#can you tell i have a thing for hip windows?
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and she’ll tease you
masterlist
emily prentiss x reader
18+: smut; teasing, office sex, boot riding, finger sucking, oral fixation kinda, dom!emily, mommy kink, degradation, praise, lowkey hand kink icl i was thinking about them and salivating from all my lips
a/n: title from the song ‘bette davis eyes’ by kim carnes - this is from a request !!
wc: 1.7k
Emily seemed to have woken up on whichever side of the bed makes you walk the path of torment. She, of course, was the devilish one in this scenario, and you were merely the one she was so determined to tease.
You’d woken up in the older woman’s bed, an occurrence not so uncommon, with the soft pad of her fingertip trailing over your arm and the light smile on her lips being the first thing to greet you.
Her lips grazed yours with her murmur of ‘good morning’, and in your sleepy haze you returned it as best you could. And, despite the briefness of the kiss, your breath halted just as it always does. She pulled away much too soon for your liking, rising from where she lay with a smug glance at you over her shoulder.
In spite of the way your eyes were fighting against tiredness, you couldn’t keep them away from the muscles of her bare back, the inward curve of her waist when she stretched her arms above her head and the perfect view of her naked body when she sauntered away into the bathroom.
She’d let you stay in the duvet-covered comfort for a little bit longer, leaving you to blink yourself into as much of an alert state as you can before work. You were still savouring that last bit of comfort when you heard the water shut off mere moments before she came back out to you.
Her flirtatious disposition she’d decided to emphasise was in full swing, sauntering to her wardrobe in her underwear, droplets of water still sitting in the contours of her back. Her eyes didn’t shy away from you when she’d pulled the covers from your body, leaning over to ghost a peck over your lips whilst luring you from the mattress.
And the drive to work left little respite; her hand crept daringly high where it rested on your thigh, a teasing move rather risky this early in the morning. Especially on the way to work. Unbeknownst to you, however, that was her plan entirely. Emily adores you when you’re worked up - when she can tell you’re thinking of nothing but her.
-
Her hopes for the day couldn’t have worked out more flawlessly; she was blessed with a case-free day, just paperwork and a couple of meetings to occupy her time. So she had plenty of time to fit in some playful torment.
She watched out of the window of her office at you working at your desk, taking part in conversations here and there. She waited until you went for your mid-morning coffee to make her move, making sure to approach you with the sleeves of her shirt rolled up in the way she knows you like.
Your eyes glazed over her forearms as soon as they came into view, and your cheeks warmed at the smirk she regarded you with.
“Want one?” you asked her with a gesture towards your mug, instantly reaching for another at her nod.
The quiet between you was palpable yet comfortable whilst you waited for the coffee to brew; you shuddered at the fingertips she dragged across your back, tracing lines up to your neck and along your collarbone.
She nudged beneath your chin, guiding you to face her - so close you could feel the heat of her breath.
“You working hard?” she smiled, eyeing your lips and the way your neck twitched with your swallow.
“Mhm,” you nodded, watching the way her tongue swiped along her bottom lip with a movement so slow and deliberate it made your heartbeat quicken.
“Always a good girl for me,” she breathed, almost daring to let her lips brush against yours yet pulling away before letting you give in. With that, she left, coffee in hand and a wink to you over her shoulder with the swaying of her hips fogging your mind.
-
She’s playfully scolded you before for picking up your personal phone when you’re meant to be working, but when you saw the screen light up with her name, you swiped it open.
‘I miss you in here’, she’d typed.
Before you’d finished a reply, another message came through, a photo of her shirt partially unbuttoned; the black lace of her bra poked into view, and her necklace sat against the line of her collarbone, dipping into the space between her breasts. You glanced at her office door despite knowing there’d be nothing to see, you just hoped nobody caught sight of your antsy state, fidgeting in your chair.
Emily knows the effect she has on you - how her hands so often capture your attention. She catches you following their movements when she talks, the way her knuckles strain with her grip on the steering wheel. The next photo that popped up confirmed your suspicions of her hellish behaviour, the teasing and flirting, the sly touches at any moment she was near.
A photo of her hand, fingers splayed on her thigh. The svelte digits served as a reminder of her constant hold on you, the ease with which she can have you yearning for her attention in one calculated decision. You could only think of her touch, the one she’d graced you with only last night.
You stood from your chair with a huff, feeling pathetically desperate for the attention of your lover; your back felt hot, your stomach twinged with need, and the ache between your thighs only grew at the idea of her.
You didn’t bother to knock and just let yourself into her office with the door clicking shut behind you and an instant pout mirroring her smirk.
“Can I help you?” she spoke, leaning back in her chair behind her desk, legs spread with confidence. She oozes power and she knows it, it drips like honey from her skin.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” you frowned, still feeling hot beneath the collar of your shirt despite your frustration with the woman.
“Doing what?”
“This,” you gestured towards her seated form and the cocky look on her face. “The teasing, the messages - all day.”
“Aw, has it made you desperate?” she mocked, beckoning you towards her with a crook of her finger. She used the same hand to grab your hip, keeping you firmly in your place with a bashful heat in your cheeks as she peered up at you. “Are you needy, baby, hm? Have you been getting worked up just thinking about your mommy?”
You whimpered at the way she cupped your clothed cunt, she felt the radiating heat and the subtle twitching of your hips and laughed beneath her breath.
“On your knees, sweetheart.”
You hardly ever consider going against her command, and right now, with the pulsing ache in your core, you obey it right away. You didn’t mind so much the pathetic way you knelt at her feet when you were sinking into a haze of submission. A deep-rooted and visceral desire and need to relieve the buzzing feeling flowing through you.
“Tell me what you want,” Emily muttered with her voice deep and quiet.
“I want you.”
“Tell me like you mean it, baby. Beg for me, or I’ll leave you whining like the little mess you are.”
“Please, mommy,” you murmured. “Please, I need you. I need you so much; it’s all I can think about.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she practically cooed, nudging your legs apart before pushing the toe of her black leather boot against you. “C’mon, be a good little slut and get yourself off.”
With a thick swallow and a glance towards her office door, you pushed yourself down onto her; the idea that someone could interrupt made you flush in a pleasurable apprehension. The thrill of it all spurred you on.
The seam of your jeans hit against your wanting clit with each thrust of your hips against her boot, and you choked back a moan at the feeling. The way your girlfriend watched you intently made you eager to please, urging yourself to chase after the high you desperately needed.
“You’ve gotta keep quiet, sweet girl,” she uttered, poking at your lips with her fingers before pushing them past. You latched around the digits that hooked over your teeth, gently biting into them to keep yourself quiet, sucking them into your mouth with pleasure. Emily just sat back and watched, filling your mouth while you humped the boot she sporadically pressed hard against you.
Your cunt clenched around nothing, and you could feel how soaked you were with each stimulating push of your clit. Your hands held onto her thighs for a semblance of balance on your shaking knees, and you felt the heat of your orgasm creep higher and higher.
“God, you’re such a needy thing,” she mused. “And when anyone could walk in,” she tutted. “Do you want them to see how desperate you get for your mommy, hm? How much of a little whore you really are?”
You shook your head with an incoherent mumble around her fingers, but truly, in this moment, you couldn’t care much less.
“I wouldn’t dare to let them see,” she added, stroking her thumb softly over your cheek. “Nobody gets to see you like this apart from me - I love watching you fall apart too much to share it.”
With each word breathed and each snap of your hips you teetered on the edge of release, staring up at her with eyes pleading a silent question. And, when she nodded with a glimpse of a smile, you let your actions grow hurried in a quick capture of your orgasm. Her eyes were dark and blown, lips parted as she watched you.
It took little more for you to cum, biting into her skin with a roughness she didn’t mind and a moan at the back of your throat that she muffled. Whilst your heart was still pounding and your cunt still reeling from your high, she pulled your lips to hers with fervour, leaning down to catch each heavy breath you let out.
“I’m gonna have so much fun with you when we get home,” she rasped against your jaw, cupping the back of your neck in her palm.
“How am I meant to focus on my work now?”
“Mm, I dunno,” she smirked, shrugging as she leaned back in her chair, and you stood up shakily. “Think about how good the reward’ll be if you keep on being so well-behaved.”
“Yes, Chief,” you teased, smiling at the blush she always sports at the title. “I’ll see you later.”
#emily prentiss x reader#emily prentiss x fem!reader#emily prentiss#emily prentiss fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic
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i’m fuckin’ begging you
— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader
— type: ficlet
— summary: the morning after you & billy have your first intimate moment together, it's like he's reverted back to who he was in hawkins. you go to a drive-in theater that night in tx with him & have a mental breakdown in a restroom over his treatment of you. he then shows you his love in shades of black & blue, & when you go to finally leave for good, he tells you just who it is, exactly, that you belong to.
— tags: billy going back to being a MASSIVE asshole bc he's terrified of commitment & vulnerability. billy gets into his first fist-fight over you. billy staking a claim. ANGST.
— tw: drugs, violence
— word count: 7.4k
— a/n: yeah, he's toxic, but we're all about that on this blog, so.
find my other posts concerning billy here
The smell of salt air wafts into the Camaro's cabin, and the sound of crashing waves and the call of seagulls envelope the two of you. You'd finally made it. Billy was home and you'd stayed with him every mile of the way. You were his. Completely.
He sits in the front seat of his Camaro, you atop him in his lap, legs spread, him buried inside of your warm wetness. He grips your bare hips under your sundress, gently rocking your hips against him.
He reaches up, cupping your cheek, your soft hair tumbling over your slender shoulders as you smile warmly down at him, eyes full of adoration, kindness, care. When had someone last looked at him in such a way? No judgement, no hatred, no harsh words or actions against him.
"Billy." You call softly to him.
He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. "Say it, baby, please. I need to hear it."
You reach up, resting your left hand atop his shoulder, fingers burying themselves in his hair, a silver ring glinting against the bright California sun high in the sky, a breeze washing over both of you through the open windows.
"Billy," you say again, sweetly.
His other hand that's not cupping your face gently squeezes your hip. "Please, angel, no one has said it to me since my mom left. Please... I feel it, too."
"Billy."
As you continue rocking your hips against his, his brows furrow. Something isn't right. Doesn't feel right.
"Billy."
His eyes slowly open, sunlight streaming in from a window to his right and you're hovering overtop of him, brows furrowed. "Hey, you need to get up. We have to be checked out soon."
He sits up suddenly, pushing you away from him, nearly causing you to fall off of the bed. "Get the fuck off of me," he says, standing.
You roll your eyes. Clearly not a morning person you now knew.
"Good morning to you, too," you say sarcastically.
He turns back to you. "What time is it?"
"Twenty till."
"Why the fuck did you let me sleep so long?"
You withdraw a little at his harsh, aggressive tone. "You were tired and I just wanted to let you rest."
He walks over to his bag.
"Don't worry, I got all our stuff together."
He turns back to you with a sneer. "You went through my shit?"
Your hands begin to shake. Where was the Billy from last night? You were so sure things would be far different today. Going forward in general. Easier, sweeter, kinder.
You stand. "No, I just put your things away. I didn't go through it. I was trying to be nice."
He unzips it, pulling out an outfit, dressing himself, not looking at you. "Get your shit and get down to the car."
You walk over to your bags, shrugging them on. You don't speak to him again as you open the door. Before you can step over the threshold, he calls to you.
You look back to him, hopeful for an apology.
Instead, he says, "Don't ever touch my things again. Got it?"
You nod, then exit the room.
You sit silently in the passenger seat as Billy crosses the Texas border—his tire had been ready to go before the two of you even pulled up to the auto shop. And once the car was ready, he'd immediately hit the road, not even bothering to stop somewhere for breakfast.
You glance to him out of the corner of your eye and wonder if maybe his attitude was from a hangover instead. He hadn't seemed drunk. And while you had a slight headache, you felt fine yourself. If you weren't hungover, then surely he wouldn't be either. Would he?
"Are you okay?" You ask quietly.
He glances to you, then looks back to the road. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You're...you seem upset."
He rolls his eyes. "Just tired of being stuck in this fuckin' car all the time and having to do all the driving and every ounce of the work around here."
You wince. "I would if I knew how..." You say softly.
"Yeah, well, you don't. And I'm not about to start teaching you so you can burn up the fucking clutch, causing just one more problem to be added onto my plate."
You look out the windshield, tears burning your eyes. "Do...do you regret last night?"
He grows quiet for a moment, jaw flexing. Hard. Then, "Like I told you before, shit like that doesn't mean anything to me. We both got off. Doesn't need to be more than that."
Your lip quivers and you look out the passenger side window at the other passing cars, your stomach tying itself in knots now. How could you have ever trusted him in allowing him to touch you like that? He'd told you what sex—any kind—meant to him. He was consistent in that at least .
He then reaches over, retrieving a cassette from the glovebox and pops it in the radio, Metallica's For Whom the Bell Tolls blaring through the speakers.
When Billy stops to get gas, you watch from the rearview mirror as he eyes up other girls walking around in Daisy Dukes, mini skirts, and the like. Even whistling his approval at a couple. A tear slips down your cheek and you wipe it away.
Once the car has finished filling, he goes inside and you hang your head, crying softly for just a moment. How could you have ever done that? He'd told you his intentions in getting you drunk—he'd done it to take advantage and he had.
You hadn't felt that way while it was happening, though.
What you had felt had been…something more. You couldn’t acknowledge what. Not now. Not ever.
You’d finally given him exactly what he’d wanted since day one—another notch in his belt, just for you. Well, perhaps not exactly, but something. You felt dirty.
Used.
Cheap.
Pathetic.
Had the things he’d told you while drinking even been true? About his mom? About how he felt about you? You begin to doubt every single thing he’s said and done since you first met. Or, at the very least, since you got into his car that night.
When you glance in the side mirror, you see him heading back and you quickly gather yourself as best you can manage, not looking his way as he enters the car.
He tosses a plastic bag full of junk food between the two of you, but you somehow know you’re not to touch it.
“I’m hungry, too,” you say softly.
He takes a bite of a Snickers, then glances up to you. “Your legs aren’t broken and you have cash. Go get somethin’.”
You exit the car then, carefully closing the door behind you.
“Hey!”
You turn back to him, leaning down to the window.
He leans across the way toward you. “From now on, you start paying for all your own shit. I’m done being your meal ticket. Got it?”
You nod, staying silent. You stand, turning away, then hear him yell “hurry up” as you head inside.
Feeling…not like yourself, you stare blankly at the selection of chips in front of you. Your stomach growls, but you feel like whatever you eat will just come right back up.
You then walk up front to the attendant behind the counter. “Excuse me?”
The older man turns to you, pausing from putting away cigarette cartons.
“Do you have a public restroom I could use?”
He nods toward the back left.
“Thank you,” you say, walking away.
Once inside, you lock the door behind you, pressing your forehead to it, your sweaty palm slipping off of the metal handle as you begin to cry. Hard.
Your head spins with so many thoughts you’re unable to grab a single one to focus on before the next one hits you.
You wonder if, perhaps, you should’ve stayed in Hawkins—who cared what happened to you in the long run, anyway? You think of your mother, wondering if she ever cared for you, if she ever thinks of you as often as you do her. You think of Steve and how, while he’d only seen you as a friend and you felt the same toward him, it was someone like him that you needed—someone kind and considerate and non-violent.
You think of Billy and how you had been right to see him as a monster. Had been right to stay away from him in the first place.
God, what had you done to yourself agreeing to get in his car that night? How much better off would you be right now if you’d kept walking instead? You’d had another opportunity on the interstate, but had caved yet again, returning to him.
You’re not sure you can hold out until California. Parting ways before then…it may be for the best sooner rather than later. For your own safety, if nothing else.
Surviving your father had taken everything in you. But now you had nothing—truly. A few hundred waning dollars, a watch to pawn, and some clothes. That was it.
You suddenly feel terrified for your future.
You take a moment to gather yourself, realizing you’re now hyper-ventilating and you turn the sink on and splash handful after handful of cold water onto your flushed face, washing the tears away.
When you return to the car, Billy immediately makes a snide comment. “Took long enough. I thought you were getting somethin’ to eat?”
You stare out the window at a happy couple across the way, knowing you’ll never have that. You’re too broken for it.
“They didn’t have anything I wanted.”
“Whatever,” he says, turning the car over.
As he begins to drive away, you finally tear your eyes away from the man and woman and suddenly realize: there’s not a single person in all the world who loves or cares about you.
You want to throw yourself from the moving car at the thought.
A couple hours later and you’re beginning to feel sick from the heat, but remain quiet. You should’ve at least gotten a bottle of water or two back at the station, but you’d had other things on your mind.
Billy glances to you, your sullen state, and rolls his eyes. “You’re really starting to harsh my fuckin’ buzz. The hell is the matter with you today? I know it’s not your monthly or I would’ve found out as much last night with my hand between your legs.”
You feel sick at the memory. “I just don’t feel well.”
“Maybe it’s because you didn’t bother to grab anything while I waited for your ass back at the Exxon.”
You stay quiet, tears burning your eyes.
He tosses a bag of Doritos at you. “Here, eat those. Even if they are fuckin’ mine.”
He only notices how badly your hands are shaking when you try opening the bag.
He frowns, turning back to the road as you begin to eat one.
"Thanks," you say softly.
An hour later, Billy finally stops and you’re now seated so far away from him, you’re damn-near climbing out the window.
He slams his door behind him, leaving you sitting there as he walks up to a taco stand, ordering lunch for himself.
You nearly stumble out of the car, dizzy from your low blood-sugar, but trail along behind him and then order a couple tacos for yourself.
You go to follow him to a table, until he walks over to a blonde girl who’s wearing a pair of colorful shorts and a tye-dye t-shirt, asking if the seat across from her is free.
You sit some ways away, taking occasional bites of your food, sipping at your water, trying to keep everything down. You grip the edge of the table, taking deep breaths.
You’re fine. You’ll be fine.
You have no other choice now but to be.
Unless…what if you bought a bus ticket? If you went back…what would happen to you? Would…would your dad follow through on his threat?
Tears sting your eyes when you wonder what your gravestone would say. Certainly not ‘beloved daughter’.
You push your food away, lying your head down, fighting against your gag reflex.
Billy sits across the way, flirting with the girl in front of him.
“So, do you live around here?” She asks, taking a bite of her food.
“Nah, doll, I’m just passin’ through.”
He glances to you for just a moment and his brows furrow when he sees you hunched over, face buried in your arms, taking shallow breaths.
She turns, following his line-of-sight, then looks back to him. “Are you with her?”
He smirks, looking to Candy—Candace—he forgets what the fuck she’d told him her name was now. “Not like that. I’ll be rid of her ass once we hit California.”
He ignores his stomach twisting painfully when he says it.
“Oh, wow. Long ways to go, huh?”
He shrugs, leaning in toward her. “No reason we can’t get to know one another now.”
She laughs, shaking her head and standing, tossing her paper plate in the trash. “Sorry, but I’m not like that. Good luck getting to Cali, though!”
He sighs as she walks away, his eyes trained on her back-end, even if it doesn’t serve to stir any excitement within him.
He comes over to you then, seating himself heavily on the other side of the metal picnic table. “What? Are you sick?”
You don’t respond.
He reaches for your food. “If you’re not eating it, then I am. No point in letting it go to waste.”
Still nothing and he wonders if you’ve fallen asleep, until you finally raise your head and he feels the blood drain from his face at the look of yours—flushed, sweaty, your eyes a bit glassy.
You stand. “I’m going to sit in the car.” When you go to step away, you sway on your feet and then he curses.
“Sit the fuck down and eat your food. Now. I don’t need you getting sick all over my car. Because if you do, I’m not paying for the fuckin’ detailing.”
You do as he says, sitting, pulling your taco toward you, even if it doesn’t even seem all that appetizing to you. “You could always leave me here,” you state.
There’s no sarcasm in your voice. No playful tone. Nothing.
He leans back a bit. “Don’t tempt me.”
You raise your bottle to your lips, your hands shaking and some water spills on your shirt.
His face falls as he watches you struggle. Either you were sick from the heat…or you were back to the way you were the other night: filled with fear…of him.
He looks down to his food, his own appetite suddenly gone. He eats it anyway.
Once the two of you are back on the road—your stomachs full, even if neither of you had had an appetite—he turns his radio back on, but leaves it at a comfortable level.
Meanwhile, you think of the watch you’d taken. If the two of you stopped tonight, once you got yourself a room, you’d go in search of a pawn shop. You’d take whatever they offered you. It wasn’t like you were in a place to barter. You then also consider finding out about bus fare. Perhaps to California.
It won’t be cheap, but even if it takes every cent, you’ll be better off.
Billy changes lanes, passing the car beside you, then sighs dramatically. “I told you before what sex—all that shit—means to me: nothing. So, what, you’re going to pout now because I don’t want to settle down after one taste? Like it was something to write home about to begin with?”
You put your hand over your mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Fuck,” he says, quickly merging back over, people laying on their horns as he skids to a stop on the shoulder and you wrench your door open and heave over the side of the car.
He then reaches a new level of guilt he never thought possible. He reaches toward you, hand hovering over your back, and then he rethinks the decision, placing it back on the wheel.
Once you’ve emptied your stomach, you reach into the glovebox and wipe your mouth with a napkin, closing your door and settling back against the seat, your skin now slick with sweat, head pounding, a vile taste in your mouth.
You then look to him out of the corner of your eye, your body shaking. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly.
“It’s fine,” is all the reply he gives before merging back into traffic.
It’s evening when Billy pulls into a motel, and you exit the vehicle before he’s even shut the engine off, going inside to get yourself a room.
When he follows after you a moment later, he catches the tail-end of your conversation, watching as you go to hand the woman behind the front desk some cash.
“Alright, so that’s one room with a full-size bed for fifteen.”
He grows angry at the thought of you sleeping away from him, even if he’d told you just a few hours earlier to start paying your own way. Being upset with you for doing as he’d asked... What the fuck was wrong with him?
He steps up beside you, snatching the money out of your hand, stuffing it in your back pocket.
“I want a queen. One room,” he states, glancing from the woman, then glaring at you.
You shrink away from him, your hopes of getting away from him for just one night now ruined.
Once inside the room, you nearly collapse on top of your bags as you drop them onto the floor. You then wander over to the bathroom and softly shut the door as you sit to relieve yourself.
You cringe when you look at yourself in the mirror after. Your skin is a pallid shade, stray hair clinging to your face and there are dark circles beneath your bloodshot eyes. But you simply don’t have it in you to care enough to bother fixing yourself up, so you exit the bathroom as-is.
Billy watches as you wander over to one of your bags and reach inside, pulling something out and stuffing it in your pocket. You then go to leave, until he speaks.
“The fuck are you doing?”
You just shut the door behind you and he curses, throwing his jacket down as he follows you out. “Hey, get the fuck back here!”
You don’t listen.
He then grabs you roughly by the upper arm, squeezing harshly as he pulls you back to him. “I asked you a goddamn question.”
You fight back against the fear which fills you at his presence now. You know how to play this game. You’ve been doing it your whole life. When a man gets angry: be silent, demure. Respond only minimally. Enough to give them what they want. They won’t hurt you then. Probably.
