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bunnylovesani · 2 months

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A Marriage Story

Summary: You met your husband Spencer at college and fell in love at first sight. A decade later, he’s struggling to be the man you need after spending months away in prison. Can you find your way back to each other even when outside influences want to keep you apart?

Content warnings: smut, fluff and angst all rolled into one, rough sex, oral sex, degradation, sub/dom dynamics, references to infidelity and divorce

WC: 10.7k

“Can’t sleep?” You peered into the living room to see your husband slouched across the sofa, sporting a stiff, groggy expression as he examined what looked to be a pine-green leatherbound book.

“It would appear that way, wouldn’t it?” He mumbled in response, barely looking up. Spencer was snarky by nature- it was something you’d grown accustomed to and even found endearing- but you were woefully unprepared for just how much would change following his stint in prison.

“You can barely read in here, it’s so dark.” You grumbled as you stretched to turn on an orange light posted in the corner. Your fingertips brushed past the bobbly canvas of the lampshade as you recalled how the appliance was a wedding gift. You weren’t exactly sure who bestowed it to you but the memory made you a little misty-eyed.

“And you don’t have your glasses either.” You muttered under your breath as you readily paced to your bedroom down the hall to retrieve his black-rimmed specs. “Here you go.” You extended your arm out, waiting for him to take them out of your grasp but he paid no notice.

“Spence.” You nudged him but he just shook his head wordlessly and retreated into his pages even more, squinting profusely. Perching beside him, you tucked his unruly waves out of his face and nestled them behind his ear before carefully sliding on his glasses, letting them rest on the delicate bridge of his nose.

“Thanks.” He whispered after a while and you tried your best not to sigh at the state of your husband. His under eyes throbbed purple, the darkness consuming them in a veiny, crescent spill. There was no avoiding the way Spencer’s eyes had gradually dullened, as if the light had drained from them entirely.

“It’s 3 in the morning, my love. Clearly that stiff sofa isn’t doing you any favours, why don’t you try sleeping in our bed tonight?” You hummed, nervously pawing at his forearm in anticipation of his answer.

“Not tonight.” He dismissed, shaking off your hand as he recoiled from you.

“You always said that sleeping with me put your mind to rest. Let me scoop you up into my arms and I’ll bet those nightmares will ease right up.” You nuzzled into him playfully, badly craving that now unfamiliar warmth. It had been 3 months since Spencer returned home from jail and another 3 since you’d even slept in the same room.

“That was back then.” He replied coldly, swallowing a lump in his throat before finally looking up to meet your gaze. “The sofa is just fine now.”

“So you plan on spending the rest of our marriage sleeping in here, do you?” You laughed in disbelief, overwhelmed by the incredible misfortune that had struck your husband- and by cursed extension, you.

“I didn’t say that.” He ripped off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with tired frustration. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I have been more than understanding.” You observed the broken man hunched over before you with both pity and unbridled anger. “But my lenience has a limit. At some point, you have to get over it.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.” He snapped back, almost interrupting.

“Because you won’t tell me.” You countered, blood pressure rising over his incredulous obstinance. “How am I supposed to help you if you don’t let me?”

“I don’t need your help.” He scoffed, shuffling back as if the slightest contact with you made his skin crawl.

“I am your wife.” You uttered solemnly, the words beginning to sound foreign to you both. “Or have you forgotten?”

“How could I? You never leave me alone.” He stated carelessly with such absurd cruelty that it made your heart split in two.

“Who are you? I don’t even recognise you anymore.” Your voice trembled as tears swelled and you willed yourself not to fall apart entirely right then and there.

“I don’t recognise myself either.” He murmured inaudibly.

Awkwardly plumping the pillows you had flattened as you rose, you straightened out your cotton nightie and headed towards the solitary bedroom, leaving Spencer glaring shamefully at the floor.

“Do you remember our wedding day?” You whispered into the doorway, unsure whether he would even hear.

“Of course I do.” He sighed heavily, as if the memory hurt him and he wasn’t too grateful for the reminder.

Realising that those were the only words you’d be able to coax out of him tonight, you proceeded down the corridor and slumped into bed defeatedly. The right side of the bed was always kept empty, partly out of habit and partly out of hope that he might, by some miracle, change his mind one of these nights and join you. A particular quote that your husband once read aloud from a Nietzsche book sprang to mind: “In reality, hope is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man.” He had laughed it off as the words left his perfect lips, dismissing the mournful proclamation as pessimistic melodrama- but now you wondered whether the boy genius had, for once, been wrong. Clutching a rumpled old pillow close to your chest, you thought back to better days as your melancholy lulled you to sleep.

“Spencer, you’re so annoying.” You playfully slapped his forearm once you caught sight of the little drawings he was leaving in your notebook. “This journal is for my notes, not your mediocre art. Is that one meant to be me?” You pointed at the silly stickman with long hair and a speech bubble declaring ‘I love Spencer’.

“Well you’re obviously not the ruggedly handsome one.” He gestured at the nerdy-looking bespectacled caricature of himself. It was evident he didn’t have the highest self regard but you couldn’t figure out why- to you, there was no one more perfect. “Do you write about me in your little diary?” He glided the pages out of your reach and began flicking through their contents with a sneer. Knowing exactly what he would find, you allowed him to skim through your written confession as you witnessed his expression soften.

“I met a guy today in my criminology class.” He muttered, reading an early entry aloud. “I hardly know anything about him, but I’m already certain I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Is that crazy? To love a complete stranger? I think I would let him drive me into the furthest depths of insanity if it meant I could hold onto a piece of him forever.”

You blushed hearing your own words spilling from his lips, recalling the day you met on your first day of college.

“Wait.” Spencer put your notebook down before frantically rummaging through his backpack to retrieve his own. Yanking out a pine-green leatherbound journal, he flitted through its pages before turning it around and sliding it across the library desk. “Read this here.” He tapped a passage located right around the middle with an impatient forefinger.

“Okay…” You drawled hesitantly, sliding your textbooks out of the way to focus on the script put before you. “I met a girl today. That doesn’t really happen to me. Liking aforementioned girl is even more of a rarity but today, I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning. There I was, my nose deep in a second edition tome of Fundamentals of Research in Criminal Justice when someone who could only be described as a blinding ray of sunshine bounded into the lecture hall. When she took a seat in the back row beside me and made a deliciously snide comment over Garland’s incompetency in examining the Lombrosian Project, I knew I was a goner. Note to self: do further research on what it means to be ‘in love’.”

“Yours was a little more romantic.” He chuckled, observing the incredulous look on your face.

“Spence…” You shook your head as you grabbed his hand and tried unsuccessfully to convey the complexity of your feelings. “I- I don’t know what to say.”

“I love you.” He said simply, like he had many times before but you never grew tired of hearing it.

“I love you too.” You grinned, resisting the urge to kiss him and give surrounding students in the stuffy library a show.

“Can I ask you something crazy? But promise not to think about it too much.” He chewed on his bottom lip with an almost crazed look in his eyes.

“You can’t surprise me anymore.” You nodded, giggling.

“Do you want to get married?” The question made you break out into a flurry of goosebumps, contradicting your last sentence entirely.

“W-what?” You raised your eyebrows, listening intently for a sign that he was just teasing.

“Right now. Lets go somewhere and get married.” You scanned his handsome face in shock as you realised he was being serious.

“B-but we’re only 22. We’re so young.”

“Yes, we are.” He calmly responded, allowing you to run through all your doubts.

“A-and we still haven’t graduated.”

“No, we haven’t.” He shook his head.

“And oh, our parents would be so mad!”

“They very well might be. Marry me anyway.” He flashed a broad, toothy smile and the way it made your heart stop gave you the only indication you needed.

“Okay.” You smiled.

“Okay?!” He repeated in surprise.

“Okay. I’ll marry you.”

Spencer shot out of his seat, lifting you up with him as he grabbed you by the face, planting excitable kisses over your lips and cheeks.

“Don’t we need to make appointments for this kind of thing?” You squeaked out between kisses, the logistical cogs in your mind whirring.

