an answer to these questions.
I know propaganda is effective because you’ve fallen for it. The idea that peoples’ ability to read and write what they want must be restricted because Think of the Children™ and because “only bad people would ever want to read/write something bad” is the same talking points used by Moms for Liberty, Ron DeSantis, the people protesting Drag Queen Story Hour, and so many others. Every single time an attempt is made to restrict the freedom to read and write, it is always couched in the paternalistic language of protection, safety, just looking out for kids, and the fearmongering language of “that stuff is freaky, dirty, and gross and only a pervert would ever have a problem with it being banned.” Every time, it is discussed with the language of protection and safety, and every time, it is a lie.
I support the right of everyone to read and write what they want because I don’t know their situation, don’t have the right to demand an explanation of their situation or a detailed account of their very private and personal traumas, and have seen what happens when people try to excuse banning and censorship of written text or harassing authors with the excuses of “it’s just the bad ones,” “we’re just protecting kids,” “we just have a few concerns,” “we’re just being good allies,” and “if I wrote something gross I’d expect to get called out!”
So. Now that I have responded to your points, I hope that you will very carefully read and consider my points at the very least and get out of your echo chamber and use some critical thinking too. The fact that you put the phrase critical thinking in quotes like it’s a fake thing that doesn’t exist instead of a real and very important skill reveals a lot more than I think you meant it to, but still I hope you try.
I’ve disabled anonymous asks because I want to see if you’re brave enough to respond without hiding behind anonymity. I’ll be interested to see if you or anyone who agrees with you actually provides thoughtful, well-reasoned, and well-articulated answers to the questions I’ve asked instead of replying with a thought-terminating ad hominem like “That was a lot of words to say that you’re a [insert bad thing here]!” or “Just say you [insert bad thing here] and go!” And if you can actually provide evidence for your claims, if you can provide non-anecdotal, verifiable studies and data that are not from a religious or rightwing think tank that prove your points about proshipping and proshippers, then I’ll really be impressed.
I’m not holding my breath though.
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