You reach into your right pocket with a shaking hand and extend it toward him, palm open-faced. “I need to pawn this. My money won’t last long between here and California. Or wherever it is that I end up now.”
His grip loosens, taking the watch, looking over what used to be your dad’s Rolex.
He then looks to you and watches with a pained expression as you reach up, gingerly rubbing the portion of your arm that he’d just had squeezed within his grip.
He hands the watch back to you. “Keep it.”
You look up to him. “I can’t. When my money-”
“I paid for the room, didn’t I?”
Your eyes search his for a moment. “I don’t think I want to go to California anymore.”
His stomach drops. “What?”
You look down to the watch glinting against the sun, the silver still polished—looking like new. “I said West. And in another state or two I’ll be there. I think that’s where I get off.”
His heart begins to pound. You want to leave. You want off this emotional fucking rollercoaster he’s subjected you to every goddamn day. Just as soon as you begin to feel comfortable, he gives you another blow to contend with, leaving you on uncertain ground.
He doesn’t react. Doesn’t beg you to stay. He won’t. If you want to leave him too, then so be it. He never needed you in the first place, clearly.
He ignores the way his heart squeezes painfully at the thought of an empty passenger seat. An empty bed.
It’s just the heat that’s making his eyes sting.
“Good riddance, then.”
Your chin wobbles as you turn around, heading back up to the room, head hanging between your shoulders, your form utterly fucking defeated.
Billy eventually, after showering—while you’d sat on the bed staring at nothing—went down to the lobby to ask about local attractions. He needed to get out of that room. He couldn’t take seeing you like that. Couldn’t bear what he was doing to you.
But he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s not…sappy and romantic and ‘boyfriend’ material. Whatever it is that you’re after—he ain’t it.
He can’t be.
When he returns, you’re still sitting there, hand holding your hurting stomach.
He places his hands on his hips, already regretting inviting you. “You want to go see a movie? They’re having a showing of The Terminator near here in less than an hour.”
You look up to him with empty eyes. You’ve never looked at him like that before. Haven’t looked like that since the night he found you beaten and bloodied on the side of the road.
Something inside him breaks at the realization.
You shrug.
He opens the door. “C’mon then.”
Once he’s parked—you’d desperately tried to give him money for your ticket, terrified he’d use paying for yours against you at some point, but he’d refused to take the change from you—he leans back against the seat, setting his radio to the correct station.
He rolls his head to the side, looking at you and his heart drops when he sees you turned toward your door, away from him.
He wants to roll it all back—this entire fucking day. How, in less than ten hours, had he managed to do so much destructive damage to not just you, but your relationship as a whole? He’d had an opportunity before him—you—for a better life. A fresh start. Something good, and pure and loving. And he’d not stopped until your heart was crushed to a pulp in his fist.
But the way you’d looked at him last night in bed, the way you’d touched him and kissed him and held him…something had shifted between the two of you. Something big. Something he couldn’t even fathom. He knew what he felt. But what if you didn’t? Or, what if you did, but he turned out just like his dad? He then thinks he’d spent all day doing it—being that—his spitting fucking image. You didn’t need to hit someone to hurt them. To abuse them.
What the fuck did he do?
He glances to the cars around you, then spots a couple up ahead in the back seat of a Barracuda on top of one another.
He smirks. "At least someone's getting laid. Lucky bastard."
You open your door then, nearly falling out of the car.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Restroom,” you reply barely above a whisper, walking away.
Once you’ve shut yourself in a stall, you sit on the toilet lid and lose it. You begin to bawl so hard you can’t breathe. You’ve not cried like this since your mom left you behind. You double over, wrapping your arms around yourself, shaking, tears and snot streaming down your face. You cry so hard you make yourself sick.
You lean over the toilet, vomiting up stomach acid, which only serves to make you cry harder.
And you make the decision right then and there: once Billy is asleep, you’re leaving for good. He always sleeps through the night. It’ll give you plenty of time to get away. You’re unsure how late bus stations are open, but you’ll do whatever you must to leave him in the past where he belongs.
When you exit the restroom—the cool night air washing over you, cooling you down—you take a moment to glance up to the wide sky above you, now filled with stars. And you feel so fucking lonely and empty at the sight. A sight which used to comfort you. Now...
You then slowly step over to the concessions.
“Can I have a small vanilla shake, please?”
Once you’ve paid, you’re handed your drink, but a voice calls out to you before you can walk around some. You refuse to go back to his car until you’ve at least put something back on your stomach.
“You alright? Looks like you’ve been crying.”
You look to your right and see a man, maybe twenty or twenty-one, leaning up against the side of the concession stand. He has a pair of black cargo shorts on, a black t-shirt with a yellow smiley face on the front, and bleach-blond hair.
Your wrap your clammy hands around the cool cup in your grip. “I’m fine,” you say quietly.
He crooks his head to the side. “You sure? Might not be able to help, but I’m a good listener.”
You shift from one foot to the other, considering, and then decide to come over to him. You want nothing more to do with Billy. He’s shown who he truly is all day long. Had months ago. What was the saying? When someone shows you who they are the first time, believe them. You should’ve taken such advice.
It would’ve saved you a lot of heartache.
You look up at him, leaning your shoulder against the building, taking a sip of your cold drink.
He extends a hand toward you. “Chris.”
You smile slightly, holding your own out. “Y/N.”
He takes your wet hand in his and presses a soft kiss to the top of it.
You laugh lightly at the unexpected gesture.
“Don’t tell me your asshole boyfriend is responsible for your tears? A girl like you is way too pretty to be crying over some worthless chump.” He folds his arms across his chest.
“No. It’s…it’s complicated.” To you maybe, but clearly not to him.
He leans his head against the building. “It serious?”
You take another drink. “No. We want different things.”
“Like?”
On the one hand, talking to a strange man again is probably a bad idea. On the other, he ogled and spoke to how many girls today? You could do as you pleased. He had no say in your decisions. Not anymore. He never should’ve in the first place.
You shrug. “I just want someone who will be nice to me.”
“What, that’s supposed to be a tall order? Doesn’t seem all that hard to do to me,” he says, running the back of one of his fingers down your arm.
You step the least bit closer at the tender gesture. It just feels good to be touched. To have someone listen.
He continues. “What’s he want?”
You sip your shake again. “Your guess is as good as mine,” you say quietly.
He shifts his stance. “Do you want to be with someone like that? A guy who leaves you guessing, crying, all alone? Sounds like a selfish prick to me.”
No, you don’t want that.
You look down. You normally wouldn’t open up like this to a complete stranger, too worried what they might think, but it’s not as if this day can get any worse. “What if I can’t do any better?”
He smirks. “Talking to me, ain’t ya?”
You both laugh at that.
He then glances around. “I don’t normally do this, but I have something that might make you feel better.”
Your brows furrow as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small red candy. He looks at you again. “You ever dropped acid before?”
Your stomach drops. “N-no.”
“You want to?”
You shake your head. “No, thank you.”
He sighs. “C’mon, it’s not that bad. I mean, it’ll make you forget all about what’s-his-face. We could get out of here, have some fun as a bit of payback. What’d’ya say?”
He grabs you by the wrist then.
Billy groans in irritation. You’d been gone nearly twenty-fucking-minutes at this point, already missed the whole beginning of the movie. He glances around, looking for you, but you’re nowhere to be found. He lets you out of his sight for a fucking second and this was what he got for it…
He exits his car, going in search of the restrooms, really ready to give you what-for, even if you missing the movie is his fault. He knew you had just wanted to get away from him. And he can’t exactly get angry at you 'wasting' his money on your ticket, either, since you’d all but begged him to let you pay for yourself.
And then he spots you, standing near the concessions, some bleach-blond asshole squeezing your face in one hand, the other holding something near your mouth while you shake your head, trying to pull away.
He sees fucking red.
As he nears the two of you, he hears him say, “C’mon, Y/N, we’re just having some fun. So open.”
You drop your milkshake on the ground, vanilla going everywhere and the prick looks at Billy then, eyes widening when he sees the aggressive look which has overtaken his features.
Billy grabs him by the right arm, pulling him away from you before sucker-punching the side of his face.
He falls to the ground and Billy gets on top of him and just pounds away, landing blow after blow. He eventually hears something break—likely his nose, but he doesn’t stop. “Don’t ever fucking touch her again! You hear me, you fuckin’ piece of shit?” He grips his face then, Billy’s mere inches from it as he screams, “You fucking hear me?!”
His face is so swollen and bloodied, he can barely even make Billy out so as to respond, so he just punches him again.
You’d stood to the side, horrified, hands covering your mouth as Billy wailed on Chris, beating his face into a bloody pulp, until a crowd began to form. You then rushed forward, grabbing Billy’s arm, his fist still raised in the air. “Billy, stop, you’re going to kill him!”
Then you hear someone yell in the distance, “I’m calling the police!”
You tug harder, forcing him to stand, and then he kicks Chris in the stomach as hard as he can and he doubles over, curling into the fetal position as Billy spits on him. “Fuckin’ loser.” He quickly grabs your hand, leading you back to the car. “C’mon.”
He opens your door, buckling you in, then closes it.
When you glance up, you see a man getting out of a Plymouth as Billy walks around the front of the Camaro. Billy then points at him. “Get back in your fuckin’ car!”
He gets in the driver’s side and kicks up grass and dirt and rocks as he quickly backs out of the lot, speeding away.
You sit beside him, shaking violently, tears stinging your eyes and you gasp as he nearly hits someone as he swerves into another lane for a moment after taking the on-ramp to get on the interstate. Perhaps five minutes later does he get back off again, now on a lower, more deserted back road.
He flies across the asphalt and your heart pounds as you watch the speedometer climb to over eighty.
“Billy, slow down. Billy!”
Ninety.
“Billy, please, you’re scaring me!”
It’s once he’s hit over one-hundred-and-ten that he stomps on the brakes, your seatbelt nearly choking you as the car lurches forward. Once you’ve slammed back against your seat, you stare at him, eyes wide, tears streaming down your cheeks, chest heaving.
He’s deathly silent beside you, breathing steadily as he himself stares at the dark road ahead. His eyes are hard, brows furrowed, knuckles bloodied.
You shake your head, unbuckling yourself with trembling hands. “I-I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”
You open your door, until he reaches across the cabin and slams it back closed again. When you look at him, he grabs your face gently, but firmly, his eyes wild. “You’re fucking mine. You understand me? You’re mine.”
Before you can even reply, he crushes his lips to yours so hard your teeth knock together. He plunges his tongue inside your mouth, his right hand coming to grip the hair at the back of your neck, his other squeezing your hip so hard it hurts.
The only thing you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears and his lips smacking against your own.
He pulls back. “Next time I see another guy touching you, I won’t stop until I have fucking killed him.”
He brings your lips back to his own.
You remained silent on the way back to the motel. Silent tears slipping down your cheeks, afraid of what you’d now gotten yourself into.
You look at him out of the corner of your eye and wonder how he can now seem so calm. He’d nearly beaten a man to death not even half-an-hour ago. Had also acted more possessive toward you than you’d ever seen him before. What was that supposed to mean, anyway—'you’re mine'?
You’re almost too afraid to ask, unsure that you want his definition.
Once he’s parked, you both exit the car and head inside, and once the door is closed, you slump down into a chair.
He paces back and forth, hands on his hips, glancing up to you every few moments, your head in your hands, elbows atop your knees.
“Are you okay?” He asks gently, now a bit calmer.
You look up to him, your lower lip trembling. You choke out through tears, “No, I’m not okay! None of this is okay! What is wrong with you?”
He stops pacing. “I had to get the fuckin’ creep off of you-”
“So you almost kill him?”
He waves his hand. “He’ll be fine. Who even gives a shit?”
You shake your head in disbelief.
“What the fuck were you doing talking to him, anyway? You told me you were going to take a piss, not hook up with some random-”
You stand then, temper having finally reached its boiling point. “Are you fucking kidding me? This again? You have treated me like garbage all day long! Looking at and flirting with girls and making me feel so worthless!” You begin to sob. “Do you have any idea the things I’ve been thinking? I…I never should’ve trusted you in the first place! I don’t know what I thought about you. Maybe that you could be different. Or that I could fix you or… God, I’m so fucking stupid. Just like my mother. But y’know what? I get it now. I get why she did it. She had no other choice. So, I might as well follow in her footsteps with that, too.”
You walk over to your bags, pulling your backpack onto your shoulders.
He panics. “W-what’re you doing?”
“I told you I’m done and I meant it. I’m leaving.” You grab your other bag. “I won’t waste years of my life on someone like she did. I have to get out before it’s too late.”
Just as you turn your back to him, taking a step toward the door, he breaks. What the fuck has he done? “Please don’t go. I’m in love with you.”
You halt.
“Listen, I…I know I fucked up. Today…fuck, baby, I know. I just…last night…”
You slowly turn back to him. You’ve never heard him grasping for words before. Never seen him so unsure of himself. And what he’d just said… Love.
He sighs, settling his hands back on his hips, looking down at the stained carpet beneath his boots. “I only realized it this morning. How I felt. I mean, I knew I felt it before. But I tried to play it off as anything but that. I didn’t want to acknowledge it—admit it. I mean, fuck, what if you didn’t feel the same? What if I got rejected?” He looks up to you. “I don’t know how to do any of this shit—being with someone, having feelings for them. Loving them, letting them love me. It’s not my style. Or wasn’t. Fuck, I don’t know. But I just…started seeing you differently the more we spent time together.
“And I guess I thought today…if I pushed you away, then the feelings might dissipate? I mean, look what happened the last time I loved—trusted—someone. She left.”
Your brow twitches. “And I don’t know that feeling?” You ask in anger.
He takes a step closer to you. “I know you do. I just-”
You cut him off. “Just stop, Billy.”
He shuts his mouth.
You drop your bags, sitting back down again and thinking. You want to be understanding. But he's making showing kindness toward him incredibly difficult to do.
Finally, after a very long stretch of silence—him beginning to sweat, thinking you’re about to leave again—you speak.
“I get pushing me away,” you say softly. “You said it before—that I had no friends back in Hawkins. And fear of abandonment was why. If I didn’t let anyone in, then they couldn’t walk away. But I’ve tried with you. Over and over again. And every time, you swung from one extreme to the other.”
You look at him. “You’ve given me whiplash you’ve done it so much. And today…” You trail off, a lump forming in your throat. “Do you have any idea what you put me through?” You ask in a whisper.
He pulls over a chair, sitting in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I put you through hell, I know.”
You shake your head, looking away from him. “You made me feel so…” Your chin wobbles. “I felt so alone. And for the first time I realized not a single person in the world wants or cares about me.”
A tear slips down your cheek and then another one.
And he nearly does the same at him making you think that for even a second. He’d broken your heart.
You continue. “I thought a lot of horrible things today. Thought about throwing myself out of your car.”
His throat bobs.
“About going back home, not caring what happened to me—if he followed through on his promise. I decided at the movie that I was going to leave while you were asleep tonight, too afraid to do it while you were awake.” You look at him. “That’s what you’ve made me feel toward you: afraid.”
You look down to his bruised hand and pull your own away.
“I don’t know how to trust you anymore. Last night I thought was…” You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought anymore. You’ll never change. I left Hawkins to get away from another man just like you. I would've been better off had I just done things on my own.”
You know you’re wasting your breath, so you stand again, grabbing your things.
Just as your hand settles over the door knob, he breaks down crying. “Please don’t leave. I’ll do fucking anything. Please, Y/N. I…I can’t lose you, too. Please, God, I’m begging you, stay.”
You go to turn the handle and then he comes over to you, falling on his knees beside you, pressing his face into your stomach, crying harder.
“I love you. Please. I’ll change, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll be whoever you need me to be. Just don’t walk out that door, I’m fuckin’ begging you.”
You sniffle, telling yourself over and over again not to cry. That he doesn’t mean it. It’s just another manipulation tactic, but you know this time is anything but. He’d never cry in front of you—anyone—unless the tears and the words leaving his lips were true.
“How can I trust you now?” You ask through gentle sobs.
He presses his cheek against your stomach then, hands gripping your soft hips. “Just let me prove to you that I can be better. The kind of man that’s worthy of you.”
He finally stands, cupping your face in his hands. “Angel, I know I don’t deserve you. Fuck, I probably never will. And I know you deserve a hell of a lot better than me. But you’re all I want. I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want you. I…I need you. Just, what can I do to fix this?”
You turn your head, looking at the door and his heart begins to break.
“If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. Just…” He steps away for a moment, reaching into his bag, and he pulls out a wad of cash and doesn’t stop counting until he’s reached a grand. “Take this,” he says, shoving it into your hand.
Your eyes go wide and you look up at him.
“If you want the gun too-”
You shake your head. “Billy, I-” You sob, covering your mouth with the back of your other hand. You throw the money down on the table. "I don't want your money. I don't want anything from you. Not anymore."
He grabs your face again. "Just...let me ask you one thing. Please."
You blink up at him through teary eyes.
"Do you love me?" He asks, brushing stray tears away with the pads of his thumbs.
Your face crumples. "I wish I knew how to stop."
He lets loose a breath of relief. "Sweetheart, we had one bad day. A really shitty one, I know. But this is what I do when there's a risk of getting close to someone—I rail against it as hard as I can. And it always works—they walk away. Most of the time I'm the one who does. But I couldn't this time. Waiting for the other foot to finally fall, though, I was constantly on the edge of my goddamn seat waiting for it to finally happen.
"I thought... I thought it's what I wanted. I don't. I know that now. I want you. Now. Maybe...maybe forever. I guess we can figure that part out together. If you'll still have me. If you could ever fuckin' forgive me for all the shit I've done—put you through. It's not always going to be perfect. I'm going to piss you off and keep getting on your last nerve for my own amusement. I'll never stop being a pain in your ass. But it's only because I-" He sighs. "Because I love you. So, please, just stay. I think... I think that we belong together. Who the hell else is going to put up with me the way you have? Who else could ever understand the shit I've been through but someone else who's been through it, too?"
You stare up at him, sniffling, tears slipping from your tired eyes, your hands shaking at your sides, body slightly trembling. Every part of you is screaming at you to finally do it: run. Every part except your heart.
You know it might be the biggest mistake you've ever made, but it wouldn't be the first time.
You bury your face in his chest then, fisting the back of his shirt in your hands and you begin to wail, letting it all out. Everything. Your mom abandoning you in the middle of the night, your dad taking every ounce of anger and frustration out on you, your loneliness, your sadness, your hopelessness, your fear, the torment Billy has subjected you to.
You cry and cry until your legs give out, both of you sinking to the floor as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close.
He rests his cheek against the top of your head. "Never again," he promises, gently rocking you.
It takes every ounce of strength you have left to believe him.
#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove x female reader#billy hargrove x y/n#billy hargrove x you#billy hargrove imagine#billy hargrove x reader
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Edge Of Ever After | 4
Part 1 2 3
Sandor runs his fingers down my spine and sighs, "everything I ever touch goes to shit." He grabs my hip and pulls me close. I turn to him and nestle my face into his chest. He traps me in his arms, "but you... you turn my shit into gold."
Sandor Clegane x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, smut (piv, cunnilingus), mentions of pregnancy/fertility issues, sunshine x grump, enemies to lovers (to enemies ? HAHA), slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, horrible communication, fluff, typos, etc.
I wake up with laboured breath, with a severe tightness in my stomach. I grunt and shift, realizing promptly Sandor's arm was squeezing me.
"Sandor," I groggily yelp, yanking his arm off me.
Thankfully, his arm gives and I manage to roll away. I catch my breath and whimper, making a disgruntled face at my husband.
In the name of the seven gods, the man was still asleep, as though he did not make an attempt on my life unwittingly. I huff and push myself up on my elbows, "Sandor."
I nudge him with my knee.
He sighs peacefully in his sleep.
I huff and brush his hair. I caress the side of his face which was free from burn marks and shake my head, "you vicious pup. How am I to sleep now?"
I turn to the window, seeing how the sun was barely shining and decide it was worth it to try and go back to sleep.
Alas, I could not and eventually just got out of bed. I decide to tidy up and change, giving us a headstart for the day.
I struggle to get myself ready, especially in doing the ties of my dress and styling my hair. After deciding I looked decent enough, I pondered what to do with the sopping wet clothes we had from the night before. I gather them from the floor, wrapping them in towels, as they were still dripping wet, and head downstairs.
When I reach the main room where we had eaten dinner, I gawk at how large it looks without it overflowing with people.
"Can I help ya?" a low and slightly annoyed voice asks.
I turn and make a soft sound of surprise at the sight of the hulking man before me. I smile at him, "good morn to you. Yes. If you could, that would be lovely."
He raises his thin brows as I shuffle with the clothes in my hands.
"If it is possible, I would like to have my clothes washed. They have gotten terribly-"
He grabs the clothes from me.
"-oh... wet from last night..."
He inspects the clothes pulling them apart one by one, the hanging them on his large arm.
"I- UH-" I freeze when he picks out my shift and small clothes. I begin to fidget but he doesn't bat an eye. He does raise his brows when he sees Sandor's clothes.
He holds it up then looks at me, "this yours, lil lady?"
"My husband's."
He measures the shirt against him, "he's almost as big as me."
I blink at his observation.
He huffs and tilts his head, "it's gonna cost ya. Work don't come for free."
I nod quickly, "and I can pay," I pull out some coin, "I would also like some food for us."
He takes the coin from me, "it's not gonna be ready til a lil later."
I nod again, "I understand. I can wait."
He stares at me for a moment. He tilts his head the other side, "what's your name then, lady?"
I tell him my name and then he laughs.
"Clegane? Like the Mountain?"
I am married to his brother, Sandor."
"Mmm," he walks off, "must be nice being Lord Clegane."
I step back as he exits through the front door. And as if on cue, Trysha comes in, "ooh, pleasant morning, dear lady. I see you've met my other son."
Oh. I smile at her.
"Did he give you a hard time? What did you need?"
"Some laundry services and break fast. I've already paid for it."
Trysha smiles, "well, don't you worry, milady. I'll go find Donnie and see to your laundry. Riley will cook you and your lord food first thing."
"Oh, thank you, Trysha," I smile back.
She nods at me, "it's my pleasure, milady."
I step forward and fidget with my fingers, "if I may, how many children do you have?"
She grins, "I have five sons, each as big as the other. The first is Wencel, then Donnie, Riley, Graham, and Ian."
"I see. And I assume their father was quite large as well."
"Aye," she wiggles her brows, "if you know what I mean."
My lips part yet I say nothing.
She giggles and shakes her head, "why, how improper of me to jest with a lady."
I chuckle nervously, feeling my face warm slightly.
"Ah," she sighs, "Riley is the spitting image of his da, from face to the frame. He gets his ruggedness from me though. My Hugh wouldn't hurt a fly... and that would be why he got killed."
I frown at his words, "my deepest sympathies for your loss."
She waves a hand, "it's been ages. It was a hard day but you learn to live with it." With that, she smiles and says she'll tell Riley to start making my food.