“Well, baby.” He paused, gazing into your eyes with a mischevious twinkle. “It’s a good thing we live in Vegas.”

Grabbing each other’s hand with a fervour you thought would last forever, you headed straight to a walk-in chapel, where along with two drunken witnesses you dragged off the street and a pair of vending machine wedding bands, you officiated your love. The haughtily dressed minister, who resembled a cowboy more than a government official thanks to his white, studded getup- took several takes before agreeing to ordain the ceremony. “Crazy kids…” he muttered under his breath when you managed to persuade him, ushering you down the altar with a disapproving sigh.

Spencer marvelled at how you could look so beautiful in a cheap, rented veil and he vowed that day that he would never dare take you for granted. He would make damn sure to remember just how blessed he was, no matter what life threw at him.

He remained true to his word for the most part, proceeding to spend the next decade or so faithfully by your side. As in most areas of his life, Spencer excelled at being a husband. After his first substantial promotion, he knew exactly what to spend all his savings on: he made a beeline to Tiffany’s for a long overdue engagement ring, surprising you with the small robin’s-egg-blue box on a random Tuesday night. You loved it, of course, and gushed over the lavish diamond, proudly flashing it to anyone who would let you- though you kept your tarnished old band on your bedside table and observed it with nostalgic fondness.

Every promise Spencer made, Spencer kept. From the silly details down to the crux of your marriage, he was unfalteringly respectful, supportive and always appreciative.

You certainly weren’t too shabby playing the part of his wife either. Dinner was always on the table, the house was always spick and span and you had no shortage of tight outfits to greet him home dressed up in. You hadn’t ever anticipated your role in life would be that of a housewife but Spencer made it easy- and if you had to be one, a loving, handsome genius was the man for the job. You figured you could do worse.

When the company you worked for years ago filed for bankruptcy and you were too burnt out to look elsewhere, your husband was more than happy to assume his new position as the breadwinner.

While the thought of relying on a man used to inundate you with horror, this particular man was like something out of a movie- for him, you made every exception, choosing a life of domestic bliss in suburbia over the dreams you once had. You weren’t the most fulfilled woman in the world but you’d never had serious concerns- until this year. It wasn’t Spencer’s habit of overprioritising work, nor his stretch in prison- it wasn’t even the thousand yard stare that painted his face at all hours of the day following his release.

It was the arrival of the sudden and unprecedented thought that he might actually leave you.

As many fights as you’d had over the years, the possibility that Spencer may not be the man you spend the rest of your life with had never once crossed your mind- you had it ticked off as a definite and planned your life accordingly around that simple fact. You thought you had agreed that nothing could ever tear you apart.

But now; the way he recoiled when you came near him and the disdain that dripped from his voice when he spoke to you had you reconsidering whether the man you knew would ever make a return.

It was your biggest fear and everything your mother had warned you about; her nauseating words gnawed at you as you remembered how staunchly she opposed your impromptu decision to get married. She never really accepted Spencer- choosing instead to graciously tolerate him as a favour to you, but neither of you were under any illusions as to what her real thoughts on the matter were.

“There you are, I was beginning to think you stood me up.” The lofty voice of your mother rang out and the air sharply shifted around her.

“Sorry, mother. I- uh, woke up a little late. Got caught in the midday traffic.” You sniffled, trying your utmost to be subtle over the fact you’d spent all morning weeping pathetically in bed.

“Yes, I suppose that’s something you can afford being unemployed and childless.” She scoffed, suspiciously eyeing up your puffy face. “Though I suspect traffic isn’t to blame on this particular occasion.”

“Of course it is.” You dismissed, taking a seat before her at the garden restaurant you had agreed to meet for lunch in. It was a little too snooty for your taste, but then so was she.

Burying your face in the menu before she had the chance to inspect your somewhat ragged appearance further, you tried to ignore her heavy sighing.

“I worry about you, you know.” She lowered your menu with a pristinely manicured finger.

“Oh trust me, I know.” You rolled your eyes and snatched the menu back, eyeing up the scandalously named cocktails and wondering how many you could get away with ordering.

“I’m being serious. Your whole life revolves around him. And he’s a mess. You know what that makes you?” She reached into her handbag and fished for a compact mirror.

“Please, enlighten me.” You groaned as she checked her mauve lipstick.

“A mess by extension.” She haughtily added, snapping the mirror closed with a snappy click. “And it’s my job as your mother to set you straight.”

“Lucky me.” You muttered, disinterested.

“Listen to me, young lady. I don’t care how old you get or how much you think you know, I know better. You need to come back down to Earth and realise that your marriage is failing.” She snakes her hand across the table and places it on top of your own. “Prison changes a man. He’s not the Spencer you once knew.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You retorted stroppily. “I know he’s changed but that doesn’t mean we’re going to- we’re not getting a- you know…”

“Divorce?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that.” You shrugged.

“It fills me with deep concern that you can’t even say the word. How are you going to function when he leaves you?”

“Mother!” You gasped.

“Oh, if and when, same thing.” She waved a hand in the air dismissively, her nimble pearl bracelets clinking against one another. “My point is, darling, you must accept that there’s a…significant possibility your life will change. You need to be ready for it.”

“No.” You shook your head, refusing to let her words sink in. “Spence wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave me.”

“Oh?” She finally removed her sunglasses and you caught sight of the genuine concern in her steely eyes. “What did he say to you before you left this morning?”

Your eyes shot to the floor as you remembered how he’d elected to go to work early, leaving the house without a farewell as was his routine these days. Seeing the anxiety and shame written all over your face, your mother sighed yet again.

“Men in these situations often seek comfort in others.” She softened her tone but not her words. “You’re too close to the situation to make him feel better about it. You know too much.”

“What are you trying to say?” You squinted.

“He needs to feel like a man right now. And you can’t give him that.” She innocently sipped from the paper straw floating in her lemon water.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You dismissed her, the thought of Spencer cheating inconceivable.

“Look out for the signs. If he’s working late too often, if he has secretive phone calls…” She trailed off. “It can’t hurt to pay attention.”

Although you tried not to let them, her words had a nagging way of worming themselves into your brain and never coming back out.

Later that evening, you returned to the empty confines of your house and spent several hours anxiously flitting your eyes to the clock on the wall. He should’ve been home early today.

“Spence, is that you?” You called out once you heard the faint clicking of the door unlocking. The slow thudding of his heavy footsteps was heard before he entered your bedroom, looking very weary and sporting even more stubble than usual.

“Who else would it be?” He asked with a shadow of a smile. Offering no explanation, he peeled off his blazer and loosened his tie as he perched on the edge of the bed.

“Must be a really tough case you’re working on with the amount of overtime shifts you’ve been putting in.” You cleared your throat.

“It’s, uh, it’s been a tricky one. Yeah.” A deafening silence followed his obscure reply.

“Did you give any more thought to taking time off work?” You continued, yearning to wrap your arms around him but resisting.

“No. I mean, yes I did, but I don’t want any time off. It wouldn’t help, I can hardly stand being at home.” You gulped at the hurtful connotation and he turned around to face you. “No, I didn’t mean like that. Not because of you. You know what I’m trying to say.”

“Not sure I do.” You muttered under your breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m a mess.” He dropped his head into his hands and took a deep, stabilising breath. “I just need time.”

“Of course, Spence, I understand that. It’s only that- well, i-it’s been 6 months. 6 months of me doting on you and letting you get away with acting and speaking to me however you like. At what point does it end?” Your words had a desperate tinge to them. “I need some kind of indication.”

“I can’t tell you the exact time and date that I will forget everything that happened to me.” He stood up with a huff and you knew you’d touched a nerve.

“Don’t get defensive, I’m just trying to talk to you.” You got up and stood beside him, laying a flat palm to his chest. “To get through to you somehow, anyhow.”

You could feel his warm, unsteady breath on your skin as he scrunched his eyes shut, wanting to be anywhere but here.

“Why can’t you talk to me? You used to be able to tell me everything.” Your voice cracked as you rubbed your thumb across his cheek pleadingly.

“I can’t give you what you want. Not right now.” He gently lowered your hand and stared into your eyes apologetically.

“We haven’t made love in so long.” You murmured hesitantly and he shot you an irksome look. You hated to bring it up but the pain of his rejection was getting too much to bear- you had to let him know how badly you needed him.

“Is that why you’ve been on my case so much lately?” He raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“No, of course not.” You sighed. “Not the only reason, at least.”

“Sorry, baby. I’ve been too busy dealing with major trauma to factor in your sex drive.” He quipped sarcastically.

“That’s not fair, Spencer.” You had anticipated such a response but your heart dropped anyway when you heard it. “It’s not just about that and you know it. I just miss my husband- all of him.”

“Things change.” He mumbled.

“Well, will they ever change back?” You snapped a little. “Tell me right now, can I get my husband back? Matter of fact, do you even want to come back?”

Your eyes betrayed you with a steady stream of tears pouring down your reddened cheeks.

“Do you still want me?” Your voice quivered, praying he wouldn’t take this opportunity to shatter you completely.

“Yes. I do.” He answered simply though there was an air of conflict about him. “I’ve loved being your husband. I just, I- not now. I just can’t. I can’t do it.”

He shook his head and paced out to the hall, shutting the living room door loudly once he was safely inside.

Your blood began to boil. All the grace and understanding you’d shown him this year and he couldn’t even finish a conversation without running away like a coward.

“You bastard. Come back here right now, Reid.” You barked out, running after him. “Or so help me God-.”

“You’ll do what?” He opened up, lean figure resting against the door frame. ”You gonna kill me, honey?”

“I just might!” You shrieked frustratedly. “I’m so unbelievably sick of you doing nothing but sulking and feeling sorry for yourself. Enough is enough. Wake up and smell the fucking flowers!” You crossed your arms, exasperated and a small smirk spread across his handsome face. “You’re smiling.”

“Such good attention to detail. This is exactly why I married you.” He winked and you slapped his arm a little too forcefully. “Yes, I’m smiling. You’re adorable when you’re bratty.”

“If being at my wits end with you means being a brat then yes, I’m the biggest brat in the world!” You started bawling- you knew it was irrational but you were too sensitive and overwhelmed with emotion to let his teasing slide.

“I know, I know. It’s okay, shh.” He pulled you in close, pressing your delicate head against his chest. “Come on, my love. You know I can’t stand seeing you cry.”

“How come you’ve been letting me do it every night, then?” You whimpered, pitiful words swallowed by the fabric of his white work shirt.

“I didn’t think it was that bad.” He looked down at you, a noxious blend of guilt and sympathy flickering in his tired eyes. “I-I thought you understood.”

“Understood what?” You let out a muffled murmur as you drew in his heady scent, the musky cologne combined with his sweat soothing your overwrought senses.

“That even though I’m in a dark place-” He lowered his face until you felt his hot breath against your flushed cheeks. “It doesn’t, for a single second, mean that I don’t love you.”

“Really?” You gazed up at him lamentably. “It was starting to feel that way, li-like nothing I did was good enough.”

“I’m sorry.” He almost winced, his regret tangible in how tightly he held you. “It’s not you, you’re perfect. You’ve been patient and understanding and I’ve completely put our marriage on the back burner….there’s no excuse.” He fell back into the sofa, pulling you down into his lap as he gently spoke.

“God it was just the weight of it all- the weight of how long it was taking me to shake it off. The longer it took, the more I felt like a failure and I couldn’t stand coming home to you every night and disappointing you. Seeing the unfalteringly hopeful look on your face and knowing it’d be wiped off after one conversation with me…I started avoiding you.”

“Spence…” You wilted like a flower at his confession.

“But that was selfish, I know that.” He took your face in his hands and professed earnestly. “I can’t apologise enough, my love.”

“Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?” Your heart leapt as your husband’s familiar warmth flooded you- and while you were grateful to get a glimpse of the old Spencer, you were also confused by the abrupt shift in his demeanour- if not suspicious.

“Honestly? You getting pissed off flipped a switch in me.” He looked just as puzzled as you at the admission. “All this time you haven’t gotten mad once- even when you’re upset, you’re always sweet. I guess it took you acting out of character to make me see just how badly I’ve been treating you. You brought me to my senses by threatening me.”

“And I’ll make good on that threat if you keep shutting me out.” You wagged a finger at him and he chuckled, clasping your hand and planting a soft kiss over it.

“If I ever talk to you like that again, you have my full permission to kill me.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” You scowled at him playfully and he patted your damp cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, drying the remnants of your tears.

“I was reading my journal from our college days last night.” He admitted as you soaked up how good it felt to be in his arms again.

“I knew that dusty old green thing looked familiar!” You bit your lip to contain the smile about to burst through. “Why were you looking through that?”

“I needed a reminder of what kind of man I vowed to be. To stay true to that little nerd who couldn’t believe his luck when he got to marry you.” He pressed his forehead against yours as he filled your head with words you’d spent the last 6 months dreaming about. “If you’ll have me, I’d love to sleep in our bed again tonight.”

“You mean it, Spence? You really don’t have to if you don’t-“

“No, I really do. You’re my home, baby. And I’ve been away from home for too long.” He pulled you in closer until his lips gently met yours, kissing you so sweetly you thought you might melt.

“God, I missed you.” You whispered as a shudder ran down your spine, his touch proving to be too much after you’d spent so long deprived.

“I missed you more. I promise I’ll make it up to you. For all my mistakes.” He cooed but you weren’t even paying attention, all your focus centred on the dizzying way his large palm stroked your back.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He whispered, nudging his shoulder against your own.

“Mhm…” You moaned lazily, allowing him to drag you up and guide you into the comfort of your bedroom, which instantly seemed more welcoming now that you knew he was finally joining you.

“There, all tucked in.” He beamed after stuffing the edges of the duvet beneath your languid body. “I just need to change and brush my teeth, I’ll be right in.” He kissed your forehead and sauntered over to the adjoining bathroom.

Before you could surrender to sleep, you pawed clumsily at the nightstand in search of your phone, overcome with the urge to message your mother- you just had to let her know she was wrong. Composing a text to assure her your marriage was no longer in danger, you sent it through with a satisfied sigh. Unexpectedly, the screen lit up not a moment after you’d put it down, accompanied by a quiet chirp that let you know she had sent one back.

“Don’t let your guard down. Guilt is a powerful thing.” Her ominous words pulsed off the screen and left you feeling queasy.

“Remember what I said. Look for the signs.” A second text flashed across the screen.

You dropped the phone with a shaky clatter, as if your hands couldn’t wait to be rid of the thing. How could she remain insistent that Spencer had been cheating when he’d given next to no indication of it? You would’ve chalked it all down to her longstanding aversion to him and fallen into a peaceful slumber- if it wasn’t for the muttering you heard coming from the other side of the bathroom door.

Like a jumpy cat, you raised yourself against the headboard at once and listened with bated breath. Struggling to make out a complete sentence as the running water smothered his words, you cautiously crept over to the door and ever so slightly pressed your ear against it.

“I appreciate that but I can’t. We’ll have to reschedule.” Spencer’s muffled voice rang out, sounding slightly stressed. “No, I’m not thinking about leaving. I know I need you. Yes. Everything’s fine, I’m just not free tonight.”

You let out an exasperated breath, in pure disbelief over what you’d overheard. Before you could gather your thoughts, the tap stopped running and you heard the sound of shuffling footsteps, prompting you to leap into bed and swathe yourself amongst the covers.

“You asleep already, baby?” He whispered when he emerged from the bathroom, pressing his warm, pyjama-clad body flat against yours. You said nothing, remaining as still as a church mouse as he cosily nestled his face into the crook of your neck and dozed off. While your husband enjoyed the best sleep he’d had in the better part of a year, you spent the remainder of the night staring into the expanse of your dark ceiling, paralysed with fear.