I walk towards the open door and hum at the sight of the muddy floor. I debate if I should get my boots dirty, but figure, it'll get dirty anyway once we leave, so might as well. Mud could be washed off.
I pick up my skirt and tread carefully out of the place. I wander towards the stables and remember that Riley mentioned our horses were moved somewhere else.
I spot a man by the beasts. I lock eyes with him and smile, "good morrow! Are you the stable keeper?"
He stares back at me, face contorting slowly.
As I walk closer, I realize just how large he is, appearing opposite, only because he was dwarfed by the horses around him. I then wonder if he was one of Trysha's other sons.
"Who's askin'?"
I manage to step on a drier patch of dirt and explain to him who I was. I tell him I was only concerned for the well-being of my steeds, since they got terribly wet in the storm last night.
"Ahhhh," he says with some form of realization, "you're the lady Riley spoke about."
I hum, "if the lady was one he saved from a gang of brutish men, then, indeed, tis I."
The pets one of the horses' snouts and tilts his head, wordlessly walking off after.
I furrow my brows and clutch my skirt tightly, "do you expect me to follow?"
The man stops and turns back to me when he realizes I don't.
"You answered none of my questions and did not even say where you are leading me off."
He raises a brow a me, "clearly, I'm leading you to your horses."
"Well, it was not clear to me because you did not say so," I shake my head, "I do not even know your name. Why would I follow you?"
He purses his lips and crosses is arms, "and telling you my name will make a difference?"
"Of course."
He stares at me for a moment then chuckles dryly., "Graham."
"Brilliant," I smile at the confirmation of his identity, "lead the way, then, Graham."
Graham leads me off to a wood shed that had enough vacancy to house my two horses. They recognize me and chuff. I smile and offer each my attention and touch their faces.
"Hello, hello," a voice calls from the side.
A man walks towards Graham. He is red in the face and sweaty as he carries a large log on one shoulder.
"Hello there. Good morn," I offer in between combing my horse's mane with my fingers.
He drops the log on the ground. He huffs and tilts his head when he looks at Graham. Graham shrugs, then they both turn back to me.
"Need some help, lady?"
"Mmm?" I turn back to him, "no, I just wanted to check on my horses."
"Traveling with a bodyguard?"
"I'm travelling with my husband," I reply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
I look between the two, and in this moment, realize they looked awfully similar, "you wouldn't happen to be named Wencel, would you?"
The man curls his lips up as the other laughs, "nay, lady! I'm Ian."
Graham slaps the man's arm in laughter.
Ian shoves him away, "I look nothing like that ugly shite."
"Who you calling ugly, orge?" a deep voice speaks above the sound of galloping hooves.
A man leading a donkey with a caravan walks towards us. He does not stop and eyes me as he walks past. He nods his head at me and I offer the same regard. I watch as he leads the horse to what was probably a back entrance to the inn.
"MY ASS IS PRETTIER THAN YOU!" Ian calls out.
"At least my ass is done with my morning chores."
Graham laughs harder.
If it was not painfully obvious before, it was now. These men were brothers, Trysha's sons. Though they were big burly men, the sight of them made me feel warm. They reminded me of my own brothers, how I used to be with them. It make me imagine what it would be like had they not died, and even how they would be once I had a son of my own.
I press my lips into a line and feel myself fel sick. I give my horses on last pet before going back inside the inn.
When I get back inside, I am faced with Riley, who perks up when he sees me.
"Oh, h-hello... I wanted you to know I've started cooking, but I didn't know what you wanted... so I was gonna ask."
"Oh," I bring myself to smile, "I'm alright with anything. I normally eat whatever my servants prepare, which is porridge, or eggs."
Riley hums, "alright. I'll be done soon. Take a seat."
I don't have an opportunity to ask if I could bring the food upstairs, so I merely just sit down and wait.
The moment I do, Graham and Ian walk in. They walk towards me and look at each other before turning back to me, "if our conversation offended you, we apologize," Graham says.
"Aye," Ian nods, "if you want to go back to the horses again-"
I shake my head, "no." I take in a breath, "I left because I was finished. My apologies for leaving without a word."
"Nay, it's alright," Ian waves his hands.
"Aye, aye," Graham nods.
"Out of the way," Riley says, shoving his brothers to the side. As the two shuffle away, Riley places a bunch of plates before me. Porridge, eggs, sausage, bread, jam, and fruit laid on a tray before me.
"Oh my, thank you-- this is a lot."
"Aye, seven fucking hells," Graham mutters, "can you finish all that?"
"I can help!" Ian blurts.
"Fuck off," Riley hisses.
"Actually," I shake my head, "my husband won't be awake until early afternoon, so please," I motion, "help yourselves."
Ian sits down across from me without much thought. He sighs as he eats the fruits, "fuck I haven't eaten yet."
"Lying bastard," Graham grabs the strawberry in his brothers fingers, "you ate my ham."
Just as Riley looks like he's about to tell his brothers off, I cut him off by offering him to eat with us.
Riley looks at me in shock for a moment. The next moment, he walks off and comes back with more food.
The next thing I know, all five brothers and their mother break their fast with me. Whatever unpleasant idea that tried to fester in my head was warded off by their familial bickering. It make my heart feel a little Les lonely to be in this moment with them, even though I was a merely spectator.
At some point, they ask my about myself and I tell them about Lucy, about my pups, about Sandor's strawberry garden.
"Aww, I'm glad to know your husband adores you," Trysha says.
One of the men grumbles.
Ian says through a mouthful, "if you ever comes to it, we can set you free."
I stare at him with confusion, "pardon?"
"Kill'im," Donnie says.
"Donnie!" their mother scolds, "that's not what he meant."
"That's exactly what he meant."
"Ian!" Trysha slaps her youngest on the arm.
"Aye," Wencel agrees.
"Wencel!" she scolds. She sighs where I chuckle. I shake my head, "I am flattered, but you needn't worry. My husband takes care of me."
Trysha nods, "and we can tell. My boys are just untrusting of men because of how I've been treated after their father died."
I offer her a solemn look and take her hand.
She waves me off and rubs my hand, "it's alright, milady."
Just then, I hear my name get called. I turn and see Sandor, frozen at the end of the staircase. I smile and wave at him.
I stand and walk up to him. I haul him to my seat and sit beside him. He looks at the faces around the table.
"Here," I push some porridge towards him, "it's still a bit warm."
"I'll go get you some more food, lady," Riley says, gathering some of the empty plates, standing up, and walking off.
"I'll go help," Wencel stands next, cleaning off what remained on the table.
"I have to finish chopping wood," Ian says.
Graham leaves without a word.
Donnie stares at Sandor. Sandor stares back at him.
Trysha smiles, placing a hand on my husband's shoulder. He turns to her as she says, "my sons and I were keeping your lady company, milord. She is a darling. I'm glad to know how much you care for her."
Sandor turns to me. I smile and shrug.
With that, Trysha stands and nudges Donnie. The man follows and he clears his throat. He nods before walking off with his mother.
Sandor glares at him until he disappears. He turns back to me, "by all the gods old and new. What the fuck was that, woman?"
I wave my arms, "I ate with the inn keeper and her sons."
He groans and leans towards me. He wraps his arms around me and I whimper when he bites my neck.
"I won't share you," he mutters against my skin, rather unprompted.
I am tickled by the feel of his beard and pull away, "Sandor-"
"Don't leave the room before I wake ever again."
"San-"
"I'm not playing," he straightens up, "this isn't a game, girl."
I press my lips into a line.
Riley comes back with some food for Sandor. The two of them stare hotly at the other before Riley walks of. The Hound huffs as he begins to eat everything he gets his paws.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting my armor on, what does it look like I'm doing?"
I walk up next to him as he puts on his top. I knit my brows and place my hands on his arms to stop him, "we cannot leave yet."
"And why the fuck not?" he snaps, "don't tell me you want to hang around those smelly oafs."
I raise my brows at him, "you're one to judge a smelly oaf."
Sandor stills.
I release his arms.
We stare at each other.
I blink as I look up at him.
"Damn."
I bite my lip and break into a giggle.
Sandor sighs and shakes his head.
I yelp when he bends down and grabs me, throwing me over his shoulder. I shriek, "Sandor! My belly! Your armor hurts!"
Sandor dumps me on the bed and shakes his head again, "dirty game for a dirty girl," he removes his armor, "this what you wanted? To rid me of all my clothes? To bathe with me?"
He chucks his armor onto the floor dramatically.
I cannot help my laugh. I get on my knees and crawl towards him, "I wasn't playing a dirty game, dirty boy."
Sandor groans and places his large hand beneath my jaw, the rest of his palm sprawls on my neck.
I giggle and hand my hands on his wrist, "I had our clothes washed. We couldn't possibly leave them."
He rolls his eyes.
I scoff in offence, "do not roll your eyes at me.*"
He tilts my head back; his fingers snake into the roots of my hair, "do not play games with me then."
"I'm not-" I push him off and get on my feet, "-playing games with you!"
I impose upon him. I cross my arms and look down at him from where I stood on the edge of the bed, "why can't you take me seriously?"
Sandor looks up at me. His lips part and his breath hitches.
I await his response but he gives me none. He gawks at me instead. I knit my brows deeper, "well? Suddenly you're at a loss for words."
He gulps. He strokes his beard, "you're right... I should take my clothes off..."
I pull my head back, "wh-" I cut myself off as I watch him undress.
Sandor rids himself of his shirt and drops it on the floor. He eyes me up and down, "now you."
I am at a loss for words. He wraps his arms around my legs and sinks his face into my side. I place my hands on his shoulders and watch him as he inhales deeply. I cannot help but chuckle, "Sandor."
He looks up at me. I raise my brows at him. He rubs his face on my clothes.
"And here you had yourself believing I was the bitch in heat."
Sandor perks at the thought then bursts into a belly laugh, deep and rich and lovely.
I give a gleeful giggle in response. It realize now that this was a rather rare occurrence. I caress the side of his face, the scarred side. His laughter does not cease. He does not flinch.
My breath hitches when he leans back into my stomach. He sighs, "can you blame me? You smell so good."
I bite my lip and comb my fingers though his hair, "you have to help me out of my dress if you want me naked."
Sandor pulls back and gawks, rather taken aback.
I jump down the bed. I look up at him, then turn around. He wastes no time in undoing my dress. He was a bit too hasty about it, which elicits a giggle from me.
I tut, "husband. Do I look like I'm running away anytime soon?"
Sandor pushes my hair aside and licks a stripe on my neck, causing me to whimper. He nips the area then peppers it with kisses, "you make me feel like a starved dog."
I gasp when he pulls my dress off, along with the rest of my clothing. He wraps his arms around me and continues to kiss my shoulder.
He breaks away only to rid himself of his pants. I turn to watch and bite my lip at the sight of his half-hardened member. He cups my cheeks then he kisses me. I wrap my arms around him, moaning when I feel him press against me.
We end up on the bed, with Sandor squishing me beneath him. I mewl and make room for him between my thighs.
Sandor kisses my neck. My breath catches when he bites me harder than normal.
"Puppy," I whine.
The Hound groans and pulls away from my neck to roughly kiss my lips. I yelp when I feel him grind his hips into mine.
"Stop calling me that, girl," he mutters under a hot breath. He pulls away to give me a grumpy look.
I feel my belly flip. I chew my lip, bat my lashes, then kiss his chin, "but you are my puppy."
Sandor nudges my face with his own and nips at my jaw, "you should know that pups don't listen to anything but themselves."
I give and airy chuckle. He slowly moves down on me.
" 'M hungry."
"W-we just ate."
He kisses down my belly, "like the taste of pretty squirrels."
I grip on the sheets when he pushes my thighs up.
My mouth makes noises before my brain can tell it to do otherwise. My belly tightens and my breath catches as he kisses my womanhood. I whimper when he laps my folds through labored breaths. He hooks his arms around my thighs and pulls them apart when I begin to squeeze his face a bit too much.
"Sandor," I whine, looking down at him. I tangle my fingers into his hair and pull at his roots. I let out an erratic sound, "w-w-- mmm-- fuck- wait-"
Sandor does not hear me, or more accurately, ignores me and sucks on my sensitive nub. He goes on by licking firm circles and strokes on my weeping cunny.
We had done this only a few times, and each time, it was a mind breaking. Perhaps a little too much so.
My back arches as I feel myself come close to the edge. I squeal, "Sandor! Wai-" my voice breaks into a moan when he prods his tongue into my entrance to lick up my wetness. The lapping only intensifies, and I tense up even more.
I throw my head back and close my eyes, "S-Sandor, please."
He huffs and hums against my flesh.
With a cry, I come on his tongue and grind my hips against him. I feel him chuckle which just pushes me more over edge. I can feel him drink up all the wetness that comes from my pleasure.
He only stops when my legs begin to twist and shake in overstimulation.
My husband licks and kisses my thighs. The scratch of his beard was somehow comforting against my skin. He emerges between my legs but keeps himself between them as he lies atop me.
I instinctively wrap my arms around him as I catch my breath.
The wetness on his beard keeps the tingle in my belly. He rests his face on my shoulder, "delicious."
I feel myself blush, "Sandor."
"What? You like it when I kiss you there," he says a matter-of-factly, "you finish so quick when I use my tongue."
I scowl, "... that's the point... I shouldn't be doing that."
He lifts his head and raises a brow, "who says?"
"... I saith. You apologize everytime you finish quickly, I-"
"Fucking hell, woman," he sighs and rests his head back down, "that's not the same. I can't peak 10 times. But you can, and I'd love to make you one day."
My heart drops, "t-that's too much."
Sandor kisses my breast, "mmm, I got you to peak 3 times in one night before... what's seven more?"
I gasp at the idea.
He rubs my side and chuckles, "all the gods, old and new, I jest, my lovely wife."
I sigh in relief.
"...although half-hearted. I'd love to make you spill all over my face a thousand times."
"Sandor!" I swat his arm.
He laughs and tightens his arm around me, "you're too innocent to know men kill for this. I'm lucky to have such a dutiful bride."
I brush his hair and shift beneath him into a slightly more comfortable position. He immediately takes this as a sign of discomfort and pushes himself off.
"No!"
"I know," he hushes, "I'm here, love," he rolls over and brings me along with him.
I yelp and adjust once I'm on top him. He chuckles and squeezes me against him before allowing me to laze on top him.
I feel his hardened length on my thigh and gasp at it, "Sandor-"
"Nevermind it. I'll fuck you soon enough."
I chew my lips. This was why I did not want to come so fast. I want him to be pleasured too. I take a breath and decide to straddle his lap. I'm still overstimulated, evident by my shivers. The way Sandor moans and grabs my hips makes me want to power through it though.
He hisses my name out and evens his breathing, "are you trying to test me?"
I mumble weakly, "you can... stay inside..."
He cusses loudly.
"... then I'll move when I'm ready."
He screws his eyes shut and roughly squeezes my thighs, "you want to kill me. You want to fucking kill me, don't you?"
I bite my lip, "n-no, honey... but you know..."
I push him into my pulsing core and make him howl. In slight panic of his loud noise, I cover his mouth. He stares at me, dumb with lust, and pants.
I pull my hands away. I release a breath, "Trysha's sons offered to kill you."
A sliver of sobriety overcomes him.
"If you were cruel... they said they'd help me get free."
The Hound growls and sits up. I whine when I feel him rock his hips slightly, "am I cruel?"
He rubs my sides and kisses me. I make a sound when I taste myself on his lips. He clutches my body tightly. He presses a kiss on my ear, "maybe I should make you come on my cock 4 times."
I moan, "n-no, that's- that's too much."
I whimper when he begins to thrust into me.
"Sandor-"
"We'll see about that."
Sandor pushes me back and lifts one of my legs. He then proceeds to fuck me to prove a point; it brings tears to my eyes, literally. It was a mix of pain and pleasure that grew less and less painful and more and more pleasurable.
When I feel myself get close again, the idea of coming more than this exhausts me. I dig my fingers into his shoulders and beg, "please, please, come inside me. Please finish in me. Please, please-"
"You want my seed so bad, do ya?"
I nod frantically.
"You want me to come, or do you want my come?"
"B-both-- fuck--"
We both peak a few thrusts later. My mind goes numb as heat ripples through me. My shaking body follows after and soon I'm thrashing for respite.
Sandor pushes my thighs up to my sides and rests atop me. He kisses my cheek and licks my sweat.
I call out his name.
He calls out mine.
He kisses my cheek again, "you take me so well."
My eyes water, but out of exhaustion, if anything, "clearly, not well enough, my lord."
Sandor holds his breath.
I feel myself grow a little too hot, "Sandor... I'm too hot. Can you roll off?'
He pushes himself up on his arm and looks down at me, "I didn't mean it like that."
I raise my brows at his response and shake my head, "I'm not upset, darling. I genuinely am," I shimmy away from him, "burning up."
Sandor watches as I pull away.
I whimper as I feel my womanhood throb as some slick trickles out of me. I rest on my side and cross my legs. Sandor looks at me, rolling on his back. He reaches out for my hand and rubs it.
My expression softens, "I'm not upset."
He doesn't respond.
I clutch his hand in both of mine.
"Do you know the rumors of House Inglewood?"
I knit my brows, "no. I do not divulge in gossip, Sandor."
"Didn't think you did, but I know for a fact your blabbermouth wench does."
"Sandor," I say sternly, "stop calling Lucy names."
He tilts his head, "funny. I meant Cressida."
I raise a brow at him, "no, you didn't."
"Mmm," he chuckles, "no, I didn't."
I roll my eyes at him.
He scoots closer and laughs, "well, rumor goes the lord and lady of the house were unhappily arranged and could not conceive an heir... until Lord Inglewood's cousin made a visit."
I make a face, "I don't follow."
"Lord Inglewood has yellow hair, his cousin, red. The boy that was born to Lady Inglewood was a fucking ginger."
I raise my brows. I cannot help but feel sympathy for the lady, knowing how most ladies are treated, "people assume Lady Inglewood had an affair with her husband's cousin because of her son's red hair? They're cousins. They both could have yellow or red haired children."
"His cousin is not his blood relative."
I purse my lips.
"They became cousins when Lord Inglewood's uncle married into a house with a widowed lady."
I make a face and shake my head, "how do you know this? Don't tell me you listened to the maids in the Keep speculate."
"Against my will. They yap about like they're on either sides of a field."
I chuckle the sigh, "I sense you didn't simply want to share this rumor with me."
Sandor brings my hand up to his face, "they think it a wives' tale, but I've heard my fair share of yapping to know it's true. Men can be barren."
I tilt my head at his response.
"What are you going to do if the reason why you can't have a child is me?"
My lips part.
He turns his gaze to my hand. He rubs my knuckles.
My breath catches in my throat. My voice is low, "I... I don't believe it is."
"That's not what I asked, pretty squirrel," he mutters. He turns to me, "would you take another man?"
I am baffled by his question.
"If I was the problem, would you find someone else to father your child?"
I rip my hand out of his and sit up. I wait for him to say something, to retract his accusatory remark, but he doesn't. "You think so little of me," my eyes water, "I thought we were past this?"
Sandor sits up and raises a hand, "recall once when you told me to take another woman. I'm only asking if you would want the same for yourself."
"YOU DID NOT WANT ME!" I blurt and jump off of bed, "I told you to find another because YOU DID NOT want me!"
The Hound looks at me, as though he was wounded. He whispers, "I have always wanted you."
I scoff and begin to dress myself, "I did not know that."
Tears stream down my face as I put on my clothes. I turn from him as he stands and walks up to me. I pull away when he reaches out. He calls out my name cautiously.
"Do not touch me, brute," I hiss as I tighten the ties on my dress with much effort. I feel like I'm suffocating as I secure my clothing.
"You said it yourself," he speaks, dejected, "people remember names, not blood... I will safeguard any child that you b-"
"SILENCE!" I snap and heave. I place my hands on my stomach. I pant through my tears. I feel ill. I feel sorely loathsome.
He stares at me. He looks scared. I feel like retching. In fact, I feel like my morning meal wishes to find its way out through my throat.
The Hound approaches me when my breathing gets too irregular.
I sharply pull away and grab his clothes, throwing it at him in anger. He catches it. I cry, "does my love and affection ring so untrue in your ears that you insult me in the most egregious of ways?"
He can no longer keep his gaze upon me. He looks away and puts on his trousers.
"Do you even truly care for me?"
His head turns. He walks over to me, but I pull away still. The Hound is hurt. His eyes water, "you're the only thing I care about... you know this. Everything else is fuck all."
"Then why would you wish me away?!" I whine, "why would you want me to give myself up to a man I do not love to sate my want for a child?" I cover my mouth as I feel bile rise up my throat.
He calls my name.
"I know you don't care for my sense of duty, but -" gag "- do not mangle my discernment for the sake of dissuading me."
"That's not what I'm doing," Sandor speaks pleadingly, "I only wanted to-"
I feel too sick to listen to him. In the heat of the moment, I find myself running towards the window and hurling out of it. I vomit so much it comes out of my nose. I stare at the disaster that descended on the ground below. I retch at the sight.
I feel him rush over to me. I feel him rub my back.
"Fucking hells. What-"
"I told you not to touch me!" I hiss under my breath and elbow him weakly.
I wipe my mouth as he reels back. I glare at him even though my tears were burning down my cheeks. He looks frantic.
"If you do not believe in my curse, if you do not believe in my journey, if you do not believe in my love, do not twist it into mine own disbelief," I grunt and walk off.
The Hound watches as I begin to pack our things.
"You're right. We should not waste time on frivolity. The sooner we finish this damned trip, the sooner this torment can end for the both of us." I look over my shoulder, "that is, if you still wish to safeguard a woman who may have to bear someone else's child," I scoff coldly.
He does not respond.
I turn and raise my hands questioningly.
"You-" his voice breaks, "-have me til the end, my lady."
I turn away and continue packing.
#sandor clegane#sandor clegane fanfic#the hound#the hound fanfic#sandor clegane x reader#sandor the hound clegane#sandor fluff#sandor x reader#sandor fanfic#sandor clegane smut#sandor clegane fic#sandor clegane x you#sandor clegane fluff#sandor fic#game of thrones#game of thrones fic#sandor smut#game of thrones fanfic#sandor clegane angst#sandor angst
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I had the need to draw my beloved snarky sniper again.
[Reupload because I can never seem to get the saturation right. Why are my colours always so desaturated???]
I have such a blur of different fandoms in my head rn. It's kinda annoying.
#laufxson#fanart#star wars#the bad batch#bad batch#crosshair#can you tell i have a thing for hip windows?#cross is trying to be so cool#they're taking yearbook pictures#wrecker's giving him a thumbs up in the background#i would like to thank 3D previews of the sniper for this angle#i cannot draw weapons#but i love snipers#tbb crosshair#tbb#those hands...iwanna eat them#cronch#beautiful skrunkly
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Ex-husband!Gojo who doesn’t understand that the parents (mostly the moms who try to hide behind their giant sunglasses) at Mio’s soccer games talk, and he chooses today to pull you into his lap. Several sideways glances cast your way at how cozy you both must look as you watch your four-year-old daughter run in the wrong direction across the field because she got distracted by a butterfly.
He doesn’t hear what they talk about—aren’t they divorced? I’ve never seen anyone divorced act like that—or (worse) when they try to be subtle about their probing into Satoru’s dating life while you stand there with a stilted smile plastered onto your face.
(More than likely, he’s listened to every word and doesn’t give it the same amount of thought or care as you do.)
“Gojo,” you hiss, trying to move off his lap to no avail. “I have my own chair.”
“Can you still call me that if it’s your name too?”
A huff. “Go bother somebody else—”
“Shh,” he tells you, tugging you further against his chest. “You’re missing the game. Mio’s finally found her way back onto the field again.”
“But everyone’s staring at us.” You catch the eye of a mother tearing into a pack of fruit snacks.
“So? Let them stare.”
Everyone starts cheering, and you both watch Mio chase the ball down the field, her little body ducking between the taller kids.
“That’s my girl!” Gojo shouts over the other parents.
And then Mio kicks the ball into—
The wrong goal.
“Maybe we should have let her join t-ball,” you whisper, though you both clap as your daughter starts doing not-quite cartwheels in the middle of the field.
Ex-husband!Gojo who still does work around the house every Friday, and to your dismay, shirtless now that the weather is warmer.
The plate in your hands has a few scuffs, half of a cartoon character’s face scrubbed off to oblivion that Mio will have something to say about later. Doing everything to stop from staring out into the yard where he’s mowing the lawn because the window is right there, above the sink, to tempt you.
It’s difficult when his chest glistens with sweat from the early-summer heat and how those stupid gray cotton shorts (that you know he picked out with the sole purpose of torturing you) sit dangerously low on his hips—
He looks towards the kitchen window, a crooked smile stretching across his lips. The blood rushing to your brain, that must be what makes you give a sudsy wave and cause heat to creep into your middle.
Ex-husband!Gojo who strolls into your room while you’re putting away laundry one afternoon, and unsurprisingly shirtless as he crowds you against the dresser. Front to back. His mouth at your ear.
That steady resolve you pride yourself in crumbles at your feet, and you swallow the tiny, helpless sound working its way up your throat. A slippery thing that slips out. “Satoru…”
“You know, these little shorts were always my favorite,” he tells you, his fingers playing with the elastic waistband.
“Were they?”
“Don’t you remember? Couldn’t get them out of the way fast enough.”
Your mouth is dry, something playing in a loop in the back of your brain. Early morning, breakfast cooling on the stove, crumbs stuck to your cheek, these shorts dangling off the leg propped up on the counter—
“Where’s Mio?”
A kiss to your nape, a knowing smile. “Taking a nap.”
Ex-husband!Gojo who works your shorts and underwear off your legs before pulling you to the edge of the bed.
“Satoru, we—we can’t keep doing this—”
Your words trail off into a moan when he slaps your clit with the leaky tip of his cock, and wet sounds echo in the room.
“Yeah? Go on, baby,” he tells you, slowly splitting you open, stuffing you full, two puzzle pieces slotting perfectly into place like it should be (how it’s always been). “Tell me some more why we can’t keep doing this.”
You can’t, not with how he’s filling you up in the way only he knows how. Not when he hooks two thick fingers into your mouth because you’re getting too loud, pinning you against the bed with your cheek buried into your pillow, every sound choking into nothing.
You wriggle underneath him, fingers clawing at the comforter and your back arching.
“Christ, look at you,” he growls, leaning over you, teeth bared. “Fucking look at you. You needed this, didn’t you?”
Ex-husband!Gojo who presses what leaks out back inside you with his thumb after he pulls out, wet and sticky circles between your legs until you fall apart again with a soft cry. His thumb is there again, at your entrance, pushing and stopping like a plug, muttering something under his breath that sounds like, “Can’t waste it.”
And quieter, “Maybe it’ll take.”
(Who knows?
Maybe it will. Worse things have happened.)
Ex-husband!Gojo who stays for dinner for the fourth time that week, and none of the reasons have been because Mio asked if he could. It’s more about the fact that you’ve enjoyed how whole your family feels again, that you can pretend for a moment this is what you do every night.
(How it was probably always going to come back to this.)
That your wedding ring doesn’t sit in the back of your sock drawer, and his isn’t tucked away in his wallet. That you don’t feel guilty when you think about saying I love you or wishing he’d stay longer—
“Daddy, you gonna lose,” Mio tells Satoru as Mario Kart appears on the screen.
“We’ll see,” he laughs, tugging on one of her pigtails until she’s giggling and swatting his hand away.
You lean back against the couch, watching them with a small smile you share with Satoru over your daughter’s head.
#gojo satoru smut#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo imagine#jjk drabbles#jjk x you#jjk fic#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#fem!reader#.things i write
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Kinktober Day 31 - Free Use
Poly 141 x Reader - 4.3k (on ao3)
summary: Glimpses into your life as a housewife and free use toy for the 141 post-retirement. (Reader POV, second person)
cw: soft sex, half-drunk sex, light somnophilia, anal sex
note: last kinktober of the month! sorry i got off by a day at the end here, but i hope you guys have enjoyed everything so far :) btw this is less "free use" and more "sex with the 141 while living in domestic bliss"
Your days are filled with sex. Sex with all of your boys, in every position you can think of, in every room of the house they’d bought for the five of you after retiring.
You all split the chores evenly these days. No one does more than they’re more comfortable with, and you’ve all found your stride, something to give you purpose, after the rigidity of the military.
Gaz has taken to bee-keeping. As odd as it sounds, he’s got the patience for it, and he’s quite protective of his bees, even has nearly an entire library of books he’s taught himself with. Price helps him out by selling the honey he harvests, keeping track of his profits and managing the household’s finances.
Ghost hunts, spends his days out finding game to bring home, tracking herds and predators around your property. Johnny does a little of everything - fixes things when they break, chops firewood every morning, helps Simon skin his prey, tries to help Gaz and his bees.
And you take care of the house. You make the meals, clean up after everyone, and find yourself perfectly happy to keep your men fed and warm.
Your other chore is to bend over whenever they want. Well, bend into any position whenever they want, Ghost and Soap tend to enjoy getting a bit more creative. It’s not really much of a chore, considering how eager you are to do it.
It’s a great deal for you. Johnny and Kyle are always eager to get you off, and neither Simon nor Price is stingy with the orgasms these days either. You live your life floating between domestic labor and orgasms - not a bad existence, by your metric. You get to live without a care in the world, four men to take care of and four men to take care of you. It’s like a dream come true.
———————————————————————
You hum to yourself as you dance around the kitchen, wearing nothing but a frilly apron as you wait for your pancakes to cook. The small radio on the dining room table plays music from a local radio station, something cheery to start your day. It’s hard not to smile, with sunshine pouring in from the windows and a batch of fresh eggs to scramble on the stove.
Your small moment of bliss is interrupted by a pair of hands on your hips and a large body bracketing yours.
There isn’t even a moment of fear, you instinctually lean back into the man behind you. A moment later, a rough beard brushes over your cheek.
“Pancakes this mornin’?” Price asks, big paws resting on the softness of your hips.
“Hmm,” you hum, tilting your head to claim his lips. He sways the two of you back and forth slowly, to the beat of the song, and lets you take your time with him. “Blueberries in yours,” you tell him when you come up for a breath of air.
One hand shifts to your ass, the other to your stomach, and you feel him smile. “Thank you, love. Got time for a quick round before they burn?”
You mimic his smile, let him bend you over slowly. “You’re just in time, Captain, I haven’t cracked the eggs yet.”
“Perfect,” he purrs, pressing himself to your backside. He tucks his plaid pajama pants down a little, rubbing his warm morning wood against you. You fold your arms beneath your head, let your eyes drift closed as his fingers make quick work of getting you ready.
Moments later, the heavy length of his cock fills you slowly. You moan, shifting your legs a little bit wider as he massages your waist.
“There you go,” he sighs, bottoming out and grinding himself slowly inside of you. “Tight as always, perfect girl.”
You giggle a little drowsily, wiggling your hips against his. “Always for you, John.”
He sighs contentedly, pulling out slowly. “Don’t I know it.”
He fucks you slowly, a steady pace that drags against all your most sensitive parts on every thrust. John’s thick, and the stretch isn’t quite comfortable with no prep. But you’re still a little loose from your time with Soap and Gaz last night, so it’s far from painful to take him.
He hunches over you as he gets closer and closer to the edge, elbows resting on either side of you and breath ghosting across your nape.
“Aw,” you hear Soap say,voice rough from sleep as he steps into the kitchen. “I wanted first go today.”
“Early bird gets the worm, Johnny,” Gaz teases, settling into a chair in the little breakfast nook Simon had built soon after moving in. “You’re the one who stayed up so late with her last night.”
“Wasn’t just me, jackass, you’re the one who-”
“Boys,” Price grunts, hips slamming against yours, leaving you squirming beneath him. “Will you shut the fuck up while I’m balls deep in our girl?”
You can’t help but snort beneath him, pushing yourself up enough to arch your back further, stick your ass further out for him. “Ye-yeah, boys.”
“Hush,” Price scolds, one hand shifting to your neck where he forces you flat to the counter again. “‘M almost there…”
He groans lowly as he buries himself deep inside of you, pumping slowly as you tighten up, trying to milk him. “Fuck, feels good…”
You smile against your arms as the pleasure that had been building inside of you starts to dull to a simmer, something warm in the root of you.
Price pulls out only moments later, two thick fingers tucking into you to keep any of his come from dripping out. “Keep me safe inside you, pretty thing, c’mon. Clench down.”
You take a deep breath and try your best to listen, straightening up and doing your best to keep yourself from dripping down your thighs.
He turns you around, leaning you back against the counter and cupping your cheeks in his hands, tugging your face up to give you a soft kiss. “Thank you,” he whispers into your mouth, just quiet enough for you to hear.
“Of course.” You reach up to grab his wrists, holding him close. “Never gonna say no to you, John.”
The two of you linger in the moment, sunlight warming your skin as you breathe into each other.
It’s Soap that interrupts you, an intentionally obnoxious clearing of his throat nearly making you jump. “Any chance at coffee sometime today, bonnie?”
You huff a laugh into Price’s mouth, pushing him away and shooting a half-playful look to Johnny. “Can’t give me a minute of peace, can you?”
He smirks, “Nope.”
John scoffs as he pulls away, moving you with him and giving you a quick tap to the ass to send you over to the counter with the coffee machine. “Someone’s gotta teach you some patience, MacTavish.”
“If Ghost still hasn’t gotten it into him, no one is,” Gaz laughs, shifting enough for Price to join him on the bench.
“Who says I haven’t?” Ghost says, stepping from the hallway. He’s already got a cigarette lit between his lips, and you wave him away with a spatula.
“No!” You scold, trying to shoo him closer to the window. “No smoking in my house! You know I hate the smell.”
Ghost rolls his eyes good-naturedly but lets you herd him to the open window, resting a shoulder on the windowsill and blowing a mouthful of air. You hmph, satisfied, and move to flip the pancakes. “You’re not the one who has to get that smoke out of all the furniture, you know.”
Ghost sighs, but he’s dramatic enough about it for you to know that he’s intentionally exaggerating his annoyance. “Awful early for all that nagging, woman.”
You glare at him playfully, picking up an egg to crack. “Awful early for a cig, too.”
He huffs and you crack your egg, the kitchen shifting into a comfortable silence. You continue your humming as the song changes to something more upbeat, unable to keep a smile from your face.
———————————————————————
You’re half tipsy, giggling into Soap’s mouth as the two of you stumble into the house. You manage to trip over the lip of the entrance, and you yelp as you start to fall.
Johnny just barely manages to twist and catch the both of you in time, grunting loudly as he hits the ground. The breath is knocked from the both of you, and you lay there in the dark for a moment, still.
You’re giggling as soon as you can breathe again, unable to stay still with all the energy and wiggling against his chest. “Jo-Johnny!”
“What?” He pants, still not fully able to take a breath in. You can see the outline of a smile, though, and his hands come up to fully cup your ass. “You were the one taht tripped, lass!”
That only makes you laugh harder, kicking your feet against his shins. “I-I know!”
Now he laughs, a full-bellied sound that has you bouncing on his chest. He manages to push himself up so that you’re in his lap, and presses his mouth to yours without warning.
You make a high sound of surprise but quickly kiss him back, licking into his mouth when he parts his lips.
Your kiss is messy, both of you a little too drunk and a little too needy to bother for tact. Johnny’s softer than he usually is, all tongue and no teeth. You wrap your arms around his neck, shifting so your knees rest on either side of him and squeeze his hips.
“Need you,” he pants into your mouth, shifting you over him to start a slow grind. “Need to be inside you, bonnie.”
“Yeah, please,” you say, quickly dropping your hands to his belt and clumsily working at his belt. It takes several tries for you to get it undone, and both of you get more and more desperate. Your underwear get more and more damp as you work yourself over the rough denim of his jeans, your skirt rucked up around your hips as he palms at your ass.
“Come on,” he growls, landing a harsh slap against the meat of your thigh. You yelp at the sting, then giggle, and finally manage to get his belt loose, quickly tugging it off.
“There you go,” you mumble, throwing the belt to the side and hearing it slide against the hardwood. “C’mon, c’mon, need you now, Johnny.”
He nearly snarls into your mouth, jerking your panties to the side and stuffing two fingers into you with no warning. You jolt higher on your knees and moan, digging your nails into his shoulder.
“Sit still,” he growls, tugging you back down and scissoring his fingers quickly to spread you. He slips a third finger in easily, your cunt already slick and dripping for him. “Stop fuckin’- stop wigglin’ around.”
You can’t help but giggle again, pushing your smile against his lips and nipping at his chin. “Can’t hold me down, MacTavish?”
You feel him grin, growling playfully, and before you can keep prodding him he’s got you flipped onto the floor beneath him. You squeal when he somehow manages to keep his fingers inside of you, pushing deep as he pins you down. He tucks your knees higher, both of your legs resting on his shoulders.
“I’ll show you held down, lass,” he growls, smile just barely visible above you. “Want it rough, then?”
You bite back another laugh, pushing up just enough to bite his bottom lip and tug it down with you. “As rough as you’ve got, MacTavish.”
It works as the perfect taunt you’d meant it as, and he’s buried in your tight heat before you can try and push him any further. Your head falls back against the hardwood floor as his falls to your throat, both of you moaning loudly as his hips meet your thighs.
“Fuck,” he groans, teeth pressed against your throat. When you arch your neck even further, he bites into your flesh, sucking a hicky and making you ever wetter between the thighs. “Fuck.”
“She tight, Johnny?”
You both yelp at the sudden voice, Johnny jolting away from your neck and shifting inside of you, causing you both to melt again.
There, in the corner of the room, is Ghost. He’s smoking a cigarette by the window, illuminated only by the glow of his cigarette butt and the moon. You can’t quite see his expression, but you can just imagine the cocky smirk.
Johnny groans above you, sinking back down to press kisses along your throat and forcing your knees almost to the side of your head. “Scared the shit outta’ me, Ghost,” he sighs, pulling out just enough to give you a few tiny thrusts. You moan, letting yourself relax into the floor.
“Not surprised,” Ghost says, and you watch as he stubs out the cigarette and take a few steps to where the two of you are tangled in each other. “How much did you two have to drink?”
You laugh at the question, but it melts into a moan as Johnny starts to find a rhythm that works for both of you. Your knees nearly knock against your own face as he makes his way across your neck, leaving bruising kisses.
“Not-” you choke a bit on a particularly rough thrust, just barely managing to keep your eyes open and watch as Simon settles into an armchair. “Not that much.”
“Yeah,” Johnny pants, lifting himself up enough to look down at you. “How-how much’ve you had, L.t.?”
Ghost snorts, taking a swig from a beer bottle you hadn’t noticed before. “Less’n you two, I can tell that much.”
You and Johnny both snicker, half out of breath already, but none of you try and keep speaking as Johnny starts to really fuck into you, finding a perfect rhythm that’s just a little messier than usual, a little jerkier.
The two of you make no attempt to be quiet, moaning and whining loudly as you work to find that peak. Even with folded in half as you are, you try to push into him as much as you can to help him hit the perfect spot inside of you.
You nearly scream when he does, clenching down so tightly onto him that he’s forced to a still inside of you, his length throbbing in time with your heartbeat.
The world blurs around you as Johnny takes your lips again, pressing your tongues together in a slick slide as he batters inside of you.
“Clo-close,” you gasp, clawing down his shoulders. Your nails dig in enough through his shirt to have him moaning, arching further into your touch.
“Me too, bonnie.”
He shifts enough to lean his weight further onto your thighs, newly freed hand smoothing down your chest and stomach to work against your clit. You melt beneath him, muscles going loose as you turn into nothing but a limp doll for him to fuck.
Your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm starts to overcome you, Johnny’s work against your clit and the hot length inside of you finally shoving you over the edge.
“Fuck- fuck!” Johnny nearly shouts above you, your orgasm triggering his own. You cling tight to him, dragging his body as close to you as possible while your muscles clench down around him. The two of you are nearly drooling in each other’s mouths, eager for as much physical touch as possible.
It feels like an impossible amount of time later when you hear Ghost crouch down next to you, see his shadow cast over both you and Johnny. “You two done, then?”
You feel Johnny huff where he’s leaned against your cheek, feel his smile grow against yours.
“Yeah, Si,” you say, squirming a bit beneath Johnny to try and get out from under him. “I think we’re done.”
Johnny gans a little but he obliges and shifts back enough for his softened cock to pull out of you. You both whine in sync at the separation, and he finally lets your legs fall to the ground, heels thudding against the floor.
Johnny rolls off of you, flopping to the floor next to you. “Carry us to bed, L.t.”
You giggle and blink up at Simon, softened from your orgasm and the lingering buzz from your night out. “Yeah, L.t.,” you lift your arms high, making grabby hands like a toddler. “Carry us to bed.”
Ghost snorts above you, but he still leans down and scoops you up beneath the knees and the back. You squeal when he hefts you over his shoulder into a fireman's carry. He ducks low again and you grasp onto the bottom of his sweatshirt, then giggle when Johnny flops bonelessly over Ghost’s other shoulder.
He carries the two of you effortlessly down the hall, and Johnny’s soft laugh joins yours - well, at least before you hear a muffled slap and he quiets himself/ Of course that only makes you laugh, earning you a spank of your own.
You’re dropped rather carelessly onto the massive mattress all five of you share these days, hand flopping against what you’re sure is Price’s chest as Ghost falls on top of Johnny where he’s dropped.
You hear a muffled oof! from next to you and curl into Price with a smile, tucking yourself close to his chest. He rumbles a low noise, instinctually tucking you close. You can hear Gaz getting annoyed with Ghost and Soap, feel him kicking at them to fight for his own spot on the mattress. You fall asleep with Ghost’s back to yours and Price’s chest to yours, surrounded by warmth.
———————————————————————
You groan into the sheets in frustration, fists clenched tight. “Simon, come on, please.”
He spanks you sharply, but the pain is hardly noticeable compared to the need you’re drowning in.
“Quiet,” he grunts, three fingers spreading your ass. “Need to stretch you out properly, don’t want any tears.”
You whine, arching your back and pushing your ass further into the air. “I’m ready, I promise, just need you inside. I’ve been stretched for the last ten minutes!”
“And you’ll get stretched for ten more if you don’t quit complaining.”
It’s almost impossible to bite back a complaint at that, but you manage to dull it down to just a near-painful eye roll. You try your best to stay still for him, stay patient, even as you feel like your pussy is dripping like a faucet.
Ghost has fucked you with far less prep than this, you know he’s just trying to be an asshole - no pun intended. You also know that the more you rush him, the slower he’ll go. So you force yourself a little looser, let your body sink more comfortably into the position he’s got you in.
It doesn’t make the wait any easier.
You’re not sure how long it’s really been when he finally deems you stretched enough, but he finally pulls his fingers free. You whimper at the cold dribble of lube as he spreads a bit more across your stretched hole, the slick sounds echoing in the room telling you he’s likely spreading it across himself too.
“Alright, love,” he says, notching himself at your back hole with both hands on your hips. “Loosen up for me now.”
The stretch is sinful as he finally gives you his cock, enough for you to feel the sting but not at a painful point. Your eyes roll back in pleasure instead of frustration, and your knees shift just a little wider to welcome him more fully into your body.
“Fuck, you feel good<’ he grunts, grip tightening on your hip.
On a normal night with Ghost, you’d expect minimal prep and long rounds of edging. He likes to keep you from coming for as long as possible, then coax an orgasm that feels earthshattering from you when he finally shoves you off that ledge. Either that, or he fucks you quick and dirty - in the yard outside, in the shower, in the middle of the night, really any time he feels like getting off. With you around, there’s no need to masturbate. That leaves you getting bent over and used at any time he feels the slightest urge to get off, but you couldn’t mind less.
Now, though, Ghost paces himself far more slowly than usual. His thrusts are long, bottoming out and pulling back until the head of his cock just barely breaches your hole. If you couldn’t feel the way his hands bruise your hips, you’d almost call his pace leisurely.
The two of you are near silent as he fucks you, content to fill the air with soft moans and the occasional whine instead of dirty talk. It feels nice, such slow sex with Simon. It’s a side of him he rarely lets you see, even now.
He knows you can’t come from anal alone, and is feeling generous enough to grab one of your hands and shift it down, telling you, “Rub your clit for me, love. Wanna feel you come.”
And, well, who are you to disobey?
You bring yourself to a slow, rolling orgasm with rhythmic circles against your clit, hips working against his even with his grip. You moan more loudly now, moith open and spit spreading across the pillow.
“Si-Simon,” you gasp. “Feels so good, so deep.”
“Yeah? Deep in your ass, huh, love?”
“Mhmm, mhmm. Can hardly br-breathe around you, Si.”
“I know, so big in your little hole. You’re taking me well, though, being such a good girl for me. Gonna - fuck, love - gonna make me come, give you a nice load then plug you up.”
“Yes, yes…”
“You want that? Want to be stuffed with my come? Keep me inside of you ‘til I say you can take the plug out?”
“Yes, I’ll keep it in for you, Si, be so good for you.”
“Oh, I know it, love. Always a good girl for me, most perfect girl… fuck, feel so good around me…”
He groans when he finally gets himself off, pulling you back onto his harsher thrusts and letting your channel squeeze the come from him. You rub your clit a few more times, ignoring the aftershocks in favor of forcing your muscles to milk him a bit.
When he finally pulls out, he tucks a good-sized plug into your loosened hole before any of his come can slip out. You shift from your knees to your stomach with a soft hum, tugging a pillow into your arms as your eyes drift shut.
“You stayin’ in here for a bit?” Ghost asks, brushing some of your hair away from your face and dipping down to press a dry kiss to your cheek.
“Hmm. Gonna take a nap before dinner.”
“Alright. Need any help tonight?”
“No,” you hum, curling deeper into the bedding. “You can set the table, if you really want.”
You hear him laugh as he pulls away, weight shifting off of the mattress. “I’ll leave that to Johnny, I think.”
A few moments later the door click softly shut behind him, and you float into a peaceful slumber while trying to half-plan dinner.