A Saturday morning was usually yours and Spencer’s favourite day of the week; it meant you could sleep in, have breakfast in bed and make love until noon all in glorious succession. This particular Saturday was markedly different- partly because Spencer had been called into work- and partly because you couldn’t go a second without driving yourself crazy thinking about his affair.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Hotch is insisting he needs the whole team together.” Spencer rolled his eyes as he hopped around in a struggle to get his socks on. You sat up in bed and nodded complacently, not wanting to set off any alarm bells to your profiler husband. “Hey babe?” He asked, fiddling with his tie.

“Hm?” You smiled innocuously.

“How would you feel if you had to start working again?” He bit his lip and looked at you, full of intrigue. “Would you manage?”

“Umm, I-I don’t know.” You stuttered, caught off guard completely by his question. “Why do you ask?”

“Didn’t you have dreams? Goals you wanted to accomplish?” He asked sincerely and a thinly veiled panic began to rise in you.

“Sure, I guess. I didn’t plan on abandoning them but- I don’t know, life got in the way and other things took priority.”

“Hm. Okay.” He looked absorbed in thought as he grabbed his blazer. “I’ve got to run- how about I meet you for dinner at that new steakhouse in town? We’ve got a lot of things to discuss.”

“We do?” You gulped.

“I know I do.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead as you desperately tried to read his body language. “See you later.”

“Bye, honey.” You choked out as he breezed out the door, leaving you with bile rising up your throat.

You hated to admit it, but your mother was right.

“And-and then he told her he needed her!” You blubbed down the phone when you finally plucked up the courage to call her later that day. “And don’t you dare say you told me so!”

“I wasn’t going to say that.” Your mother retorted dishonestly.

“But that’s not all- before he left this morning, he was asking me how I’d feel if I had to start working again!” You whined, your body racked with so much anxiety it made you nauseous.

“He’s trying to gauge how you’d cope if you no longer had him to financially rely on.” She sighed knowingly. “He’s trying to subconsciously prepare you. It’s almost thoughtful- in his own strange, dysfunctional way. Typical Spencer.”

“You really think this is it? He’s done with me?” You sniffed, desperately hanging onto the last thread of hope. “This might just all be a big misunderstanding.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. I mean, the late nights, the phone call, the interrogation about your career. And the spontaneous apologetic outburst. It’s clear to see he’s bursting at the seams with guilt.” She tutted, feigning sympathy- but you knew she’d been waiting for Spencer to slip up for years. As much as it might have pained her to see her daughter like this, the satisfaction of knowing Spencer was almost out of her life outweighed the anguish.

“So now what do I do?” You whinged, the last thread snapped.

“You’re going to dress up in the tightest outfit you have, drive down to that restaurant and tell him you want a divorce.” She instructed with her signature self-assured candidness.

“B-but I don’t want a divorce.” You mumbled meekly, acutely aware of how pitiable you sounded.

“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice.”

Her words resounded in your aching brain as you rummaged through your closet looking for an outfit that fit the brief, ultimately settling on a satin black mini dress- Spencer’s favourite.

Driving to the restaurant rehearsing your parting words was nothing short of excruciating. You adored your husband just as much as you did the day you first met; spotting him in that lecture hall, shiny brown hair slicked back as he twiddled a pen between his spindly fingers and scrunched his eyebrows up in displeasure at the set text. It was like a bolt of lightning struck you- love at first sight.

How did you get to the point of divorce? Your brain was racked with potential guesses as to where along the line you lost him. Were you not interesting enough? You wanted to get your career back on track but you assumed Spencer would prefer a stay-at-home wife. Is that where you went wrong? Perhaps some woman at work was more engaging, perhaps he had more mutual interests with her than his boring wife.

Pulling into the parking lot, you braced yourself to head for the entrance and find your soon-to-be ex-husband. Who would get the car in the divorce? He paid for it so you supposed the courts would award it to him.

“Oh God.” You muttered under your breath, head spinning as you waited inside for a hostess. If you went by that logic, you’d be left with nothing.

“Do you have a reservation?” The young worker hobbled over breathlessly.

“Uh- probably, under a Mr Reid.” You twiddled your thumbs as she searched her database.

“Oh, he’s already been seated, just down there.” She pointed in his direction and you saw the back of his head, luscious curls nestling around the base of his neck. You sighed, he was going to be a tough one to get over.

“Baby, there you are.” He rose from his seat to plant a quick kiss on your cheek and as always, pull out your chair. Where were you going to find someone as gentlemanly as him? “Are you okay?”

“Sure.” You managed a small smile though you were sure he saw right through it.

“I’ve already ordered us some wine, they had that white zinfandel you like.” He said, pouring you a glass.

“Trying to get me drunk, Reid?” You swirled the liquid around, inhaling the sweet aroma.

“From half a bottle?” He chuckled nervously, your mannerisms already causing suspicion. “No, I want you sober for tonight.”

“That’s unkind.” You muttered unintelligibly, knocking back your glass in one go.

“Woah, slow down.” He cautioned as you clinked your glass against the bottle, prompting him to hesitantly pour you another.

“You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes, great. What did you need to talk to me about?” You braced yourself for impact.

“Okay, well, I know it would be a big change but just hear me out. I think in the long run, it’d be better for you if-“

“Actually, no. Everything’s not okay.” You slurred, the alcohol already impairing your senses.

“Oh? What’s the matter?” He asked anxiously, fidgeting with his wedding band.

“I want a divorce.” You blurted out tastelessly.

“You- what?” Spencer’s eyes widened as he blinked rapidly. “A divorce?”

“You heard me.” You gulped, trying your hardest to be stern even though you were about to fall apart. “You’ve run out of chances with me.”

“Baby, what? I-I know it’s been rocky but I thought we talked it through? You seemed just fine last night, I don’t understand.” He shook his head, eyebrows raised so high a painful-looking row of wrinkles stacked up on his forehead.

“I thought we were fine too, but I was wrong.” You took another glug of liquid courage as you avoided eye contact, knowing you would cave if you took even one glance at his big, round eyes.

“I know I don’t have much room to complain after what I’ve put you through but can’t we at least talk about it first?” He pleaded, heart jumping out of his chest.

“What is there to talk about, Spencer? You couldn’t come to me so you closed yourself off and found comfort in another woman- God knows how long this has been going on while I’ve been here pining after you like an idiot-“

“What?” He raised his hand, signalling you to pause your rambling.

“Don’t play dumb, I know you’ve been cheating on me.” You scoffed, determined not to fall victim to his gaslighting.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His mournful expression was replaced by one of bewilderment.

“I heard you last night on the phone to her. Who is she?” You cocked your head, a little smug over the fact that you’d caught him- what kind of a genius calls his mistress while his wife’s next door?

To your surprise, Spencer broke out into a laugh, taking his head into his hands as he shook it in relief. “You got me, baby. You caught me.” He smiled dazedly.

“I did, so I don’t know why you’re smiling.” You scowled.

“You caught me talking to my therapist.” He shot you an unimpressed glare. “I started seeing her 2 weeks ago and I didn’t want to tell you in case it didn’t work out. I didn’t want you getting your hopes up. But Jesus, baby. Divorce? That’s where you landed?”

“It’s not just that!” You jumped to your own defence. “How do you explain all the late nights at work- and that conversation we had this morning about my career?”

“That’s what I was going to talk to you about today. I got you a job.” He stated.

“Huh? Why?” You gawked, hesitant to believe anything he said.

He took a deep breath, shuffling his chair a little closer and taking your hand.

“Look, baby, I know you try your hardest to be a great wife. Too hard, if anything, and you’ve always been exceptional and far too good for me. As much as I love your dedication, you need to think about your own needs and prioritise those for a change. It’s no secret that you’ve been feeling unfulfilled for a while now, I can see it from a mile away. I should’ve addressed it sooner but, well, you know.”

“Spence?” You shook your head in uncertainty, wondering how you could’ve been so wrong.