———————————————————————
You’re half-asleep when you feel someone shift in bed next to you, their body covering yours. There’s a distinct hardness against the small of your back, and you press back against him.
“Stay still,” you hear Gaz whisper in your ear as he urges you further onto your stomach. You hum a little in response as he settles over you, kneeing your thighs apart enough for him to rest between them. “Don’t wanna wake anyone else up, right sweetheart?”
You hum again in what’s probably supposed to be agreement, but is really just a half-asleep sound. You trust all your boys, though, so you’re perfectly content to let Kyle do whatever he wants.
You sleep naked these days, so it’s easy for him to spread your cheeks a bit, to rub at your folds. You’re still a little damp from the shower sex with Price you’d had right before bed, and Kyle doesn’t seem to think you need much more than that.
You’re almost asleep again when you feel the tip of his cock at your hole, and then the familiar weight of him entering you. It’s hard not to groan, especially when you’re so dazed, but you think you do a good job.
Well, until Kyle shushes you loudly, stuffing a few of his fingers into your mouth.
You make a small offended noise, but it shifts into a sound of pleasure when he sinks fully inside of you.
“Hush. Don’t wanna share you right now, just needed to feel you for a bit.”
You feel his hips shift against yours before he sort of falls to the side, taking you with him. You’re left spooning him, his cock buried deep inside of you and kept warm by your body.
He sighs, pleased, against your back and pulls his fingers from your mouth, letting his hand float down to rest on one of your breasts. He squeezes you for a few moments, but that only works you up more and has you squirming against him.
Kyle makes a small, whining noise and squeezes you more tightly to him. “Stay still, love. Just want to hold you, let you hold me. Go back to sleep, yeah?”
You sigh, debate trying to get him to finish what he started, but ultimately decide that it sounds like far too much work for your current state.
So instead you let yourself relax into Gaz, body quickly adjusting to the weight and stretch of him. It’s easier than you might’ve thought to doze off like that, held close to Kyle’s chest.
#fun fact: this is completely unedited! anyway - yall ready for these tags?#kinktober#kinktober 2023#kinktober day 31#cod fanfic#call of duty fanfic#john price x reader#john price#price x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost riley x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#johnny soap mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#poly 141 x reader#141 x reader#is that all? did i do it right? IDK!#oh wait#bo writes#kyle garrick x reader#now that we're at the ends of the tags can i confess that i kinda hate this?
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Look at me
Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader
Summary: Being oblivious to Luke’s feelings, you tried to get over him by getting a boyfriend, who just does not know how to treat you right. Inspired by the song ‘Boyfriend’ by Dove Cameron ~ “I could be a better boyfriend than him.” (jealous luke, friends-to-lovers, fluff, angst, pining, happy ending.)
Warning: Just the boyfriend being an asshole and unwanted physical touch for a split second, but nothing serious. Sorry if your name is Cole. Violence (physical fighting)
Note: I’m sorry if there are a lot of errors, I haven’t had the chance to edit this thoroughly so if it feels like a train wreck, then I'm sorry. I just needed to write this out, get it out there, so I can go back to revising for my exams in peace lol, cause this plot/idea has been at the back of my head, I could not stop thinking about it or study properly. Lowkey hated how this one turned out, but whoops.
Word count: 4.8k
“People say that eyes are the windows to one's soul,” you once told him. You two have been best friends for a very long time: five years of being attached to the hip. Yet, you were completely oblivious to the way he looked at you. Even everybody at camp noticed and thought it was bound to happen. They were so sure that Luke and you would end up together. So imagine everybody’s surprise when something else occurred.
It happened right in front of Luke: Cole - a boy from Cabin 5 and son of Ares - asked you out, and you said yes.
It has been two months since that day. All Luke could do was sulk as he watched his best friend slip away. Of course, you still tried to spend as much time as possible with him. But even then, things have changed. There were no more of those content silences between the two of you. There were no more carefree laughs that made Luke feel like you two were the only ones that existed in this place. He used to walk you back to your cabin every night, hugging you good night or kissing your forehead close to your hairline if he felt brave enough. Moments like those convinced him you two would be like that forever. But his solace was taken in a split second. Now, you were so near, yet so out of reach.
It didn’t help that he saw you every day, like right now, as you sat in the middle of a gathering hosted by your cabin. Gods, even the wind seems to be in love with you, judging by the way it was blowing through your hair as if it was trying to twirl itself around those lovely locks that Luke himself used to always tug behind your ears. The sight of you always bathed him in this warm feeling, like the morning sun. Hence his nickname for you: sunshine.
Then his brown eyes landed on the figure next to you, and they hardened. He has witnessed it all: Cole’s backhanded compliments, ignoring you on your birthday, leaving you alone to talk to his friends, occasionally flirting back with girls who batted an eyelash at him, and then blatantly telling you that you were overthinking it. Luke knew he could treat you so much better.
You were sitting with your boyfriend and his group of friends, who often gave you weird looks or snickers. Gods, if it was him you were with, he’d never make you feel excluded. He would have his arms around you and defend you if his friends ever made snarky remarks. Not that that would ever happen anyway; you were well-loved at camp, and all his friends loved you. But he would treat you well, nevertheless, not like that dumbass sitting next to you.
One of your favorite songs started playing, and Luke watched as you genuinely smiled for once tonight. You touched your boyfriend’s arm, muttering something to him. Luke knew exactly what you were saying to Cole because you and Luke used to do this together. Except, you never had to ask Luke.
Whenever your favorite tunes were on, Luke would immediately pull you out of your seat and dance with you, laughing as if nothing mattered at all. Nights like those, he liked to imagine that the stars above envied them and what the two of you had. Now? He felt like one of them, watching from the outside.
Luke’s jaw clenched as he saw Cole shrugging off your hand on his arm. Gods, Luke felt like that idiot was taking you for granted, and his blood boiled. Before Cole, Luke used to always orchestrated some excuse to have you touch him - getting injured on purpose sometimes just to watch you frantically panic over his wounds and take care of him, volunteering to help you out with swords training just to touch your hand and pretend to adjust the way you were holding it, hugging you every time he greeted you and so on.
For a second, your mask slipped, and you had that look on your face, like something had left you emotionally wounded. It was the kind of look Luke would kill to never see again, and oh, the things he would do to get rid of Cole. Luke had to wrestle with the thought of marching up to Cole and beating him to a pulp. However, he did stand up to approach you.
You felt a hand touch your shoulder. When you peered at the person standing, your eyes immediately glimmered as they caught Luke’s. However, something foreign was gleaming in his eyes. The Hermes boy has always looked at you sweetly. But the way he was looking at you right now was filled with something much more intense - borderline fervent, like an obsession.
Cole finally glanced over at you for the first time the entire night. Unlike you, he instantly recognized the look in Luke’s eyes: hunger and longing. It was clear as day to everybody but you.
Luke extended his hand out for you to take and you understood right away. For the first time in two months, your hand touched his. Luke’s chest sunk and his breathing lost its usual rhythm for a second as your skin made contact with his. The Hermes boy finally looked over to Cole, and the Ares boy saw an immediate shift in his eyes. Now, they were filled with animosity and - the most obvious of all - heated jealousy.
Luke led you away from Cole and started twirling you around. You let out a laugh - the kind that was infectious and has always brought a smile to Luke’s lips. You both sang along to the lyrics. For once, your relationship felt restored, just like the good old days. Was it wrong that this was the happiest you have felt since you got together with Cole? You shrugged away the thought as the song slowly ended. Luke settled with both hands on your waist while yours were around his neck. Usually, you would put your head on his chest as you both slightly swayed around. But now that you were in a relationship, you kept a bit of distance between the two of you. You gaze up at Luke, who was already staring at you sweetly. The moment was perfect. Gods, you almost wished to stay in it forever.
Meanwhile, Luke hoped he could convey his thoughts through his eyes - the unspoken words he wished he had told you sooner. Could you not see the infatuation coursing through his veins whenever he was with you? Could you not see that you got him at your beck and call?
The look you gave him almost convinced him that you heard his thoughts. You leaned your head on his chest, caught off-guard by the speed of his heartbeat as it soothed you along with the music in the background. Feeling a heated look over his way, Luke glanced around and locked eyes with your boyfriend. Cole narrowed his eyes while Luke gave Cole a look of resentment and immense loathing.
Gods, he could be a much better boyfriend than Cole.
“Hey, man,” when you heard your boyfriend’s voice, you lifted your head from Luke’s chest and withdrew your hands around his neck. “I’ll take over from here,” Cole practically pulled you away from Luke and started swaying with you. Instead of feeling happy that Cole finally danced with you after two months of dating, you felt wrong. Cole's hands were on your waist, but they felt sluggish like his heart was not in it at all. Your ear was against Cole’s chest, so you caught the sound of his heartbeat. It sounded…too calm, almost cold and shallow, causing you to twist your lips into a frown.
You glanced up at your boyfriend but saw him staring behind you instead. So you glanced back and caught a glimpse of Luke before getting pulled around by Cole, who roughly yanked your face towards him. He kissed you almost aggressively. There was something cynical and bitter about the way he was kissing you.
Cole opened his eyes and conceitedly made eye contact with Luke. The Hermes boy glared at the sight of Cole handling you so roughly, claiming your lips so smugly. If it was him, he would be kissing you for you; he would be kissing you to show you how much he worshiped you and the ground you walk on, not to prove an empty point.
You finally managed to pull away when Cole let go of your chin. “All right, we’re done for the night, don’t you think?” your boyfriend muttered, quickly leaving you to return to his friends as if nothing had happened. Despite feeling slightly aggravated at Cole, you hated that you couldn't care less of his words at that moment, and the first thing you did was look in the direction Luke had been before.
Yet, he was not there anymore.
~~~
Your cabin was not on the same side as Luke’s cabin for this match of capture the flag. You were fighting off some people who were on the blue team. Years of training with Luke paid off because you managed to point your sword at the person’s neck and grinned when they put their hands up in surrender. You continued perusing through the area, trying to regroup with your team or take down another blue team member. However, you almost tripped as you witnessed Cole on the ground with Luke on top of him, repeatedly punching his face..
“Luke!” you called out, watching as Luke’s action faltered, and his eyes darted around frantically around like a lost wild animal. However, Cole took advantage of Luke’s momentary distraction to land a hit on Luke’s face. The Ares boy got off the ground as Luke stumbled and went for another punch. However, Luke dodged it effortlessly and rammed Cole against a tree instead.
“Hey, knock it off,” you yelled, standing between the boys to stop their flight. Luke immediately backed off, afraid he would accidentally hurt you if he didn’t. But Cole, in the middle of his blind rage, still swung for Luke and ended up striking you across the face instead. Right when that happened, Luke pushed Cole again and rushed to your side to assess your injury. At that very moment, Chiron approached the scene with one of Cole’s friends next to him, who promptly told the man:
“It was him. Luke initiated the fight.”
~~~
Luke wished for somebody to put him out of this misery as he stared at you from afar helplessly. He was so dotted that it hurt. Somebody must have answered his prayers because your eyes met his from across the field. There was a bit of sadness behind them, perhaps regret from how things ended yesterday. You whispered something to your boyfriend, but Cole did not even spare you a glance and waved his hand as if dismissing you from the discussion. Luke’s hand once again curled into a fist. He bit the inside of his cheek from the pain induced by his injury. The Hermes cabin counselor felt no bit of guilt in his body about his physical altercation with Cole. He felt smug at the sight of Cole with one black eye, busted lip, swollen cheek and a body sporting way more bruises than him.
You deserved better.
“Hey, stranger,” you greeted, sitting beside Luke. Almost immediately, he hooked one finger under your chin, tilting your head lightly as if he was afraid he might break you. The boy scanned over your injury, sighing at the sight of purple forming under your skin, indicating an emerging bruise. Even so, under the moonlight, you still looked heavenly to him.
“Devon said you initiated the fight. Is that true, Luke?” Luke frowned at the mention of Cole’s friend. Great, now he knew another idiot’s name. Meanwhile, you have asked this because you knew him. There was no way the boy you knew would lose control like this and swing his hands first.
“No, but what’s the point of telling Chiron that? It’s two against one,” he breathed out.
“Luke, you’re literally the friendliest and nicest counselor here. Of course, he would believe you,” you reasoned. You sighed disappointingly as Luke only shook his head in response as if asking you to drop it.
Now, you two sat in silence. It felt the same as the comforting ones you have had with him before - the ones that made you feel like you were at home in front of your fireplace, curled up with a book.
“Why are you with him?” and with that, the comfort evaporated as the air thickened. You and Luke rarely argued or even disagreed, so it felt like an unfamiliar territory every time it felt relatively tense between you two.
“I know you, which is why I know that you’re absolutely miserable with him, so I don’t understand why you’re still with Cole,” Luke commented, though his voice was quiet because he was considerate of drawing this type of attention to you. He had seen it before - Cole causing public altercations and storming off and you running after him with tears emerging from your eyes. He did not want to put you in the same position.
“Y/N, please, as your best friend…” there it was again, the word that used to make you smile brightly, was now the same one that brought you pain. You wanted more. “...You deserve better,” he uttered, his eyebrows slightly scrunched as he looked at you with those eyes. There it was again, the look so intense that you were convinced they could swallow you whole. Yet, you could not interpret them. So, you looked away.
“Luke…” you said his name almost like a warning sign. The boy sighed at this.
His fingers gently tilted your chin towards him, urging you to face him. There was so much contrast in the way he touches you and the way Cole does. You knew precisely why Luke wanted you to look at him: your eyes were your tell for him. Years ago, after you told him that eyes were the windows to one's soul, he told you that he knew this already because he had learned that your eyes will always tell the truth for you. That’s how, in so many instances, he would be the first to notice whenever you're upset.
“Y/N, does he make you happy?” you stiffened at the question. Words choked up in your throat as your mouth opened to answer. You wanted to say yes so you both could get over this conversation. But you knew he would be able to tell you were lying. The way he looked at you right now, as if you were the only thing that mattered. He seemed so vulnerable. Little did you right at this moment, Luke was willing to surrender and let you go if you said yes.
“Oh, this is who you left me to talk to?” Cole's voice broke you both out of the trance. “The person who beat your boyfriend?” Cole passive-aggressively spat, sneering from above as he looked down at the two of you. You called out to your boyfriend, but he quickly cut you off with a quick “Unbelievable,” before walking away. But Cole did this on purpose. He liked the attention he drew, even if they were at your expense, especially because he knew you would chase after him.
“I’m so sorry,” you muttered to Luke on your boyfriend's behalf as you stood up to run after him. Luke frowned as he shook his head. If you were his, he would never allow you to apologize on his behalf, nor would he give a reason for you to ever do that.
“Uhm, what are you waiting for?” Annabeth’s voice broke Luke from his irritated state. “Go after her,” the young girl nudged.
“I doubt I should do that, Annabeth. Last time I was with him, he ended up in the infirmary.”
“Yes, but you need to go after her before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late.”
“No, it’s not,” the girl stated sternly, and when Luke peered over at her, he recognized the look on her face. From experience, he knew better than to doubt when Annabeth was right. So, he stood up and walked in the direction where you disappeared after your boyfriend.
“Stop it, Cole. I don’t want to…” Your voice grabbed Luke’s attention as he started walking in that direction, eyebrows furrowed.
“Come on, this is the least you could do to make it up to me,” Cole replied.
When Luke reached the scene, he almost went into an uncontrollable wrath when he saw Cole trying to take off your shirt as you objected and struggled out of his grip.
“I said ‘let go,’ Cole,” you yelled this time, pushing him back. Upon finally doing so successfully, a figure stormed past you and immediately flung at Cole’s cheek, right at the spot that was already bruising. The impact knocked Cole to the ground as he wailed from the pain. Averting your gaze to the person, you saw Luke. Like a deranged bull, Luke grabbed Cole by the collar and lifted him up, going in for another hit, but you quickly stopped him, calling out his name.
Cole, who did not learn his lesson, spoke again, “Gods, of course! He runs to your aid again. You must be a good fuck for him to get this attached. How many times have you fucked him, huh? Gods, you’re such a whore, you know that?” If it were not for your hands stopping Luke and removing his grip from Cole’ shirt, Luke would have ensured Cole no longer had a face.
“Cole, stay the fuck away from me. We are over.” Your words seemed to affect Luke more than Cole. It was as if Luke could feel an immense weight being lifted from his shoulders. “Let’s go, this is not worth it,” you told Luke. Cole barked a laugh at this.
“Man, you’re more trouble than it's worth. Do you know why no guys ever asked you out? You’re fucking difficult and clingy, that’s why. If it was not for that fucking bet, I would not have either.” Luke was about to launch at Cole but was caught off guard because you had already done it yourself. You punched him, aiming for his nose and teeth, making sure to break a few.
“You fucking bitch!” Cole spoke after he howled in agony. He spat out blood as his nose started bleeding, “Gods, you’re gonna pay for this.”
“Oh yeah? Come on!” you challenged him, motioning him to come over. Any sense of calm or restraint you had was long gone. “I’ll be the one sending you to the fucking infirmary this time,” right when you started approaching Cole again, you were quickly stopped by Luke. He stood behind you, one of his hands soothingly rubbing your back in an attempt to calm you down. Luke averted his gaze to Cole.
“If you know any better, then leave, Cole. And don’t come near any of us again, or I promise you…” Luke trailed off, shaking his head as his eyes bore the weight of the promise he left unsaid, leaving it to Cole’s imagination as to what Luke would ever do to him if he ever saw the boy again. Something seemed to dawn on Cole as he saw the dark look on Luke’s face. Cole finally decided to leave the scene, limping away from the area as he muttered some insults under his breath.
You turned around and inspected Luke’s hand, which started bleeding again through the bandage. Taking his non-injured hand in yours, you wordlessly dragged the boy to the infirmary. Despite the excruciating pain spreading through his injured hand, Luke blushed at your action and followed you like a lost puppy.
The Apollo person on shift was someone you knew, so you managed to convince them to let you do the work on the Hermes boy. You observed his hand again, peeling off the dirty bandage from it. As you went to grab disinfectant, Luke softly held you back by flipped over his hand that was in yours so that he could take a look at your hand instead.
“Are you okay?” His words made you swiftly look over at him instead. There was a sad look on his face as he sat on the infirmary bed. You haven’t seen him this hurt and dejected in a long time.
“Am I okay? You’re the one with the bleeding hand.”
“You punched him quite hard.”
“He deserved it,” you settled on answering, hesitantly pulling your hand out of his so you could grab the things you needed.
“You know I had that handled, right?” you asked mindlessly, trying to fill the silence as you disinfected his hand and wrapped a new bandage over it. “I don’t need you to defend my honor or anything, Luke. I can hold my own ground,” you tried joking.
“No, I know you can hold your own ground. Besides, I wasn’t defending your honor,” he spoke softly, watching as you delicately held his hand with so much care. He wished you could hold him like that as well. A quivering sigh escaped his soft lips, his voice much less firm than he wanted it to be:
“I was defending the girl I’m in love with.”
You immediately looked at him, only to see him already gazing up at you. It was as if a blindfold had been taken off, you finally understood what your other friends were referring to when they said that Luke had always “looked” at you. His eyes were filled with adoration. However, this time, they were also decorated with pain.
“I could be a better boyfriend than him,” he stated, almost like it was a fact, and your gut knew it was true, too.
“So….Why not me? I watched you give Cole - a complete asshole - a chance with you. I watched him give you so much less than what you deserve. It pains me, but I still sit here and wait for you to look in my direction for even one second in the way I have always looked at you. I could be so good to you, Y/N. I waited for you to realize I could be the one who loves you so endlessly and treats you way better than all these guys combined. So…why? Please tell me why and put me out of my misery. Why is it not me?”
“Luke…” you rasped out his name. Despite the pain he was in, his heart could not help but throb for a second as it yearned for the sound of your voice calling out to him again. He almost scowled at himself for the way he was reacting to you. Gods, you managed to unravel him through the sound of his name from your lips. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he would even be able to take it at all - if he was given a chance with you. Would he be able to handle the way your skin felt against his, or would his heart burst into unstoppable flames? Would he ever be able to move on if you ended up breaking his heart, or would it remain in scattered pieces of you?
“I love you,” he uttered so effortlessly, which almost convinced you he had said it a thousand times before. In a way, he did, but only in his mind after every time he bid you goodnight. Gods, never did you think he’d say it out loud and put it out there. You almost said it before as well - out loud to the universe, but never brave enough.
“Luke, I never knew,” Luke wanted to sigh as he looked away from you. For the first time ever, he did not want to be vulnerable and let you see his eyes. The same ones that had been looking longingly at you for the past five years, and you were too blinded to see.
He could have sworn that he had been laying it on thick for the past years - all the touches, the looks, his actions. Luke would always linger near you and select you first every time he had to go on a quest. And if he ever were selected to go on one without you, the first thing he would do after returning is wrap his arms around your waist as he pulled you into a hug, breathing in your presence like it would bring him back to life from the gruesome battles he had to go through while out of camp. Did all those actions throughout five years not show you enough that he was infatuated with you? He wanted to reassure you that what Cole said previously was not true. Many guys wanted you but never asked you out because they knew he would be first in line no matter what.
"Luke, please, look at me," Of course he obeyed. His eyes met yours - the ones he always tried to find in a crowd of demigods.
“I never knew that you were an option. I did not know that I could choose you. I thought that even attempting to tell you about my feelings would break our friendship forever. I didn’t know you felt this way, too. In fact,” you dryly chuckled. “I was giving Cole a chance because I was trying to move on from you.” Luke tugged you closer to him, his fingers lingering on your hips. Thousands of thoughts speared through him as he tried to collect himself. A glimmer of hope presented itself as his mind toyed with the idea of you wanting him too.There was no way he was letting you move on now, not when you both have mutual feelings.
“I thought I was deep in the friend zone. Did you not see all the moves I pulled on you?” he asked.
“What moves?”
“Uhm—the physical contact?”
“I thought you were just touchy.”
“I walked you back to your cabin every night!”
“Well, I thought it was just a best friend thing?”
“The first thing I do after every quest is search for you, you’re always the first one I want to see.”
“I really, really thought it was because you were my best friend.” He groaned at all of your responses.
“But do know, Luke. You have always been my first option in everything. And I would have chosen you again and again, the first pick every round…if I knew you were up for it.” He groaned again, but this time out of temptation and satisfaction. He didn’t think the metaphorical butterflies were real. He slowly but surely stood up from the infirmary’s bed and wrapped his arms around your waist. You reciprocated, your hands around his neck. He leaned closer to you and gulped. He wanted to say the right words, do the right things and not mess this up. He took a deep breath and finally settled on what to say next.
“Can I kiss you?” He muttered in a low, raspy voice with a restrained manner, as if he was holding himself back. Five years of pining led him to this point. You almost melted at the sound of his voice.
“Kiss me, Luke.”
And he did. He pulled you up and arched down, connecting your lips together. He dove in as if he had been waiting for this day his whole life. He felt every breath knocked out of his lungs. He sunk himself into this moment like he was living for it rather than in it. He kissed you as if it was the only time he could and as if you would evaporate if he stopped. His hands moved to your face to embrace your cheeks in his palm.
You started moving your hands up his head and played with his curly hair. You tugged it slightly, and the action drew a moan from Luke. The sound caused you to break away. It made you flustered that you had evoked such an alluring sound from the Hermes boy.
“I wanna go slow for you, I really do. But it feels like I’ve been waiting for so long. I want to be a gentleman and not skip steps. But I can’t wait anymore,” he whispered before whimpering against your lips, “please be mine.”
He went in for another kiss again, but you pulled away. His heart clenched at this. The boy bit his lip and wanted to scowl at himself for attempting to speed things up. He was too greedy and wanted things too quickly for you. He almost whined at the thought of losing the chance he barely had.
“That was not a question, Luke. Ask me, and I’ll give you an answer,” he stared into your eyes, and it almost set him on fire. He never saw that much passion in them before. It almost matched his, and that made his heart fasten again.
“Will you be mine, sunshine?”
“Yes, Luke. As long as you’re mine too.”
“I have always been yours.”
——————————
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Guard Dog vol. II
jason todd x fem!reader
aka don’t fuck with jason’s gf pt. II
3 in 1 blurbs
warnings: mild standard gotham violence, in the 3rd section: attempted sexual assault and panicky thoughts afterwards from reader
“Sweetheart, this is…not good.”
You turn your head over to him, where he’s frowning, hands on his hips as he inspects your bedroom window.
You tilt your head, looking it over from your place on the couch. “What’s wrong with it?”
He sighs, “Well for one, the lock is broken. But even if it weren’t, this thing would be so easy to break.”
“It’s the lock the place came with.” You shrug. At least it has a lock. In Gotham that’s kind of asking a lot.
“Yeah, I can tell.” He frowns at the window once again, moving over to stand behind the couch. “I’m getting you better locks.” He looks to you, “I can install them tomorrow?”
You tilt your head up to look at him, “You don’t need to get me new locks, Jay…”
“Okay.” He kisses your head, “I’m getting them.”
You sigh in defeat, though your smile makes it lose its credibility. “Tomorrow’s fine. I assume you’re staying the night, then?”
He makes his way to the kitchen as he says, “Well, I’m not leaving you alone here with this piece of shit the only thing between you and Gotham.”
“I’ve lived here for two years.” You say flatly.
“Don’t remind me.” He mumbles as he moves behind the counter. “Actually, your door chain’s broken too, isn’t it?” It is, but that’s his own fault.
You had a long day a couple weeks ago and had a very long, very hot shower the second you got home. Unfortunately, it had slipped your mind to text him that you were home safe and he’d broken through the chain in one try to make sure you were okay.
You hum, “It wasn’t doing much anyways.” Clearly.
He grimaces as he heats up the stove for dinner.
You laugh lightly, “What?”
He looks back at you with a frankly adorable frown, “I don’t like that.”
You’d never thought much of it. You hadn’t had any—well, many—problems living here before, and you still had your deadbolt and handle lock.
“It’s okay. I’m safe here.”
He looks like he strongly disagrees. He comes back over, sitting next to you, taking your face in his hands. “Will you please let me set up some security measures around here?”
“Did Jason Todd just say please?” You say in faux-shock.
He rolls his eyes at you, “I’m serious.”
You sigh, contemplatively. “I don’t want my apartment looking like the Home Alone set.”
He laughs at that, “It’s not going to. You won’t even notice most of them. Just do it for me, please?”
“I’ll agree, but only because I know you’re going to do it anyways and I’d like to pretend I have control over this.” That’s not true, you’d agree to literally anything if he said please that sweetly again, but that’s your business.
“Fair enough.” He smiles, kissing your cheek.
No, it’s not fair at all.
It’s late. You’re not even sure how late but the city has calmed from its usual noises, indicating that your boyfriend will be home soon.
You’re coming up heavy on cramps tonight and according to the mockingly empty spot in your medicine cabinet, you’re out of ibuprofen. Yeah, it’s late, but the store on the corner is a three minute walk and fuck your stomach hurts. Jason wouldn’t like it if you went out without telling him though, so maybe you should wait until—
The sound of the living room window sliding open breaks you away from your thoughts, followed by a clatter of something hitting the ground.
You walk back into the dimly lit room, finding your boyfriend sliding the window shut again, holsters abandoned on the ground. He turns and collapses onto the couch face first, body immediately gone limp.
“Hey, baby.” You bite back a laugh, coming over to rub his muscled back from behind the couch. He groans into the cushion in response. “Why don’t you go get in bed?”
He hums almost imperceptibly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes roughly with his palms.
He stands and takes your hand in his as he passes by, tugging you towards the bedroom. The deep ache in your abdomen reminds you of your earlier train of thought. You pull your hand back, stopping in your tracks.
He turns back to you with a frown, wanting to know what could possibly be getting in his way of falling asleep, holding you close.
“I gotta go pick up some ibuprofen. I’ll be right back.” You say quietly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night for him. His frown deepens as you head towards the door, watching you.
You’ve got your purse in hand and are reaching for the handle when you hear his footsteps following in suit. “Hey, it’s okay. Stay here, I’m just going to the 24 hour store on the corner.”
He shakes his head, “You’re not going out in Gotham alone at two in the morning. Put your coat on, it’s cold.”
You do as you’re told, shrugging the coat on as you glance over at him. “Jason, it’s okay. You’re exhausted, go to sleep.”
He ignores you, throwing a sweatshirt on to cover up his armor, and follows you out the door; albeit far more sluggish than usual.
He was right though, the night air is bitter and slaps your face with every step forward you take. He lingers a few steps behind you, honest to god almost falling asleep mid step a couple times.
Frankly, you’re not even sure what kind of fight he’d be able to put up in this state. Though, he’s surprised you plenty of times before. In any case, his head snaps up every time there’s any sign of movement around, instantly on alert.
He trails behind you as you browse through the narrow aisles, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt.
As you’re standing at the store counter paying, his neck is craned forward, resting on your shoulder. You rub soothing circles into his hand with your thumb, though you’re sure it’s not doing anything to help his exhaustion.
You’re walking back home, the bite of the air a bit more forgiving in this direction. There’s another man walking down the sidewalk approaching, hands in pocket.
Jason’s too tired to bother with subtlety, glaring directly at the passerby before he could even think of trying anything. And it works, because the guy averts his gaze real quick and speeds up past you.
He continues working at his post from just behind you all the way until you’re back inside your apartment.
He takes the medicine container out of his pocket and cracks it open for you, wordlessly filling up a glass of water after. You gulp down a couple of the pills, and he takes the glass and bottle out of your hand the second you’re done, setting them on the counter.
He turns to you, eyes barely open, mumbling, “Can we sleep now?”
You smile at his fatigued state and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom.
Your neighbor likes you. You know it, Jason knows it.
The worst he’d done was flirt with you, badly, and shut his mouth real quick whenever your boyfriend emerged from your apartment.
And Jason let that go; he knows better than anybody that you’re heavenly and sweet and clever, of course this fucking guy likes you. Jason set an unspoken rule with himself, that he won’t get violent with any guys unless they put their hands on you. Something he knows for absolute fact your neighbor has not done.
At least he hadn’t until a couple of hours ago. You’d been in the hallway at the mailslots, your boyfriend nowhere in sight, when he decided it was the perfect time to make a move. Make several moves, actually.
You’re sitting on the couch, knees to chest, still trying to wrap your mind wround what had happened when Jason sees you. You stopped crying a while ago and you’ve entered the phase of…well. That happened.
Your hear keys jingling outside the door, followed by your boyfriend's entrance. He’s carrying some grocery bags and has a book tucked under his chin.
He lets the bags slide off his arms, and sets the book on the counter with them, beaming, “You’re never gonna guess what b—“ His smile drops when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”
You shake your head, “Nothing.” But your blinking feels off all of a sudden, and you can’t remember what you usually do with your face when you’re not lying. It doesn’t matter though, you could be an academy award winning actress and you’re still sure Jason would be able to see right through you with a single glance.
He frowns, “Don’t lie to me.” He moves towards you, kneeling down in front of you. “Please. What’s wrong?” His eyes are worried now, more than usual.
You don’t want him to worry about this. He already worries about you too much and he’s got all his vigilante stuff and…you just want to believe that this is a manageable situation and not a problem. Not something that affected you.
“It’s just…it’s not a big deal, okay? I can handle it—”
His posture stiffens and his voice suddenly goes low and serious, “What happened?”
You know where this is going. “Jason. Promise me you won’t do anything.”
His brow furrows, and his frown turns to something closer to anger. “Did someone put their hands on you? Who?”
“Jason—”
“Who did it?”
“The neighbor, b—” he immediately snaps to a stand and starts towards the door. You hurry to grab onto his hand before he can escape your proximity, “Jason. Please don’t.”
The break in your voice is enough to make his rage falter and turn back around to face you.
“Baby, if he touched you—” His eyes are pleading, begging you to let him go take care of this. If not for you, then for him.
“It wasn’t—he didn’t do anything. He didn’t get to. I hit him and he backed off.” Which is…sort of true.
He stares at you. “In the hallway?”
You blink. “…Yeah?”
He takes off towards the bedroom wordlessly. You follow quickly on his tail, watching him sit on the edge of your bed, opening his computer and clicking through it quickly.
You slide over next to him, and see that he's pulling up a file under the name of your building and today’s date. It takes you two seconds too long to realize what he’s doing, the thought only sinking in right as you see the hallway security camera footage on the screen.
“Jason—” you try to close the computer but he bats your hand away.
He forwards through the footage, as you scramble trying and failing to reach past him, various building occupants coming in and out of frame rapidly.
“—please just listen to me.” But he did listen to you, and he heard that someone tried to hurt you. That was all he needed to hear.
He stops when he sees you enter the frame, watching closely. He sees you flipping through the mail. He sees your neighbor slither out of his apartment and stand far too close to you. You take a step back only to be met with two steps forward by him. He says something to you, probably asking where your boyfriend is.
The angle doesn’t show his face, but it does see yours, and you look incredibly uncomfortable. You don’t answer him, which evidently was enough of an answer in itself.
Your neighbor tries to brush some of your hair out of your face but you snap your head away, stumbling back a little. He uses your lack of balance as an “excuse” to grab onto your waist, pulling you close to him.
Your hands are out in front of you and you’re shaking your head as he pushes towards you. His lips land on your neck and you try to move backwards, but he grabs your wrists and holds you in place.
You fight against his grip, and upon realizing that your struggling doesn’t matter to him at all, you dig your nails into his wrists so hard you draw blood. He groans in pain and his grip on you loosens.
You snap your hands away and push yourself away, locking yourself in your apartment. Your neighbor lingers for a moment, shouting something at the door before trudging back into his apartment and slamming the door.
Jason snaps the laptop shut, coming to a stand once again. His fists clinch at his sides. “That was not nothing.”
No, it wasn’t. But you feel so helpless right now. You sure as hell felt it in the hallway, and it keeps lingering in you and you’re not sure why. You couldn’t do anything then, you can’t do anything now…it feels like all the bad things in the world are closing in on you and you just have to let it happen.
“I…I don’t want anyone to die because of me…” your words aren’t quite matching your thoughts, but this is the closest you can get right now.
He pulls back to look at you, brows furrowed. “It’s—it’s not because of you. It’s because of him. Baby, if I were on patrol and saw him grab some other girl like that I’d do the same thing.”
You know that. You know that. But communication seems impossible right now even though it’s the only tool you have to stop things from closing in.
“No, I know that. I know…it’s just…” Things are closing in anyways. Alright, this is happening now. Your eyes start watering and your voice trembles.
“Fuck, baby.” His hand flies to the back of your head, other arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you to him.
You feel a bit silly, crying over the potential death of someone who tried to hurt you, in front of the Red Hood of all people.
“I’m sorry, I—I don’t know. It’s—it’s too many bad things. I can’t…”
“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay here. I’m staying here with you, okay?” You nod into his chest, tears dampening his shirt.
This is a temporary solution, you know that even now. But you think once it expires, it might be easier to accept whatever Jason’s going to do later.
He’s quiet for a few minutes, holding you in his arms as you sway back and forth lightly.
“Will you forgive me if I kill him?” He whispers into your hair.
You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “Don’t.”
“Is that a yes?”
You pull back to look him in the eyes, face setting. “I’m getting the feeling you’re going to do something regardless of how this conversation ends.” He says nothing. “Just, please, don’t kill him.”
He holds you tighter and you do the same, laying your head against his chest again. You feel him press a kiss to your head as he takes a deep breath.
You think on it for a moment, figuring it needs saying, “And don’t get in trouble.”
Your neighbor comes home late that night, trudging through the front door with a perpetual frown. He opens the door to his notably unlocked apartment. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump and flicks on the lamp next to the door. He shuts the door and turns the lock when the red elephant in the room pipes up.
“Hey, bud.”
He jumps, spinning around, “Who the fuck—oh, shit.” He freezes the second he sees him, sitting in the armchair across the room. The Red Hood nods, loading the gun in his hand.
Your neighbor stutters, “What—what are you doing here?”
He looks up at him, cocking the gun. “You put your hands on your neighbor, yeah?”
He looks fake-shocked at the accusation. “What? No, I would ne—which neighbor?”
He can’t see it, but Hood’s face drops into a deadpan. “That is really not helping your case.”
Your neighbor eyes the gun nervously.
Hood sighs, “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve been told it’s bad manners to execute someone the first time you meet.” He glances down the nail marks on his arm and steels his jaw. “No. What’s going to happen is you’re going to break your lease and move out. Within the next week.”
The neighbors eyes widen, “A week? Are you insane?”
Hood tilts his head a bit before shaking it, “Nah, you’re right. By tomorrow night.”
“This is my apartment. I live here, I’m not going anywhere. And unless you’re secretly Saul the landlord under there, you can’t do anything about it.” He crosses his arms, clearly feeling very proud of himself. Well, killing him isn’t the only option, is it?
Hood stands, making his way across the room casually. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” He clocks him hard on the head with the frame of his gun. He goes down quickly and loudly, clutching his head, groaning. “The alternative is getting beaten half to death and hoping whatever hospital you end up at knows what they’re doing.”
Honestly, neighbor boy is pressing his luck as is. Maybe it was a bad idea for Jason to bring the gun.
“Fuck! Fine! I’ll go!” He wails.
Hood kicks his abdomen with the side of his boot, though not nearly as hard as he wanted to. “Shut up. You’ll disturb the neighbors.”
The neighbor groans again, quieter. He mumbles something about Hood being crazy but it gets lost under the grunts of pain.
Hood crouches down next to him, patting him on the head with the barrel of his gun. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll check up on you. And if I ever see you so much as look in the general direction of another girl I’ll put a bullet in your head. Sound good?”
Your former neighbor drops his head to the ground, hand still clutching the growing swell on his forehead.
#these are all wildly different lengths my b#jason todd loves his gf#jason todd the doberman#jason todd x reader#jason todd imagine#jason todd x you#jason todd/you#jason todd/reader#jason todd fanfic#jason todd fanfiction#red hood x you#red hood imagine#red hood x reader#red hood fanfic#red hood fanfiction
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hiiii jade!!!! could i please request something with peter with reader who’s maybe put on some weight recently and is insecure about it?? (totally not self indulgent at all) i totally get it if you’re not comfortable writing that stuff though so no pressure
hi lovely! ty for requesting. fem, 1k
cw for negative weight talk/ weight gain
Everybody gains weight during the holidays, you think, tracing your figure in the mirror. Though it's not strictly holiday season yet, it's edging toward the end of the year. Maybe my new year's resolution should be losing a few pounds.
There's a thunk of the bedroom window being yanked open and footsteps across the floor. You tense until your hear Peter panting for breath, likely having swung to you at high speed, or fresh from a fight with an usurped criminal.
You rush back into your t-shirt, knowing exactly what path he'll walk. He barrels into the bathroom, sees you at the mirror and smiles so wide his cheeks look fit to burst. "Hey," he says, peeling the suit off and exposing his boxers to you without shame, "hey hey hey. Can I persuade you in with me?" He nods toward the shower.
"Not this time, Pete."
"Too bad," he laments.
You look away as he strips out of his underwear. The shower turns on and he takes you by the hips to move you out of his way with a murmured apology, near lost to the drum of the spray. Peter has moments where he doesn't know his own strength, but the majority of the time he treats you like you're something precious.
"Stay in here!" he demands as he pulls the curtain shut.
"I'm not going anywhere." You close the toilet and sit on the lid. "Tough day protecting the people?"
"Apart from tripping into a deceptively large pothole, it was fine. Why won't you come in here with me? I wanna rub your shoulders."
"You want me to wash your hair."
"Exactly. So get naked and get in here. Don't make me beg."
You really don't want to, and you're not going to, but it's not a big problem. Peter doesn't truly mind, he just loves you. "What do you mean, deceptively big? Like, knee height? Higher?"
"Mid thigh, I'd say. The people of New York are never gonna let me live it down. One guy was recording me and said he was gonna put it on YouTube for the ad money."
"Anything else?"
He gives you the rundown, describing what perps he faced and an older man he helped use an ATM machine. You hum distractedly, pinching at the fat where it spreads on your thigh, sitting down as you are.
He sticks his face through the curtain gap, hair slicked to his cheeks. "What're you doing?"
"You told me to stay, so I'm staying."
He's nervous for a split second, glancing back into the shower as though there's an answer there waiting for him before angling himself toward you fully, his naked chest dripping and shining in the bathroom light. "Okay, fine, we need to talk about something. But I want you to know that you forced my hand here. Okay?"
"Okay." You nibble the inside of your lip, used to his theatrics. "What have I done?"
"It's not something you've done. It's something you are. I can't even say it. I," —he pulls the curtain in front of his face, moves it aside again– "just need to tell you. Lately it's like you don't even realise how beautiful you are and I'm tired of it. You're radiant. Like, glowing."
Your recent internal debate must show on your face, that doubt, because he gives you a steadying smile. "Really, really beautiful," he says more seriously.
It's easy to smile at him. "Thank you, Pete." You scoop his suit off of the floor. "I'll go scrub the tetanus out of this in the kitchen sink."
"Wait–"
He can't just get out with suds in his hair, giving you the perfect escape plan. You have ten minutes to yourself filling the sink with soapy water and steeping the fabric before he's out of the bedroom in pyjamas, trousers tucked into his socks and hair damp from ferocious towel scrubbing. "You're such a– such a– thing," he decides. "I'm telling you you're beautiful and you walk off so you don't have to hear it? What's wrong with you?" His voice slips into a kinder register. "You do know you're pretty, right? I'm not just saying it to say it."
"I'm just feeling icky," you confide.
"About what?"
You want to tell him, you find. "You know how I've gained weight?"
He doesn't need any more explanation. Peter knows you've gained weight, you've mentioned it to him, and it's visual, and he can likely tell whenever he decides to flex his strength. "What, and you think that makes you less pretty?" He puts a damp hand behind your neck to bring you forward. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, a little."
He kisses you. His nose bumps your nose, his lips crushed to your as he holds you in place. Despite this, it isn't an overly rough connection. It's definitely not shy. "You're beautiful," he says in the space between your lips.
"It doesn't suit me–"
"It does. It really fucking suits you. Have you seen yourself? You couldn't look better."
"Even when I was thinner?"
"You look just as perfect then as you did now." His intensity fades and he encourages you back enough to see your face, his thumb rubbing a short line into your neck. His brows are furrowed, dark eyes darker for it. "Weight isn't a factor."
"No, but you have to say that."
"I don't. Not really. I'm sure there are a thousand shitty guys who'd tell you something different, but I'm not– I love you, the whole you. I like you like this." He grins. "Which should be obvious."
You tsk at him, to his delight, his laughter boyish as he buries his face in your neck with a hug, kissing a messy circle up and into the soft line of your jaw. You trap him there without thinking, chin hooked down, squirming as he blows hot air into your skin.
"I've been putting it on too," he says. "It's happy weight."
"It's not happy weight for you, Pete, it's just more muscle."
"It makes you happy, doesn't it?" he jokes, smiling and kissing and hugging you all at once. "Just like it does on you for me."
#tasm peter parker#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter parker imagine#tasm peter parker x you#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm x reader#peter parker x reader#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm! peter parker x reader#spiderman x reader#peter parker oneshot#peter parker blurb#peter parker imagine#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#spiderman x you#spiderman fanfiction
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Hello, Congratulations on the 5k follows!!
I discovered this fandom a few months ago and have been living for your writing ever since.
I was thinking as a drabble of the taskforce gentlemen coming home at the crack of dawn from a long mission and seeing their spouse's hand, limp on the ground peeking out from the side of the couch. All the panic and worry going thru their heads, so much bubbling up, horrible scenarios. They rush over and find you sleeping on the floor. The power had gone out last night and the hardwood floor was the coolest place to be (you didn't want to open the window because you know how they worry), so you were watching stuff on your phone and drifted off. Crisis averted!
Thank you for your time 💜
—Wide-Eyed Panic
⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ
╰┈➤ ❝ [Why were you behind the couch?] ❞
I’ll start by saying all of them would be concerned and immediately go into panic mode—why were you behind the couch? Why was your hand sticking out? Why, in God's name, were you not moving? Cue the horrible thoughts and flashes of what went on in their work lives.
John Price ➺
John entered the house with a sigh, slipping off his boots as the door was closed and deftly locked behind him. Grunting under his breath, the man rubs over his face, the lights off as he calls out with a tired grumble to his voice.
“I’m back,” his voice echoes, the tone moving through the darkness far louder than it should have. There’s no answer. “Love…?” Pausing, John blinks slowly at the wall, ear twitching to the utter silence of the home. No water in the pipes. No buzzing of electricity. No you. Eyes rising, they dart around quickly as his finger moves out to the light switch. A small push elicits nothing, just as he thought. The power was out.
Dread slowly creeps into John’s chest.
Hand reaching behind his back, the man’s fingers inch over the smooth metal of a pistol, grasping the weapon before he begins walking forward. He keeps silent, feet moving to where he knows the wood won't creak.
His mind runs.
Why was the power off? Where were you? Why didn’t you respond—were you hurt? John’s mind goes to blood and bullets, his jaw clenching tightly as the pistol comes out to rest in front of him; hands shifting the grip as he takes a soothing breath. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone, but it would be pointless to lie about how his heart hammers.
“Fuck,” he growls, eyes going tight.
That’s when he sees it. Blue eyes widen sharply.
“Love!” John shouts, all other concerns about intruders meaningless to him. Your hand was sticking out from behind the couch, a dark shadow in the low light. He rushes over as you jerk, yelling in alarm as he rushes to grab you, pulling you up into his arms and pulling you away into the closet across the room.
“John!” You blink rapidly as you’re set back against the wall.
“Shush now,” he grunts, eyes panicked. “Keep awake, let me look.” A hand moves all over your body, searching and pulling at clothes to touch the skin for any wounds. “Tell me where it hurts, then. Quickly. We have to move—”
“John, what the hell,” you push at him, moving him back. Your eyes try to adjust to being so rudely awakened at such an hour. “What are you doing?!”
You weren’t hurt.