“I should’ve never let you give your career up. I should’ve pushed you harder but I just loved having you at home all the time, it’s selfish, I know. My job is stressful but it gives me a sense of purpose, one I know you crave.” He explained, trying not to giggle at your awestruck face and your inability to form a single sentence. “What I’m saying is, I want to see you reignite that old passion you had. How would you feel about joining me in the BAU?”

Nothing could’ve prepared you for his admission and tears of shock and immense relief began coursing down your face. “Spencer, I can’t believe this.”

“In hindsight, I should’ve talked to you about it first but I thought it might be a nice surprise- I’m an idiot, you don’t have to take it, of course, if you don’t want to.” He backtracked, suddenly aware of how flawed his plan was.

“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a very long time.” You uttered softly.

“R-really? You want to do it?” He raised his eyebrows in that adorably curious way of his.

“I don’t know how you managed to figure out I wanted a job before I did, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Yes, I want to do it.” You nodded, too consumed with excitement to mull over your embarrassingly wrong assumptions.

“Now, it’s only a low-level position for the time being, just to ease you into the transition but you have the potential to-“

“I’ll be with you.” You smiled simply.

“Yes, for the most part. I thought it’d be a good way to spend more time together- not including the times when I’d have to fly out and can’t take you with me yet, although-“

“Spencer.” You interrupted him. “Thank you.”

“Well, of course. Anything for you.” He squeezed your hands and you felt the anxiety throb away. “Can’t believe you thought I was cheating.”

“You gave me some major indicators!” You scrunched your face up awkwardly. “And my mother pointed out that-“

“Ah, there we go.” He sighed, unimpressed. “That woman has had it out for me for the better part of a decade.”

“Sorry, baby, you know she has a talent for burrowing inside my head.” You confessed shyly, aware you should’ve known better.

“I’m going to talk to her.” Spencer declared.

“Huh?”

“First thing tomorrow, we’re going to her house and I’m throwing it all out there. After a decade of pent-up resentment, it’s time.”

Spencer usually avoided your mother at all costs, electing to work overtime on weekends when she decided to visit and often coming down with mysterious ailments during the holidays that prevented him from attending her get-togethers.

“Can’t wait to see how that turns out.” You chuckled gleefully. “And therapy, baby? Wow. I’m so proud of you.”

“I was sceptical at first but I think it’s helping- I’m learning to compartmentalise the issues and most importantly, not take them out on you.” He stared into your eyes and your breath hitched; even after so many years, he had a way of making you feel impossibly shy.

“You sound like a new man, Mr Reid.” You teased, the wine floating around your bloodstream in a way that made you deliciously fuzzy.

“It’s all because of you, Mrs Reid.” A smirk tugged at his lips.

“So we’re really okay?” You asked in disbelief, immeasurably relieved that the rollercoaster seemed to be at an end. “What now?”

“I’ll tell you.” He drawled in a softly seductive tone. “We’re going to order dinner and dessert, I’m going to get you a little too drunk.” He dropped his hand to your thigh, trailing up it as he spoke. “And then I’m going to take you home and fuck you.”

“Oh.” You squeaked, breaking into tingles at the prospect.

“That sound good, doll?” He kneaded your inner thigh and you felt your body go numb as words failed you. “I thought so.”

Seeing that the bottle on your table was glisteningly empty, Spencer beckoned over a waiter.

“Give me your most expensive wine.” He smirked while ordering. “We’re celebrating.”

Although he was a law-abiding federal agent, Spencer ran more than a few red lights that evening given the ravenous way his wife stared at him from the passenger seat, crawling out of her skin with the desire to touch him. As soon as he pulled into the driveway, you were both in a desperate rush to get inside. You clawed at Spencer’s shirt while he shakily tried to unlock the door, trembling with anticipation.

“H-hang on, baby.” The sound of clinking keys mixed with his groans. “God…”

You left messy, wet kisses all down his neck as he finally pushed the door open, taking you into his arms and guiding you indoors.

“Right- mm, here.” You whined between kisses, gesturing at the sofa as you kicked your heels off.

“My desperate girl, can’t even wait long enough to get to the bedroom.” He teased as he pushed you down onto the couch, hooking onto the waistband of your tights with his bony fingers and slowly dragging them down your legs- leaving small kisses down your thighs and calves in the process.

You let out impatient whimpers as he folded your dress up over itself and dragged down your panties.

“Were these your ‘I’m a strong woman’ divorce panties?” He chuckled as he yanked the tiny lace garment off your feet and threw it behind him.

“I needed as much confidence as I could muster.” You pulled him closer by the tie for a heated kiss. “I was about to lose the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“You could never lose me.” He stared into your eyes with a dizzying intensity that made all the blood rush to your heat. “You’re my wife…” He drawled huskily as he ripped the front panel of your dress open. “Until the day I die.” Looping his fingers around it, he tore the material further with a loud tug, leaving your bare tits bouncing out of the tight fabric. “You jump to conclusions like it’s a full-time job.” He pressed his lips against your hot skin. “But I love you.” You wanted to laugh but a moan escaped your lips instead when he wrapped his tongue around one nipple, grasping the other with a rough hand. “And my God, do you have the best tits I’ve ever seen.”

You raked your fingers through his thick, messy hair as you squirmed beneath him, sure that if he made you wait any longer you’d start crying.

“Patience, baby. You’ll get it.” He whispered, dragging his lips down your body and leaving goosebumps in his wake. He left sloppy, open-mouth kisses along your thighs, so near your heat you could feel his warm breath fanning it.

“P-please, Spence, please.” You muttered, bucking your hips to close the distance between you.

“You know I always give my girl what she wants.” He breathed heavily, snaking his arms around your shaky hips and tugging you closer to drag his tongue across your clit. You melted into the sofa as he sucked on your most sensitive spot, locking you into an unescapable vice with his strong arms.

“Mmh…” You threw your head back, still squirming as he ate you with such passion and hunger that you committed every godless detail to memory. His hair became increasingly dishevelled as you twisted it into messy knots, fidgeting with the curls as he licked broad stripes up your clit with fanatical force.

“Fuck, fuck…” You grew delirious as he sped up, legs trembling from how good he was making you feel; you desperately pressed yourself further against his mouth, wanting to be devoured until there was nothing left.

“Can-can I, please, can you- oh God.” You rambled nonsensically as he showed no sign of slowing down, worshipping you with his tongue until you felt like blacking out. He groaned in approval as he flitted across your wet slit aggressively, knowing it pushed you over the brink every time. It had been months since he’d had you wrapped around his neck like this, panting in that slutty way that drove him wild- and as much as he wanted to savour it, he couldn’t wait much longer to have you. As you pushed his head down, he sucked so sloppily that the sounds emanating were nothing short of pornographic.

“Spencer!” You moaned out sinfully while you came, gripping his shoulders with your thighs as you dissolved into a mushy, whiney mess. Your hips twitched as he pulled away from you, wiping the drool from his mouth with the sleeve of his collared shirt.

“No need to yell, I’m right here.” He grinned, deriving great pleasure from seeing you fall apart.

“Oh God, I’ve forgotten how good you are that.” You winced, trembling from the force of your release.

“I’ll make sure you never forget again.” He smirked into the kiss as he pressed his lips against yours, barely giving you any time to come to as he ripped off the remnants of your dress. “Sorry about that, doll- I’ll buy you a new one.”

“It was my divorce dress, I never would’ve worn it again.” You giggled as you helped him out of his shirt and unbuttoned his trousers, desperate to feel him inside you. Your back arched instinctively as soon as you felt the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit; your head rolled back as you felt him slide in teasingly slow, letting you feel every last inch as he spread you apart and scattered sensual kisses down your neck. An obscene moan left your lips when he buried himself as deep inside you as he could.

“Spence, fuck, I don’t know if- ah.” You struggled to get the words out as he stared down at you with amusement. “Too big, I-“

“A few months without my dick and you’ve forgotten how to take it?” He jeers, a twisted smile radiating from him. “That’s no good at all, baby. We’re gonna have to teach you all over again.”

You bit your lip to conceal the whimper that threatened to spill as you nodded obediently, hanging off his every word.

“Breathe.” He pulled out by just an inch or two, ensuring you would barely notice before slowly pushing his hips forward and plunging himself to the hilt.

His hair dangled over his forehead, the unruly locks almost tickling you as he hovered above you, waiting for you to adjust to his thick length.

“Mm…” You peeped, looking at him coyly like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Yeah?” He whispered, nudging his nose against yours before you nodded. With the thousands of times you’d made love, he knew the meaning of every subtle cue and whimper; he knew you were often too shy to speak so he let you get away with using your varying whines as a form of communication. His dirty talk overwhelmed you, leaving you flustered and speechless- and he knew just how much you loved it.

Spencer pulled out half his length this time, grabbing you by the jaw to hold you lovingly as he thrusted in and out, making sure to look you in the eyes as his swollen cock massaged your walls. Ever the shy one, you tried averting eye contact and looking away from his intense glare but he gently guided you back with a firm hand. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he made love to you, your twisted eyebrows and parted lips too sweet to ignore.

You cried out when his thrusts grew rougher, panting heavily as he fucked you even harder than you remembered.

“You can take it, baby.” He cooed as he fucked you deep and slow. “I know you can.” He pulled out almost all the way before plunging his cock back in, coated in glistening arousal. “Deep breaths for me, doll.” He breathed with you, setting a tempo as you struggled to get anything but your whorish moans out.

“You like it when I stretch this little pussy out?” He groaned, wet flesh and skin smacking against hip bone. “Yeah you do.” He smirked as your cheeks flushed red at his lewd words. “How were you going to go through with a divorce? You can’t even tell me you like the way I fuck you.”

“Spencer!” You gasped, partly at his vulgarity and partly at the way his tip just brushed against your deepest spot, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“What, baby?” His hands trailed their way down to your hips as he sat up, gripping the handles of your body tightly as he fucked you onto himself. “We both know you could never find someone who fucks you this good again. Who pounds into your cunt exactly the way you need it.” Your jaw dropped at his crude words- he’d always had a penchant for making you flustered but it was clear that prison had made him even rougher around the edges. As much as you wanted to knock him down a peg, you couldn’t deny the truth to what he’d said; there was no upgrading after Spencer.

“You’re cockier than I remember.” You manage to breathe out, glassy eyes watering with overstimulation.

“And you’re tighter than I remember.” He smirked maniacally as he started rubbing rough circles into your clit, not slowing down the way he was sorely pummelling into you. “Goddamn, angel, you take me so well.” He muttered under his breath as he observed the mouthwatering way in which your pussy swallowed his entire length, gushing with arousal as the wet smacking intensified.

He swooped down to kiss you, swallowing your moans with his eager mouth as he pushed your knees against your chest. “You feel that?” He shuddered, guiding your hand to your stomach where his member was poking through the flesh, leaving an imprint.

“Uh huh.” You panted.

“You like having my cock this deep in your guts?” In an unexpected move, he pressed down on your lower stomach as you nodded to his question desperately. You screamed in blinding ecstasy as you reached your peak, the borderline cruel way in which Spencer continued pounding against your sweet spot proving too much to take.

“Look at that, I got my answer.” He licked his lips at the sight of his cock glazed in creamy arousal as he pulled out with a groan. You lay motionless on the cushy sofa, limbs numb as you noticed the scowl Spencer was sporting on his chiselled face, small beads of sweat running down his temples.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He chuckled darkly.

“Resting?” You upturned your eyebrows sweetly.

Before you could protest, he dragged you down the sofa and turned you over, positioning you to arch your back and expose your throbbing pussy to him.

“You think I’m going to let you get away with one round?” He spanked your ass with a firm, open palm. “I know you’ve been whining about this all the time to your friends. I know how desperate you’ve been for your husband to fuck you. Well, honey- I’ll give you something to talk about.” Before you could respond, he guided his veiny cock into your squishy walls, not giving you any time to adjust to the stretch as he pounded into you from the back.

“Is this what you wanted?” He demanded as he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you up, holding your back flush against his body. “You wanted to be fucked like a whore? Answer me.”

“Yes! Yes, Spence, I want it so bad, treat me like a slut.” You surprised yourself with your sinful words, the rough treatment prompting you to act out of character. He pushed you back onto the bed, holding you down as he drilled into you with dizzying speed. The couch squeaked with the force of your face getting pressed into the pillows as you panted so breathily you thought your heart might give out. You bit into the cushions as drool seeped freely from your mouth and wet the dark grey fabric.

“Harder…” You murmured, barely audible.

“What was that?” Spencer asked in disbelief, slowing down a little to make your words out clearly.

“Harder. I want you to fuck me to within an inch of my life.” You confessed sultrily and a dangerous smirk crept across your husband’s face.

“Anything for you.” He was more than happy to comply with your request.

You spent all night tangled up in each other’s bodies, taking turns being mind numbingly rough and tooth achingly sweet. He whispered confessions of love in your ear one minute and he pinned you down hard enough to leave bruises the next. It was, without a doubt, the best night of your life.

Waking up the next day in Spencer’s arms gave you more euphoria than any drug ever could. He smelled of last night’s wine and sweat, intermingled with the floral detergent of your freshly washed sheets.

“Good morning, baby.” He cooed when he saw your eyes flutter open. “Or rather, good afternoon. How’d you sleep?”

“Never better.” Your husky voice replied. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for a while.”

“I guess I’ll have to carry you to your mother’s, then.” He chuckled, pulling you in closer so that your head rested on his smooth, bare chest.

“What? You’re not still serious about doing that.” You looked up at him pleadingly.

“Oh, yes I am.” He scolded playfully. “She convinced you I was having an affair and encouraged you to get a divorce. I’d say there’s a conversation to be had there.”

“You know, I really wish you weren’t so respectable sometimes.” You dreaded the prospect of such a confrontation.

“There was nothing respectable about the way I was splitting you open last night.” He countered mischeviously and you rolled your eyes to distract from the blush creeping over your cheeks. “Come on, I’ll buy us breakfast on the way. Get dressed.”

“But Spence!” You tried to argue but he had already climbed out of bed, humming showtunes on his way to the bathroom. With a hefty sigh, you swung your legs round the side of the bed and started searching for your underwear.

“Are you sure? It’s not too late to turn around.” You twiddled your thumbs standing outside your mother’s house, her near-black wooden door looming over you as you waited for her to answer.

“Yes. Stop being a wimp.” Spencer replied just before the door swung open.

“Oh. Hi darling.” She eyed you up before slowly turning her head. “Hello Spencer.”

“There’s my favourite mother-in-law. We thought we’d surprise you with breakfast.” He lifted the brown paper bag containing drive through diner food.

“As if I’d eat that.” She raised her eyebrows contemptously.

“Come on, mom, are you gonna let us in or not?” You piped up after seeing she had no intentions of making things easy for Spencer.

“Yes, fine, in you come.” She opened the door wide and stepped aside, letting you both enter her lavish home.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” He commented a little snarkily, noticing the extensive remodeling work that had been done.

“Oh yes, we did it last spring. I suppose you haven’t been round for years so you wouldn’t know. Are you avoiding me, Spencer?” She took a seat across from you both in the living room.

“Me? Never. Just like you’d never convince my wife to get a divorce, right?” He quipped and your stomach twisted over how little it took them to start arguing- you’d only just walked in through the door.

“I’ve only ever advocated for what’s best for her.” She stuck her nose up at her son-in-law.

“And why are you so certain that’s not me?” He snapped, genuine curiousity tinging his voice.

“You’re not good enough.” She replied with a resoluteness that must’ve hurt.

“Why, mom? What’s so bad about Spence?” You asked.

“He’s just not who you were supposed to end up with. You were not meant to give up your life to be a housewife to a mediocre man.” She answered simply, like she didn’t even have to think about it.

“So you resent him because of my career choices?” You couldn’t help but laugh a little as she shrugged. “Mother, I chose to leave the field. He had nothing to do with it, he supported me-“

“Oh, I bet he did. Having a woman at home to cook and clean must’ve been too tempting of an offer to pass up.” She scratched at her right arm- a leftover habit from the nicotine patches she used years ago. She claimed she quit smoking but you suspected she’d be in dire need of a cigarette after this conversation.