The Captain’s face pulls in with confusion, back against the closet door and now in more darkness than ever before. He can barely make out your face before you sigh and put your hands against his arms.
Things begin to calm down as his hand rests at your hip, nearly tight enough to bruise. In his other is the gun just before you put your hand to it and softly peel the item away from him—putting it on the shelf that you know is to your left.
Hands find John’s cheeks as he pants.
“John,” you say his name again. “...what happened.”
“Why were you on the ground?” He forces out firmly, voice a low grunt. “Why were the lights not—”
“The power went out for everyone, okay?” You speak slowly, rubbing your thumbs over his beard. “It was on the news. I didn’t open a window because I knew you would worry about that—the floor was cool and it was getting too hot in here.”
Your mind tells you to explain quickly and fluently. You move forward and press your forehead into John’s as he sags with a great exhalation of breath—his arms circling you tightly until your spine might crack.
He doesn’t speak for a long while, just holding you.
“Scared me,” he mutters, missing you deeply on the forehead, speaking into your skin. “Fuck, you scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
He keeps you to his chest, eyes fluttering shut and his spine hunching over you, fingers splayed over your back. You run your hands through his hair and calm the swelling of your heart.
You can feel his pulse mirroring your own.
Simon Riley ➺
When he sees your hand, he freezes.
Simon wasn’t a stranger to the lights being off in the home—you opted for lamps and low light more often than not; this wasn’t new. He had only quirked a brow when he came home to the pitch-blackness, off from his recent deployment and eager for a warm bed to fall into. He admits he’d let himself calm down on the car ride home—your home was where he could relax and release tension until it became as unimportant as an ant on the pavement.
But when he’d closed the door silently behind him and walked the few steps it would take to enter the living room, where he was sure you were still up either reading or watching something on your phone under a blanket, his body had stiffened immediately.
Your hand sticking out from behind the couch. Limp.
Lifeless.
He’d been staring at it for only a few seconds before the memories came back—the ones of gore splattered to the walls and ceiling of an old flat back in Manchester.
Simon’s thoughts had hit him like a bullet.
Not again.
Rushing forward like a bear, the man slips along the hardwood as his knees go down, shaking the home at the force at which he grabs at your body and flips you from your side to your back.
You gasp awake and instinctually throw out a fist, connecting with a stone chest as you hiss and blink in panic.
Fingers ruthlessly dig into your shoulders, wide brown eyes open, and…and afraid.
“Simon?” You mutter softly, all fear in your heart is squished in an instant.
The man breathes through wheezes, balaclava fabric moving from the force of his breaths. His fingers are shaking, blinking as his head jerks to look your lying form up and down swiftly.
You hesitantly put a hand on his cheek and he flinches before nuzzling into it.
“Don’t…” he takes a quivering breath into his lungs, and after, loosens his grip on your skin. Simon’s hands go to your waist, dragging you up and stapling you to his chest. “Don’t do that again.”
His voice is low. Vulnerable.
You blink, hands holding him back on the floor.
“...The power went out,” you try to explain only half of it softly, muffled by his neck.
He only holds you harder, eyes open and blankly staring at the floor a foot away.
Johnny MacTavish ➺
Johnny hums a song under his breath, hanging his keys on the hook near the door.
“Dearie!” He calls to you loudly, itching at the side of his head and chuckling. “Don’t run too fast to me now, I’m all yours for two w—”
The light switch is moved by his finger, but no light illuminates his path to the living room. Pausing in the entrance, the man’s brows furrow tightly, speech cutting off like scissors to paper.
“...eeks?” Johnny ends his sentence, turning back around to look at the switch in confusion. “The hell’s going on with that?” He mutters to himself, a frown growing on his face before he refocuses on his mission to find you—now with the added task of figuring out why the power was out in the house.
“Swear,” the man grumbles, huffing while he runs a hand over his face, “if those kids down the street did something I’ll be livid. Little devils, I swear.”
Johnny steps farther into the living room, glancing around.
“Dearie?” He pauses, listening before calling out your name. “Where’s she off to?”
He sighs softly, wanting to hold you now that he’s home to do so—squeeze you in his arms and take in your scent again; he’d missed you immensely while he was away.
Johnny came across your hand sticking out from behind the couch by accident, moving to make his way into your bedroom thinking that you were sleeping. He sees an odd shape in the blackness and pauses, feet slowing to a stop.
When he notices that it’s a hand—your hand, he doesn’t even realize that he’s completely gripped the side of the couch and wrenched it back until the scratch of the wood floors screams in his ears.
You wake up to hands on your cheeks, sharp yelling, and your head being shaken up and down until you’re conscious.
“Dearie, hey! What the fuck,” the last sentence is growled on fast lips. “What the fuck.”
Your hands slap to Johnny’s wrists, nails digging in.
He breathes out quickly, looking into your eyes to look for dilation as the darkness forces him closer. “There we are, tell me where you’re hurting, now, yeah? Did you hit your head? Let me take a look. It’s okay, I’ll get you all fixed up, there’s no need to worry.”
“Hey!” Your hands push at his, trying to shove the brick wall away from you. “Quit it! Johnny! I’m fine! ”
The man pauses at your animated movements, blinking rapidly before his grip loosens.
When it’s obvious that you’re perfectly fine, he moves back and groans, thumb and forefinger digging into his nose bridge.
“Hell’s bells, Hen.” You glare, panting on the floor before you push yourself up.
“‘Hell’s bells’, me?” Johnny’s head plops to your shoulder. “You just shook me like a fucking rabbit!”
“Scared the shite out of me, you terror.” The man huffs. “Need to put a heart monitor on you.”
“Piss off,” you sigh, putting a hand to your chest to feel the pace of your pulse and the blood that runs furiously.
Johnny, moments later as he’s still resting on your shoulder, starts…laughing. Low at first, then gaining noise the more it goes unchecked—a deep rumble into chest-jerking amusement. You look down at him, the couch tilted and long scratches over the floor. Pausing, you blink at his shaking shadow before your lungs start quivering. The two of you bend over one another with shared, house-shaking laughter.
“What the fuck were you doin’ behind the damn couch?” Johnny grabs you close, kissing along your neck as he picks you up, dragging you to your feet.
“The power went out!” You giggle, chest hurting from the fast gasps of breath as more kisses are spread over your skin. “It was colder down there and I didn’t want to open one of the windows because I knew you’d throw a pouting match about it.”
“Christ, Dearie.” Lips meet your own. “I had half the mind to think you had a heart attack. Nearly gave me one.”
Kyle Garrick ➺
Kyle sighs as he rubs at his jaw, itching the skin and slipping out of his jacket.
“I’m home, Love!” He says, his voice echoing over the flat. “Want me to start on supper or have you eaten yet?” The man smiles, taking off his cap and putting it on the coat rack, sighing softly.
It was good to be back.
Bending down to unlace his boots, he pulls at them until they’re loose enough to slip out of, thumping to their sides on the rug until he reaches out and fixes them.
“What’s that, then?” He calls into the darkness, not hearing your answer as he quickly checks the time on his phone. “Fuck, it’s late,” Kyle utters to himself.
Walking into the kitchen, he touches the light switch only to be met with nothing. Pausing, the man’s face pulls in—fingers twitching at his sides as he glances at the window and the moonlight that seeps in to glare along the floor.
A deep frown takes hold of him, and he looks around once more before backing up.
“...Love?” Kyle wasn’t too concerned—the building wasn’t always the best, and power outages weren’t unheard of. But, damn, if the high of getting off of a deployment didn’t put him in a negative head-space when it came to a change in routine involving you.
Why weren’t you answering him?
Walking slightly faster into the living room, his hand nearly reaches into his pocket to call your phone if you didn’t end up in any of the rooms—pulse beginning to be infected with a steady injection of adrenaline.
Brown eyes find your hand behind the couch when they’re about to shift to the open door of your bedroom. A sharp gasp is inhaled instantaneously.
Kyle races over, grappling to it and pressing his fingers to your neck for a pulse. You softly breathe, none the wiser as you lightly shift and sigh in your sleep; a delicate hum moving out as familiar fingers dig into you.
It’s through his panic that a thought quickly cuts through the man’s mind. You’d mentioned this before.
Kyle pauses, just about to loudly wake you.
‘It gets hot when the power goes out, Kyle, I swear one of these days I’m going to just fall asleep on the floor. At least it’s cool down there.’
Well, the power was out, and, it seemed, you really had fallen asleep on the floor. Now that he thought about it, the flat was running hot—and he also knew that you knew he had gotten nervous of late when you left the windows open at night.
“Bloody hell,” the man releases a long breath, free hand moving to grip the back of his head. A few seconds later, Kyle chuckles to himself, shaking his head with a small smile. “You are losing it, Mate. Losing it.”
Without another word, he grips you, and with a grunt, picks you up and takes you to bed, setting you down on the pillows and making sure to leave the sheets off of you so you don’t grow uncomfortable.
A kiss is pressed to your forehead, and you hum in slumber, smiling unconsciously.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Love.”
He leaves to go make a quick supper of cereal and milk.
#tw ptsd#tw mention of violence#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#call of duty#x female reader#call of duty x you#cod mw22#mw2#mw2 2022#141 x reader#cod 141#john price x reader#soap mactavish x reader#simon riley x reader#kyle garrick x reader#cod x female reader#x fem!reader#female reader#cod mw x reader#mw x reader
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adam's wings
this is the adam smut i was talking about... it was originally gonna come after a mini fic but i couldn't figure out how to end the fic so yall can have this smut
all you need to know is adam's had a massive crush on the reader (fem!reader) for like 5+ years and in the last extermination her wings get got (poor you)
I'll publish the fic eventually but enjoy this man being pathetic and a switch (also i hardly write male smut so i hope it's good :))
Life without your wings was something you were just going to have to get used to. It was awful, for the most part, and when it wasn’t it was tolerable. Instead of flying, you and Lute walked in the mornings… you had to use stairs, and you had to ask for help getting things that were too high — of course, Adam liked when you asked him to get things. It boosted his already massive ego now that you were spending more time together.
Instead of a yearly lunch and dinner after extermination with casual work conversation in between, you had lunch once a week and found yourselves talking often.
Like today; you weren’t expecting anyone, but Adam brought it upon himself to come to your apartment. He appeared on your balcony, knocking on the glass doors impatiently until you opened them, confused.
“Oh, it’s just you.”
“You could sound a little happier, dude,” he scoffed as he held out a bag. “I brought you food.”
“Sorry knocking at my window freaked me out, dude.” You rolled your eyes as you took the bag. “Are we having lunch together?”
Your excited face made him frown and you quickly understood that no, you were not having lunch because he was always busy doing the job you used to help with.
“Hey, don’t look so down, angel.” He leaned down to kiss your cheek. “If you’re still up, I’ll stop by for dinner.”
“Just wake me up—“
“No can do, sugar tits,” you rolled your eyes at the nickname. “Doc says you still need rest.”
“Ugh! Fuck the doctor!” You tossed the food on your coffee table, making him yell “hey!” “Sorry.”
“I used my piss break to get you that!”
“I said sorry! I’m sorry. Thank you for the food.” He huffed, looking at the discarded bag. “Don’t be a baby.”
“You’ve been in such a fucking mood, babe.” He brought his hands to your hips, pulling you up against him. “What happened? You were doing fine without…” His hands traveled to your lower back, then further up, making you wince. “Have you been resting?”
“Don’t baby me. I don’t need rest — I need my fucking wings back—“
“Sh, sh, sh,” he cooed, head lowering to your neck. “Watch your fucking mouth.” The cool mouth of his mask grazed your skin as his fingers traced down the line of your spine, making you inhale sharply and arch toward him. He took that opportunity to hold you tighter. “I can make you feel better, angel… Do you want me to?” His lips pressed against your neck, much more tender than he would’ve liked, but he didn’t mind having to ease in.
“How much longer is your break?”
“Ended five minutes ago, but who gives a shit?” He laughed as his kisses on your neck became more forceful. “I’ll tell them you needed my help… that you begged me to stay… I’ll say I couldn’t fucking resist you…” He licked a stripe up your neck, making you shudder. “I just had to help… It’s the angelic thing to do—“
“Adam.”
“Yeah, baby?” He was biting down on your neck.
“Bedroom,” was all you had to say for him to suck the darkest fucking hickey onto your skin.
“Fuck yeah, baby!” Before you could turn away from him, he lifted you up and took you to your room, setting you on the bed before you pulled him on top of you. You got his mask off as quickly as possible, accidentally leaving the horns, but you didn't care.
“You look kinda sexy with horns,” you said as you pulled him down and pressed your lips to his.
“Kinda?” He laughed into the kiss.
“Mmm… Really sexy.” He groaned when your hands caressed the horns, gripping them and forcing his head at the angle you wanted. “Yeah. I could get used to this.”
“Don’t get cocky,” he warned, eagerly pushing his hips up against yours and shoving his tongue in your mouth with so much haste you had to pull back.
“I don’t want a quickie today—” you started, speaking against his forceful lips.
“Yeah, sure, angel, whatever you want,” he impatiently got his mouth back on yours, hands pulling you against him harshly.
“Stay with me today… You can work from home, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come up with something. Just shut up.” But then he paused. “Home?” He asked. “With you?”
It was times like these where you remembered he’d been crushing on you for at least five years. You laughed. “Figure of speech, darling—“
“Oh, right, right.” He was quick to get his mouth back on yours.
“But…” You tried to speak between kisses. “I wouldn’t mind — you — coming home — to me every night — like this—“
“You’re making me hard as fuck. Stop talking.” You did as he asked, but reached your hand down to grope him. Before you could, he grabbed your hand and shook his head. “Not yet,” he said quickly before bringing his mouth back to your neck to suck bruises on to.
But you wanted to touch him, and as your half-lidded eyes looked at what you could touch, your hands reached for his golden wings. Your fingertips stroked the tops of them, feeling just how delicate they were. They were soft, fragile, and utterly beautiful. Your hands traveled down to the base of them, fingers tracing around the feathers with gentle pressure.
Adam froze on top of you, cutting off his kisses with a strained moan as he shuddered, hips jerking and eyes fluttering. “F-ah-fuck, oh my… fuck,” he whined as you continued your gentle touches to his wings. His hands gripped you harder, hard enough to bruise, but you didn’t care when you had his head buried in the crook of your neck as he whined in your ear, hips thrusting up against nothing to try and get some kind of relief. “Baby… your gonna — fuck — you gotta stop — it’s — ah, fuck.” He was trying to push your hips down so he could at least grind against you as you tortured him like this, but he couldn’t pull himself together enough to get it right.
“Shh, baby, I got you… You like that?” He sunk his teeth into your shoulder when you spoke, moaning against you. “Let me help,” you laughed, stopping momentarily to get his and your robes off.
He couldn’t even give you foreplay if he wanted to right now. He just needed to be inside you.
That’s exactly what you let him do. You got both your undergarments off as he lazily kissed your shoulder and reached down, guiding him between your legs. You inhaled, moaning when he pushed his cock inside of you, filling you up and making his hips twitch with how wet and ready you were for him. Your legs went around his waist as he rocked his hips and your hands went back to his back.
As soon as you touched his wings again, his hips were snapping against yours and he was muttering incoherently, “fuck, baby.” “Needa be inside you.” “So good.” “Want you even more.” “Don’t stop.”
When you started whining in his ear as he buried himself inside you just to grind against you, massaging that soft spot just above your cervix and making your cunt tighten around him, he completely lost it. He didn’t hold back on his loud moaning, desperate licking, or harsh biting for anything. He left your neck, shoulders, and collarbones a discolored mess as his hands found your breasts and groped. He pinched your nipples, rolling and twisting harsh enough to get you arching into him, but gentle enough to make sure he didn’t hurt you.
“You’re all mine,” he panted into your neck, kissing up to your cheek in an effort to find your lips. “No one else can have you… You can’t — ah — you can’t let anyone else touch you. I’d have to fucking kill them,” that, he said clear as day, making you moan his name. “No one’s ever gonna hurt my angel again… Never.” Finally, his mouth found yours and his rough kisses had you gasping for breath as if he’d just threatened you and not the entire world outside of this room.
His hips didn’t stop, but the more you felt up his wings, the sloppier he got. “Fuck,” he groaned, voice hoarse. “Need more of you.” He brought one hand by your head, pushing himself up and getting your dangerously pleasuring hands away from his wings as his other hand went between you and pulled your hips up. He pulled his hips back before thrusting into you, making your eyes roll back as you turned to the side to bury your face in your pillow. “There it is.” He held you in place, hitting that same spot with each thrust and making you tighten around him. “That's it… That's my girl.”
You fisted the sheets, moaning loudly into your pillow. Adam grabbed you by the neck, using his fingers to turn your head toward him. “Let me hear you,” he said, voice still whiny from the way you were touching him and making your stomach flutter. “You’ve been feeling me up this whole fucking time, it’s time for my reward, yeah?” You nodded, never breaking eye contact, and he smiled. “Good fucking girl.”
His hand went down to your hips, resting on your lower stomach and pressing down to make you groan. His thumb moved to your clit, pressing down to feel you pulse against him. He laughed. “I knew you fucking needed me. Little attitude’s all fucking gone now, huh?” He circled his thumb, thrusting into you at the same excruciatingly slow pace. “Thought you’d have me like this, didn’t you, angel? All fucking pathetic.”
“Fuck you—“ You whined, trying to sound mad and failing — how he’d completely flipped the situation was beyond you, but you didn’t care when you felt like this. Of course, that wouldn’t stop you from running your mouth. (Or getting him back later).
“Shut up and take it, bitch— oh! Shit, that was kinda mean. Fuck, sorry babe.” He leaned down, kissing you quick and making you laugh as your hands reached up to his face to keep kissing him. “I didn’t mean that.” But when you kept laughing, he quickly told you to, “shut up,” again, then, “you sound really fucking pretty, so don’t actually.”
“Adam,” you warned, hand reaching down toward his wings. “You’re the one that needs to shut up—“
“No fucking way.” He grabbed your hands and pinned them above your head, picking his pace back up and making the bed knock against the wall with how rough he was being. “You and your pretty little hands are dangerous, angel… Gotta put you back in your place.” He brought his hand to the back of your thigh, pushing it up by your side to get even deeper.
That and so he could watch your cunt taking him. His gaze alone made your legs shake, your moaning picking back up. He got the hint, pushing himself deeper and grinding against you until you were so tight around him that he could hardly move.
But he did anyway, fucking into you harder and faster as his hands held your squirming hips still. He moaned at the way you tightened around him, your hands pushing at his hips to get him to stop overstimulating you as you came, but that did nothing but turn him on as you moaned his name like a fucking prayer, back arching and hips writhing on the sheets as your hands settled to grip his wrists and your eyes shut in pure bliss.
“Shh, baby, I got you,” he mocked your words from earlier, making your eyes screw shut as you tightened around him again. That made him shudder, his hips twitching as he thrusted sharply, his orgasm filling you up and dripping out of you as his eyes shut and hands moved to grip yours, pinning them to the bed.
He pulled out slowly, watching his cum spill out of you with a cocky smile. “Fuck, you look good like this,” he said, hands squeezing yours. “How’s it feel having the—“
“If you say anything about your ‘first dick,’ I’ll kill you,” you said breathlessly, cutting him off before he could start and making him roll his eyes. “But… it feels really fucking good—“
“That’s my fucking girl!”
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel headcanon#hazbin adam#hazbin hotel heaven#hazbin hotel adam#adam hazbin hotel#adam x reader#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel x y/n#adam smut#hazbin smut#hazbin blurb#hazbin imagine#hazbin drabble
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ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛʀɪᴄᴋꜱ
featuring: touchstarved!gojo, slight enemies to lovers.
synopsis: gojo satoru can't understand why he keeps wanting to spar with you... until one time, you two get a little too close.
masterlist
sparring with satoru is a pain above all else. yaga has been assigning you to hand to hand combat with satoru for weeks now- a suspiciously long amount of time without switching partners.
you kick, dodge a punch, and stare up at his shameless smile. each time you come close to landing a hit, he turns on infinity, then poof! your opportunity rushes out the window.
"no techniques allowed." you grit your teeth.
"oops." he holds his hands up in a faux surrender. "sorry, forgot."
he certainly did not forget.
this time, he charges at your torso, his annoyingly long arm closing distance on your shoulder at breakneck speed. you feel the limb dislocate. you wince. using his upper hand, gojo grabs your arms and pins you to the gymnasium floor. the air is knocked out of your lungs.
he's panting, his blue eyes clambering over you, under him. like always, he's too close to you- so close you see your own figure in the reflection of his watery irises. you could lift your hand up an inch to brush the sweat from his forehead. always. way too close.
his fingers trail across your elbow up towards your collarbone- whoosh.
infinity on again. he lets out a long exhale, scrunching his eyes shut as though pained.
that's when gojo thinks he's safe.
only, he's not really.
instead of giving up, you close your hand around the infinity and pull the whole thing, gojo and his infinity, towards you. your legs drag around his hips.
his eyes widen.
your hand pushes his chest then in the brisk manoeuvre, you're on top of him.
you think you see his soul poke its head out his mouth, tipped ajar in shock.
you don't know why you do what you do next. in some depraved performance, your fingers close in on his windpipe. you don't squeeze; the imagery is enough to satisfy. snowy white eyelashes fluttering to meet your gaze, the groan echoing out from his throat, the tight strain in his chest as he breathes shallowly, letting you way too close.
"they're watching," he murmurs.
shoko and geto. fear washes over you, and you're about to let go-
his own hand closes around your wrist.
he's staring at you darkly, goading you to move.
"they're watching," he says again, his hands suddenly at your waist pulling you closer. his tongue flicks over his bottom lip.
you're almost laying on his chest, face to face with your own deadly consumption.
"how long have you been beating me up just to get this close?" you tease.
"huh?"
truly innocently desperately confused, satoru has the gall to tighten his grip, hoisting himself up until he's sitting to lean over you again- if only slightly.
"we're just sparring, aren't we?" and he's telling himself this as his nose bumps against yours. and he's lying to himself that the way he's exploring your body is an act of aggression, not an act of compulsion. "you've been playing dirty tricks on me, but i can do it better."
dirty tricks? you think you see the thought passing through his concentrated face.
unfair, unfair, unfair-
how dare you provoke him let down his infinity? who do you think you are? how could you break him down through just one touch, leave him barrelling towards you for more?
unfair, unfair, unfair-
his hand rests by your jaw, stroking up your cheek, taking his precious time.
because sparring with you is the only time satoru gets to touch you.
he forces all his common sense out of his brain as he whispers, frustration coursing through his tone, "you're weak. your form is full of openings." and he's almost kissing you-
"time out, time out." shoko's voice cuts through the haze.
you feel you two being dragged apart by shoko and geto. the latter frowns at the white haired menace who's temporarily lost his obnoxious pride, silent.
the moment is awkward for everyone except for him.
gojo cocks his head to the side, looking at geto. "we were just fighting?"
geto sighs. just fighting?
you shiver as gojo's expressionless stare sticks onto you. curious.
the fight is over already...
but then why does he want to kiss you still?