“That’s ridiculous-“

“She’s right.” Spencer interrupted you. “I was more than happy to have you at home. I preferred it, really. And I didn’t say a word even though I knew you were making a mistake, even though I knew it wouldn’t make you happy.”

“See. The pipe cleaner admits it.” She scoffed and you shot her a venomous glare. “Not to mention what you’ve put her through this year.”

“I know I haven’t by any means been a good husband, but I wouldn’t cheat and I’d never want a divorce. I’m trying to make things right.” He confessed earnestly.

“How?” She scowled, clearly believing him to be beyond redemption.

“He got me a job at the BAU.” You chimed in, wanting to see the smugness wiped off her face.

“And I’m seeing a therapist.” Spencer continued. “I’m determined to be better.”

She sat there in silence, incapable as always of expressing any remorse.

“I love your daughter and I’m not going anywhere. I’d like it very much if we could somehow start over.” He shot her those puppy dog eyes of his and you sincerely believed if she didn’t give in, she must be the only woman in the world immune to his charms.

“Alright. Alright, Spencer.” She sighed after a short contemplation. “If my little girl is happy, I suppose I have no choice.”

“The bastard actually managed it.” You thought as you witnessed his beaming smile flood the room with light, his vibrancy so infectious you knew even your mother noticed.

“Glad to hear it, mom.” He joked and she choked on the water she had begun to sip.

“Don’t push it.”

“Told you it’d all work out.” He said excitedly while he opened the car door for you, practically skipping out of your mother’s house.

“I know, and she actually invited you round?!” You shook your head in disbelief as he started the engine and drove away from her gated residence.

“Maybe we’ll make these trips a weekly habit.” He suggested, resting his hand soundly on your thigh.

“Not every week. I need some alone with my handsome husband.” You gushed, admiring his perfect side profile.

“You must have me confused with someone else, lady.” He chuckled as he switched on the radio. “Oh my God, baby! This song!”

“No way, I haven’t heard this since, since-“

“That time in college.” He winked at you and you threw your head back in laughter, precious memories flooding your mind as the familiar pop tune hummed on.

“Yeah. That was the first and last time we ever do it on a carnival pedal boat.”

“Hey, never say never- I see a lake right over there.” He pointed out the window as you drove by.

“I don’t think so, buddy.” You slapped his arm playfully. “Those days are behind us, we’re old and boring now.”

“If this is boredom, sign me up for eternity.” A warm smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“God, I love you, Spencer Reid.”

“I love you even more, Mrs Reid.”

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #matthew gray gubler

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irisintheafterglow · 7 months

Note

hi!!! could i request pro hero!bakugo & pro hero!reader where bkgs doing an interview and they ask about relationships and his answer is “I thought you people already knew that im married”

i have no idea how to word things but i hope that was readable🙏🙏

keeping it in the family

wc: 1.6k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of drinking and alcohol, established relationship, dialogue-driven

note: RAHHH I LOVE HUSBAND BAKUGO. anyways !!! i hope you like this, i did get a little carried away when writing it so hopefully it makes sense. thank you for your ask!!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“And we’re on in five, four, three, two…give ‘em hell.” The roar of excited applause jumbles together with the late-night show’s opening theme and the screams of excited fans can still be heard even as Kirishima flashes a blinding smile to the camera.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Heroes on Heroes! We’re so glad you’re joining us tonight, seeing as this is the finale of season one!” The audience cheers with fiery passion and it makes the three heroes onstage chuckle nervously. This was going to be a long night, especially if the superfans were crying after every word they spoke. “I’m Red Riot,” he pauses while the cheering erupts once again, “and I’m joined by my fellow pros, Chargebolt and Dynamight.” You wince from your place at sidestage from the sheer wave of noise that slams into your eardrums when the latter is introduced.

“Thanks for having us tonight, man,” Denki grins. He eagerly drums the armrests of his chair, to the left of Kirishima. “I’ve been looking forward to doing one of these since I saw Deku’s a few weeks back.”

“It’s a great concept, really. I love being able to just chat with you guys and shoot the shit about hero stuff. It’s so manly.” Kirishima turns expectantly to the other hero sitting to his right, whose hot-headed nature was blatantly obvious by how he was slumped in his chair, squinting slightly at the burning spotlights and clicking cameras. You admire Kirishima’s confidence in forcing Katsuki to say something. “What about you, Bakugo? How’re you feeling tonight?”

“I’m alright,” he shrugs indifferently. Your breath catches in your throat and you can hear the Dynamight agency’s publicist put his head in his hands. “It’s been a while, so it’s good to see you guys,” he adds with unexpected fondness and you exhale in relief. His eyes meet yours for half a second and he shoots you a wink that makes your knees wobbly. “I saw that save at the bridge collapse last week, Shitty Hair. Pretty decent work.” Kirishima blinks once, twice, and then glances at Denki. Katuski’s blank look narrows into a scowl. “The hell are you looking like that for? I got shit in my teeth or something?”

“No, no. Sorry, man,” Kirishima laughs. “I just wasn’t expecting a compliment from you so early in the show.”

“Yeah, we thought we’d have to booze you up a little more to get you to be nicer,” Denki jokes and he recoils a bit when he’s struck with a molten hot glare from the hero across from him.

“Whatever you’re about to say, bro, don’t say it,” Kirishima warns and the crackles in Katsuki’s palms gradually dissipate. “But, I’m wondering too. What’s with the good mood?”

“I guess I feel like playing nice tonight,” he answers cryptically, his gaze flicking over to you again with amusement. You can almost sense the fainting girls falling over each other in the front row. Kirishima’s attention subtly darts over to you and a knowing smirk grows over his face. It was the first time you and Katsuki were at the same press event, since you both thought it was too dangerous to sneak around until now. “But, talk about that bridge save. I don’t think a lot of people know that the guy was wanted by several agencies.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Denki agrees with a quick sip of his drink. He swallows and sets the glass down with a light thud. “He’d been giving us hell for weeks. It's not really the best matchup for a sand villain to be going up against an electric hero.”

“It was the sand villain and his wife, wasn’t it? That chick with the melting Quirk?”

“Yep, they were a nasty couple to deal with,” Kirishima confirms. “I had to keep track of this guy’s damn sand spikes and his wife turning the floor to goop at the same time.”

“Goop is a weird-ass way to put it,” Katsuki points out with obvious distaste.

“Yeah, but he was a pretty goopy guy.” Chuckles ripple through the audience and you can’t help breaking a smile too at Kirishima’s joke.

“I think for me, at least,” Denki adds, “the biggest pain was the fact that they were married, and they had, like, marriage telepathy or something.”

“Bro, I thought that was just me! Here I was, thinking that I’d incapacitated one and split them from the other, when bam! Both of them appear in front of me like a damn genie.”

“You ever have to deal with villain couples, Bakubro?”

“Nah, not recently. We’ve been doing a lot of big raids on all the crime families downtown.” He flexes his right bicep and pulls back the sleeve of his shirt to show a gnarly purple spot growing on his skin. “Got this little beauty three days ago from a neo-Hassaikai asshole.” You're not fazed by the ugly shade of the wound because you were the one who stitched up the...less visible results of the raid.

“Jeez, man,” Denki says in disbelieving awe at his friend’s injury. “If you ever need backup, we’d love to do a team up with you.”

“I think I’d rather die–”

“My agency would also love to team-up with you,” Kirishima interjects before Katsuki can finish his thought. The heart rate monitor of his publicist begins to rapidly beep behind you. “We can have a threeway team-up! That’d be pretty cool, don’t you guys think?”

“What if we all just merged into one big super agency? Like a big family?”

“That sounds like the stupidest shit–” Again, Kirishima cuts off Katsuki’s brash protests and saves them from being taken off the air.

"That would be so awesome."