#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#jjk gojo#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#gojo x you#jujutsu gojo#gojo fluff#gojo satoru fluff#jjk drabbles#jjk fluff#jjk humor
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window pains | jason todd
Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door.
Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader
Word count: 1.6k
Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.
A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.
If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡
the divider
"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"
"You know who you're talking to, right?"
"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."
It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column.
You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound.
That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask.
Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh.
But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt.
Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it.
"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"
"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"
You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham.
"How'd they get you?" you ask.
It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.
You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?
The last one, you always know the answer to.
"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?"
He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference.
Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly.
"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes.
"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"
"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."
That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded.
You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away.
"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."
"You can put them on yourself."
His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood.
Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink.
"Can I crash here?"
"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.
You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him.
"What're you doing?" you ask.
"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."
"I didn't say that, I said—"
"I can read between the lines."
"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say.
"What situation?"
You turn your head. "Nothing."
Jason steps towards the window. You block him again.
"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."
"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."
"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."
Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"
You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."
"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."
"Lie the fuck down, Todd."
His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."
Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common.
Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love.
Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain.
"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say.
"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."
He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel.
"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?"
You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach.
"Do you want a blanket?" you ask.
He squints. "It's August."
"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold."
"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead."
You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light.
"You're tired of me," he says.
Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not tired of you, Jay."
You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't.
You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit.
You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.
You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes.
"I'm not tired of you," you say softly.
"I'd be tired of me."
"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"
Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.
"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."
"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say.
He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck.
"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask.
"I don't need 'em."
"You do. You need another on your forehead."
"It'll heal fine without it."
Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise.
"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."
He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."
"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst.
Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."
"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."
He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you.
"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."
Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow.
"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."
His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.
You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.
His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city.
"I wanna try to use the door," he says.
You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming.
"Then I'll leave it unlocked."
#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x y/n#jason todd imagine#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd x gender neutral reader#batman fanfiction#dc fanfic#batman imagine#red hood x reader#red hood x you#red hood x y/n
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You think you can train a dragon. Unfortunately, the dragon is the one training you.
Zhongli sees the net fall over him and yet decides to stay still as a summer leaf. You're bounding over to him excitedly, goofy-looking thing you are, but there's no malice in your grin.
You better have a good reason for interrupting his idling with this rather bothersome net. Briefly the dragon wonders if he should simply open his mouth and terrorise you into thinking he'd eat you - not that he would, though. Human flesh isn't particularly palatable to him.
"I caught you, dragon!" you exclaim, despite the fact that the net hardly covers half his draconic body. "You shall be mine! Forever and ever!"
The dragon looks utterly unfazed as he tilts his head. "Oh?"
"I'm going to train you," you add, placing your hands on your hips. "Everyone'll be jealous of my new pet!"
Pet? Zhongli thinks to himself as he gnaws the net away with ease. Ah, humans call dogs and cats their pets, and they seem to be quite close. He could use some company for a change. "Very well, I shall be your companion."
But who's REALLY the pet here?
This dragon is very picky about the feng shui in and around your place. "The arrangement of your garden is lovely, but it could use some work. I would suggest having the roses to the east, and the peonies should be by the pond so that the..."
His long noodly body doesn't fit inside your house, but he can still peer through the windows, softly tutting at the placement of your bed or your tea-table. Zhongli gently instructs you what should go where for maximum elegance, and every time you wilfully ignore his suggestions, he stuffs you in his mane for a bit. Enjoy all that golden hair in your mouth and eyes.
He doesn't even let you stay out late. He can track you by scent so he simply shows up wherever you are, huffs in disapproval, gently swats the other people away like flies, and picks you up by the collar using his teeth to take you back home.
You can't even slink away in shame while he lectures you about the dangers of the night, for he simply picks you up and drags you back once more, smoothly picking up in his lecturing where he'd left off.
Cooking, sleeping, sitting - you name it, Zhongli has something to nitpick about it.
He never lets you be unless you adhere to his standards. Much to your chagrin, he even bathes you himself using the soaps that he thinks are good for your skin. You're sick of it, but the dragon is your societal flex, and he has an attractive rumbly voice, so you put up with it. Plus, your skin does seem to be doing better these days...
"I have something for you, little one," he tells you one morning while you're sitting in your garden chair reading (with a straight sitting posture like he'd taught you).
"Oh, goody," you reply, rolling your eyes. "What is it, oh scaly one?"
Perhaps he hasn't picked up the sarcasm in you, or he's simply that overcome with excitement, for his tail wiggles incorrigibly. He opens his curled-up claws, and there in the middle is something shiny. Moving to take a closer look, your eyes widen.
"It is a collar," the dragon states before you. "For you."
You stare, agape, at the fine jade collar. "Are you...serious?"
"Of course," says Zhongli, eyes crinkling in elevated elation. "Proof of our companionship. Allow me to put it on you."
And thus, you end up walking around with a jade collar around your neck at your dragon's insistence.
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tell me you don't want me
gojo satoru x reader
summary: gojo adds falling in love with his dead best friend's little sister to the list of things that keep him up at night
w/c: 1.8k
tags/warnings: angst to fluff. gojo takes care of reader when they have a migraine. they watch shark week together, so shark haters beware. arguing, but nothing super harsh. protective!gojo. reader is referred to as a sister but there are no pronouns. gojo is around 27, reader 23. curse words. no out right smut, but a heavily suggestive ending so lets say 18+
a/n: i've been writing purely fluff for gojo, so it seems about time to return to my angst/fluff roots. today's epi made me had me feeling some type of way. may write a part two to this? idk lemme know what you think!
masterlist
check out my latest work for gojo here
after you arrived at jujutsu high as a first year, everyone wore the same expression when they looked at you, their eyes full of pity and apprehension. you really couldn't blame them though. after what happened with suguru, you were left a shell of yourself, paranoid that you were destined to the same fate as your older brother.
however, the boy that suguru called his best friend held something different in his gaze whenever his eyes fell on you. understanding, maybe? gojo knew that if there was anyone in the world who missed suguru as much as he did, it had to be you.
for most of the year, the two of you really only talked in passing, dancing around a discussion neither of you were brave enough to initiate. then your brother's birthday rolled around and you found yourself drenched in rain, sneaking into the boys' dormitory to knock on gojo satoru's door.
he wasn't surprised to find you standing there.
"that idiot always refused to let me celebrate his birthday," you blurted out, damp hair sticking to your forehead.
he laughed. it was just a breath, but it was still genuine. "right? he couldn't stand being fussed over for one day."
and as you both stood there, rain pattering against the window, you felt months of unspoken tension melt away. "well, come in. i bought cake."
after that day, gojo took on the roll of your older brother and he really leaned into it. flicking your forehead to annoy you, threatening anyone he thought had a crush on you, giving you advice whenever he deemed you needed it.
you weren't sure if he was aware, even after all these years, that he'd saved you— pulled you away from the brink. you became like the little sister he never had, while he tried his best to fill the hole suguru had left in your heart.
gojo spends more time in your apartment than his own, so it's no surprise when he barges in one afternoon, singing out your name (rather terribly, one might add).
"i have a migraine, 'toru," you groan from the couch, pulling the blanket up over your head as the bright light from behind his figure worsens your discomfort. all of your blinds are shut, the curtains pulled together. "can you please close the door?"
he hums, stepping inside and pulling the door shut quietly. "you seem to be getting them a lot lately."
"probably because i spend so much time with you," you whine facetiously.
he gasps, hand clutching at his heart. "i come all the way here to visit you, only to be ridiculed. my devastation is untellable."
after grabbing a washcloth from the linen closet, he pads over to the kitchen sink. you peer at him from under the blanket as he runs it under cold water, noting how the veins in his forearms become more prominent once he wrings it out.
you're laying across the entirety of the couch, but you scoot away from the edge and he situates himself in the space beside your hip, his body facing you. the corner of his mouth is turned down, evidence of the worry swirling in his chest. he presses the back of his fingers to your forehead before folding the cloth neatly and laying it there.
"you should mention the migraines to shoko," he suggests earnestly.
"they just flare up sometimes, you know that. it's really not a big deal."
"yeah, maybe.. but i still worry about you."
you can't help but notice how close he is and while it feels casual, it also feels... intimate? the cold cloth does bring some relief to your head, though you'd have preferred it if his hand had remained there instead.
"have you eaten?" he questions after a moment, pulling you from your thoughts.
"not yet."
"then i'll go pick up some food," he offers, rising to his feet. "do you need anything else-"
"no," you say a little too quickly, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. "i mean.. can you just stay?"
he suddenly looks very smug. "oh, what's this? are you sure spending more time with me won't make your head feel worse?"
you attempt to roll your eyes but the movement sends a sharp pain through your skull, causing you to grumble. "don't make me hurt you satoru. i was joking."
"i know," he smirks, decently self satisfied. "but you do have to eat, so-"
"there's leftover egg drop in the fridge, can you just warm that up for me please?"
"'course! anything for you, (y/n)-chan!"
his tone makes it sound as if he's teasing you, but he knows it's the truth. he's painfully aware that there isn't a thing you could ask of him that he'd deny. he tries not to think about that though, because he can't bring himself to admit what it all means.
once your soup is ready, he joins you on the couch. you move to sit up and while that makes plenty of room for him, he still lifts your legs, sitting so that they lay across his lap. one of his hands is resting on your shin, the other on your knee.
"shark week?" he suggests as you reach for the remote.
you nod eagerly. "yes."
the two of you have never fought before.
well, maybe that's not entirely true. it isn't uncommon for the both of you to argue over video games, the latest chapter of a manga, or other things of that nature. but you and gojo have never had a genuine disagreement.
that is, until you mention wanting to challenge a decision made by the higher ups. he's well aware of how they deal with people they deem troublesome, so he can't help the vexation that bubbles up in his chest at your words.
"absolutely not," he tells you. his voice is low, not one hint of amusement to be found.
the tone leaves you narrowing your eyes, and you sound a bit misbelieving when you ask, "what do you mean 'absolutely not'?"
after everything that happened with geto, the higher ups have been wary of you. honestly, they're probably just looking for an excuse to pull another stunt like the detention center and he can't risk that. he can't risk losing you.
rather than express any part of that sentiment, however, he just goes all stone faced and vague. it's weird, so naturally it's followed by a bit of back and forth that goes nowhere, the conversation growing unreasonably volatile with each passing second.
why can't you just listen to him? why can't you give him the benefit of the doubt? he's earned that by now, hasn't he?
"i don't understand!" you hiss, your chest heaving with indignation. "why are you acting like this?"
because i love you. because i need you. because you mean more to me than everything else in this world put together.
he can't possibly say that though.. can't lay his shame bare for you to see.. can't bring himself to admit the feelings he has for you.
he's in love with dead best friend's little sister and it's wrong. it keeps him up at night. claws away at his self respect.
"i'll take care of it," he promises, sounding a bit defeated. "just please stay out of it."
"quit treating me like i'm a child, satoru. you're not my father."
your assertion makes the air in the room shift, and the feeling that forms in the pit of gojo's stomach is not unlike a cord being pulled too taut before snapping.
"so what am i then, huh? what am i to you?" he interrogates, taking a step toward you.
his eyes burn with intensity and the conviction in his voice is dizzying, especially since it's meant only for you. he immediately notices the way you stiffen, suddenly unable to meet his eye.
he swallows thickly, any restraint he has left ebbing away once he hears your small, nervous voice. "'toru, w... what do you-"
you're cut off when he takes another step in your direction, your back meeting with the wall after you attempt to maintain the space between the both of you.
one of his palms presses to the wall beside your head, though the other remains at his side. he doesn't want to trap you there, not when he still doesn't have a clear idea of how you're feeling.
his breath fans across your face, your mind struggling to process what was happening. you whisper his name, unsure of how else to respond.
"i want you." he nearly chokes on the words, the pain of admitting them evident in his voice. "want you more than anything."
and he does. he wants you more than the sleep he never gets. more than he wants to honor suguru. more than he wants to be a good man.
his head dips down, your breath catching in your throat when his lips find the spot on your jaw just below your ear.
"please, tell me to stop," he begs, sending a shiver down your spine.
your hands move to his chest, the rise and fall of it uneven and sporadic. god, you make him so fucking weak it's almost pathetic.
his lips shift to your cheek, closer to your mouth, and his hand reaches up to cradle the other side of your face. he sounds irrevocably desperate now, "tell me you don't want me."
your heart's beating so loudly in your ear drums, you can hardly hear yourself speak. "satoru, please."
"please what?" he asks, and for a moment you're unsure of the answer.
you try to open your mouth once more, but the words are lodged in your throat. confusion and frustration rattle around in your head, making it difficult to string together your thoughts. finally you just give in, grabbing his face between your hands and pulling his lips against your own.
he let's out a strangled noise, some unknowable mix of pleasure and relief. his hands land on your hips at once, greedily pulling your body against his own.
his lips are chapped, but they're perfect in the way they move against yours. the kiss isn't clumsy, nor is it unsure. it's ardent and comfortable, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
you pull away first, each of you holding the other's gaze. you're both hazy eyed, your mouths curved into giddy, lovesick grins.
gojo doesn't hesitate when you glance down at his lips, your words easing that bitter self loathing he'd been enduring for longer than he cares to admit. "if you want me... then make me yours."
taglist: @torusmochi @moonmalice
#m!writes#gojo#gojo x reader#gojo imagines#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru imagines#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#gojo fluff#gojo angst#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen angst
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QUEEN’S THRONE. 18+
pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader
> the first image has no implication of readers skin tone, the picture itself has the feel of the fic!!
word count. 2041
summary. you have been feeling insecure and been nitpicking yourself apart. bucky notices and shows you how much he loves your body by asking you to sit on his face
warnings. 18+ only!! reader is feeling insecure within her body and weight, descriptions involving self doubts, little bit of body worship, cunnilingus, face sitting, bucky being a munch and cuming untouched. minors dni
based on this request
No one ever really prepares you for how difficult it is to like yourself, to find parts of your body you don't hate. To not tear yourself apart over things you deem ugly or heinous.
There's no manual you get for counteracting these doubts in your mind. You're supposed to trick yourself into thinking otherwise - to deceive the mistrust in your brain. But sometimes, the lies you tell yourself to feel better have no effect on you - the affirmations you repeat in rituals feeling like robotic words from self-help blogs.
You stand naked in front of the full-length mirror in your room, towel on the floor pooled around your ankles. Damp strings of hair collecting on your shoulders, the almost dry strands indicating the time you've stood looking at yourself.
The skin under your eyes soaked with tears, flesh sore and tender from the last near twenty minutes of picking yourself apart. Your gaze hones in on yourself in the mirror, looking at the reflection of your thighs, mindlessly staring at the chub you consider ugly.
Your eyes sadly trail up to your stomach, taking note of the wideness of your hips and patches of stretch marks that litter those areas. Seeing yourself in the reflection after a day of feeling bad about yourself was not a healthy coping mechanism, nor was it one you would encourage - but there was just something inside of you, something inside your brain telling you to nitpick your 'problem' areas.
It was like there was an evil little gremlin in your mind that made things worse for yourself. That made you give in to the doubts and insecurities - that made you believe them.
Sometimes, you had a better hold on that gremlin, quietening that voice with your own, but on others, like today, that was not the case. You had a difficult day, feeling like a sore thumb everywhere you went - feeling like you stood out in all the worst ways. But that was not the truth - the people you passed on the street were too preoccupied with their own spiral of doubt and shame to even notice your 'problem' areas.
But, right now, you had no space left for rationality - that loud, pitiful voice overshowing the logical parts of your brain.
You hear a light knock on the door, the sound snapping you out of thought.
"You've been in there a while. Everything okay?" your boyfriend, James, calls out, his tone soft.
You clear your throat and grab an oversized tee - throwing on the closest one you can find. "Yeah, out in a minute," you reply, evening your voice to avoid detection.
"Mind if I come in. Need to grab something," Bucky asks, words muffling behind the closed door.
You hesitate momentarily. "Okay."
The door opens, and Bucky steps into the room, eyes immediately landing on the back of you - head cocking to the side suspiciously. He picks up a t-shirt he pretended to need and walks around the bed to you on the other side - standing beside you as you look out the window.
"What you looking at?" he asks, subtly scoping you out.
"Just been looking at the moon," you lie, nodding to the silver crescent in the night sky.
Though he doesn't believe you, keeping his eyes on you as you try to redirect his attention. He extends his neck, reaching his head out to see more than just the side of your face - to see the giveaway he knew was there.
He twists you around more to look at him, making you show your face that you've been trying to hide. His eyes land on yours momentarily before you divert them away, turning from his gaze almost shamefully. He takes note of the sore under your eyes, how they look damp and swollen - how tired you look.
"What's the matter? What's wrong?" he asks, worry evident in his voice. "What's the matter?" he repeats quieter, features softening as he looks at you.
"Nothing," you shrug, turning away from him. "Probably just tired," you partially lie.
He parts focus from you and begins to place together the pieces you weren't willing to share. He glances around the room until he lands on the mirror, the towel on the floor confirming his theory.
Poking his neck out, trying to meet your gaze again, he calls your name - trying to refocus you.
"You have to stop doing that to yourself," he murmurs, twisting you around to him for the final time. "You're so mean to yourself, and you don't deserve it," he softly shakes his head, reinforcing his words.
"I wasn't doing that," you reply, bottom lip beginning to tremble with your lie. "I don't do— I don't do that anymore."
His head tilts to the side, not believing you. "Honey," he coos, drawing out the term of endearment as he brings you in for a hug - wrapping you up in an embrace.
"I don't," you continue, voice almost breaking. "I don't," you repeat, shaking your head softly in the crook of his neck.
"Okay," he hums, brushing comforting strokes up your back, soothing you. "I know," he murmurs.
He holds you like that, large hands engulfing the middle of your back, caressing you with delicate touch and waiting for you to pull away.
"I'm sorry," you sniffle, backing away as you wipe your nose on your hand. "I'm being stupid," you shrug with a weak smile, self-depreciation creeping in.
Bucky shakes his head firmly, a soft furrow of his brows indicating his distaste for the topic. He extends his hands to your face, placing palms over your cheeks - stilling your face and making you look at him. "Stop it," he scolds, voice warm and gentle. His hands secure on your face, eyes boring into yours. "You have to stop doing that."
You sigh, a slow, uneasy exhale leaving your lips as if to steady yourself.
"I think you're perfect," he whispers, pressing a kiss onto your cheek - absorbing the tear from your skin. "I wish you could see it too."
His hands leave the placement on your cheeks, moving down to rest on your hips over your tee. One flesh, one metal sitting on the curve. He keeps his eyes locked on you, looking for signs of discomfort, only to find none - your gaze trusting and enamoured.
Bending at the knee in front of you and at eye level with your 'problem' areas, he glides his hands up your outer thighs - palms running over them intently. He keeps his eyes locked on your upper legs, watching the soft jiggle of the chub - utterly captivated by their beautiful shape.
He hesitantly runs his hands higher and towards your hips, forearms catching on the hem of your t-shirt, rising and revealing your bare pussy underneath. He inhales harshly, the lewd sight of you mere inches away from your face.
He presses soft kisses over your plump thighs, almost worshipping you - on his knees, kissing parts of you he adores most. He glances up to meet your gaze, your eyes already locked on him.
His kisses trail higher, lining up the crease between cunt and thigh, working up the cute swell of your tummy. "You're beautiful," he murmurs,
words muffling into your hip. "And so perfect."
You rake your fingers into his hair, softly stroking his scalp - all thoughts from earlier dissipating slowly, everything feeling inconsequential with your pretty boyfriend on his knees between your legs.
"Sit on my face," he mutters, pulling away from your stomach to look up at you. "I want you on my face."
Your half-lidden eyes fling open, shock almost slapping you across the face. "What?" you question, gently tugging Bucky's head away from your tummy. "No," you shake your head. "I'll hurt you."
He faintly chuckles as he stands, leaning back onto the mattress. "You won't," he smiles, resting his head on the pillows behind, getting comfortable. "Come on," he nods you over, beckoning you to your throne.
"I don't know," you reply sheepishly, glancing over him.
"You don't have to sit— just hover."
You step closer and kneel on the bed, pausing like you're debating yourself. "I don't want to squash you."
"You won't," he shakes his head, his expression eager. "Just... come on."
With a gentle sigh and a nod, you crawl up the bed, scooching along the mattress on your knees until you're beside his head. You grip the headboard for support as you lift a leg, placing it on the other side of his head, situating yourself in a hover over his face.
"I don't want to hurt you— please tell me if I do," you worry, lifting the hem of your t-shirt to get a better look at him below.
"Promise," he says lowly, placing his hands on the swell of your thighs, slowly guiding your pussy closer.
He lays his tongue flat against the slit of your cunt, an immediate pleased hum muffling into your folds. The warm contact of his tongue makes your thighs tremble and breath hitch, everything feeling new from this heightening position.
With light pressure, he swipes through your pussy lips, tongue lapping you in a leisure rhythm as the tip of his nose bumps at your clit.
His palms graze over your thighs, reaching up to the crease where he can get a hold of you and push you down onto his face. But you notice his pawing and swat his hands off - raising yourself back into a hover and lifting further away.
Bucky doesn't let you go far before he's pushing you back down, a firm grip on your waist keeping you still. "Stay," he muffles into your cunt, caressing it with slow, sloppy kisses.
He laps at your pussy, burying his tongue further into the wet warmth of you - repeated pleasure-filled groans vibrating against you as you give into the bliss. You finally allow yourself to enjoy the moment without doubt getting in the way - all worry slowly being replaced by euphoria as you sink further onto his face.
Meeting his gaze over the top of your pussy, he gives you a wink - the act like silent praise, him voicelessly applauding you for tuning out the voice in your head.
With one hand on the headboard, you dip the other down, circling the ache in your clit a few times before moving into the short, dark brown hairs at the top of his head. Tugging on his hair as if you're holding him there.
His grip on your waist trails down, moving back to the plush of your thighs where he squeezes - fingers digging into the doughy flesh. He holds you there, muffling moans against your folds as he coats the insides of his boxers in a sheen of his cum - the taste and feel of you alone, enough to send him over the edge.
You twist your neck, looking over your shoulder to the tented cock in his sweats, his head protruding through the wet patch of where he just came. A breath gets caught in your throat at the lewd image, and it all begins to feel like too much, all your senses consumed in the feeling.
With the knot tightening in your tummy, you feel yourself grow closer to the edge - the soft jerk of your hips indicating the closeness of your climax. Within moments, you're cuming on Bucky's tongue, whining broken and spluttered noises into the air.
He continues to hold you there, making out with your cunt through your orgasm - lapping up everything that seeped out. Letting you smear your juices on the bottom half of his face.
You lift your leg from the other side of his head, moving from his face and flopping backwards onto the bed. Laying heads and tails, completely spent.
But Bucky follows after you - not letting you get far. And before you have a second to process it, he's back between your legs, lips kissing at the soft plush of your inner thighs.
Poking his head up to look at you, he asks. "One more?"
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x fem!reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x reader smut#bucky smut#bucky x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky x female reader#bucky x f!reader#winter soldier smut#marvel smut
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