“Would that mean we’d have to get pro-hero partners, too? Keep hero work in the family?”

“I think Salonpas would have heart palpitations if we said we were trying to keep hero work within the family,” Katsuki points out and his friends nod in agreement. “On another fuckin’ note, that Half-and-Half idiot keeps hogging the number two spot and it pisses me off.” Though you didn’t often encounter Todoroki while you were on patrol, you knew that he was adamant about keeping work life and family life separate. It made him even more of a dedicated hero and a recent bust of a notorious crime ring bumped him into the number two spot over Dynamight for that month. You didn’t hear the end of it from Katsuki.

“He and Deku just work really efficiently, Bakubro.”

“I can efficiently slam both their skulls into a–”

“You know what would solve that problem?” Denki butts in unceremoniously, covering up his harsh words for a third time. Katsuki grunts in response and the lightning-decorated hero gives him enthusiastic finger-guns. “Combining and making a family agency.”

“What are the chances that Sero would want to join too?”

“Probably pretty high,” Kirishima guesses. “He’s at my place every other week, anyway, so he’s basically my brother.”

“Alright, maybe this could actually work, then. I just need to find a smoking hot hero wife.”

“That’ll probably be the hardest part, buddy–”

“What about Bakugo?” You stiffen and the three guys turn their attention to a voice calling out from the audience. Speaking during the interviews was strictly prohibited until the question and answer section, but getting Katsuki’s attention was a surefire way to derail the entire episode.

“The fuck do you mean, what about Bakugo? Who the fuck said that?”

"Dude, just ignore them."

“Can’t be a family agency if Bakugo never gets into relationships,” the same nasally, irritating voice argues and your face feels like it’s been set on fire. Kirishima’s attention jumps to you for a moment and then back to his friend, whose palms are starting to spark like fireworks. “Do you just get no bitches, or something?” The audience gasps and security finally arrives to escort the disturbance out of the building. The director is ready to stop the cameras and jump to a commercial break, but Katsuki speaks before he can order the sound crew to cut the mics. To everyone’s surprise, his voice is nothing but amusement, like the insinuation didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“You think I don’t get into relationships?”

“Bakugo…”

“It’s alright, Pikachu. I really don’t give a shit about whatever that guy said,” Katsuki reassures his friend with a sly glint in his eye. His friends watch him warily, like a grenade on the verge of exploding. Once again, burning red eyes meet yours with a single question that you answer with a resolute nod. “I’m not gonna blow up, so stop looking like that. Really, I don’t care.”

“Why not?” A tense beat of silence passes, then–

“I thought you people knew that I’m married.” A shit-eating grin spreads across your husband’s face as gasps of shock burst from the audience. Kirishima and Denki both shake their heads in exasperation. They knew already, of course, but they didn’t expect him to reveal his relationship status as a result of a heckler. “Yep, going on a year and a half, now. Around five years together total coming this winter.” More collective cries of jealousy, surprise, and betrayal shake the building’s foundation. "If you don't believe me, ask these guys."

"Yeah, we were at the wedding, too. It's hard to keep it a secret when all of your friends are also high-profile heroes."

“Can you guys believe that he fell in love during the winter?” Denki’s thumb juts out toward his friend, who frowns at the mere mention of cold weather.

“I fucking hate the winter,” he grumbles.

“We know, man,” Kirishima says sympathetically, unsuccessfully hiding a chuckle. “You’ve been saying that since high school.”

“Yeah, and shit hasn’t changed,” Katsuki bites back with lighthearted indignance. “Look, they saved my ass when it was cold; how was I not supposed to fall in love with them?” To your delight, his complexion has turned a slightly darker shade of pink. “Yeah, I love them. What about it, asshats?”

“Is this a bad time to bring up the family agency again?”

“Let’s go to commercial before I blow this fucking chair to pieces.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #ask iris!

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pucksandpower · 10 months

Text

Grid Kids: First Times

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: they know you’re their mom … you know they’re your kids … but these are the first times you all say so out loud

Series Masterlist

Max Verstappen: Champion of the World

The roar of the engines has faded, the race has ended, and the stands are filled with jubilant cheers. Among the sea of fans waving flags, the color of the Orange Army is predominant. Max Verstappen has just clinched his first World Championship.

As confetti rains down, Max climbs atop his car, soaking in the euphoria. His face displays a myriad of emotions: triumph … relief … elation. During the celebratory chaos, he searches for a familiar face, and as his eyes find yours, a calm settles over him.

As you approach, he jumps down and without a moment’s hesitation pulls you into a tight embrace. Over the din, he murmurs something almost inaudible.

“Thanks, Mom.”

You pull back, a bit taken aback. The weight of the single word isn’t lost on either of you. Max, ever the tough racer, has tears glistening in his eyes.

He clears his throat, trying to mask the emotion, “I mean, after everything, you’ve been like a second mom to me. I couldn’t have done it without your support.”

Sebastian joins the moment, a proud smile on his face. “Welcome to the champions’ club,” he jokes but the underlying pride in his voice is unmistakable.

You wipe away a tear, “I’ve always believed in you, Max. And no matter what, you’ll always be one of my grid kids.”

Charles Leclerc: What If

The race is intense, the energy palpable. But in a split second, the exhilaration turns to horror as Charles’ car careens off track, crashing into the barriers. The scene is chilling and the paddock holds its collective breath.

Time seems to stretch endlessly until, finally, the screens show Charles moving inside his cockpit. It's a sign — he's conscious. When he is carefully extricated from the wreckage and gives a thumbs-up to the cameras, relief washes over everyone.

As he is taken to the medical center, your grid kids gather, their usual playful banter replaced by anxious glances and silent support.

When you’re finally allowed to see Charles, his face is pale, eyes reflecting the trauma of the crash. Despite the bandages and evident pain, he manages a small smile upon seeing you.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

You lean over, brushing the hair from his forehead, your touch filled with motherly concern. “Hey yourself. You gave us all quite the scare.”

He swallows hard, gaze locking onto yours, vulnerability evident. “I thought ... for a moment there ... I thought I wouldn’t ...” he trails off, the gravity of the incident heavy in the room.

You take his hand, offering comfort and strength. “But you’re here, Charles. You’re here.”

He nods, tears forming. And then, in a voice filled with raw emotion, he murmurs, “Thank you, Mom.”

The title that slips out isn’t one of blood or birth but of bond and heart.

You squeeze his hand, “Always, Charles. Always.”

Lance Stroll: Who Needs Wrists Anyway?

After Sebastian’s retirement, life quiets down somewhat. The raucous race weekends are replaced with peaceful moments gardening and beekeeping. But the bond with your grid kids remains as strong as ever.

One evening, a call disturbs the calm. Lance had taken a hard fall while biking and had broken both his wrists. The news shakes you, memories of crashes flooding back. Without hesitation, you pack a bag and book the next flight out to be by his side.

When you enter Lance’s room, you're struck by the sight before you. Both his hands are in casts, his usually playful eyes clouded with pain and frustration. However, seeing you brings a faint smile to his face.

“You didn’t have to come,” he starts, though the gratefulness in his tone betrays him.

You chuckle, pulling a chair beside his bed, “How could I not? I can’t let you starve or wear the same clothes for weeks.”

Lance laughs, “Well, there’s always the option of going commando.”

You both chat, the room filled with light-hearted banter in an attempt to lift the mood. As you prepare to leave for the night after ensuring he is comfortable and has everything he needs, Lance’s voice halts you.

“You know,” he starts, hesitating, “Even after Seb retired, you still ... you’re still here for us, for me. It means a lot.”

You turn back, smiling gently. “Once a family, always a family.”

He swallows, emotion causing his voice to waver, “Thanks, Mom.”

You reach out to squeeze his arm in comfort but remember the reason for your visit. Pulling back before you could hurt Lance, you say, “Get some rest. We’ve got a lot of healing to do.”

George Russell: King of PowerPoint

The rookies sit in the dim room, fidgeting in their chairs, their faces a mix of excitement and nervousness. They’re about to receive their initiation presentation by none other than George Russell, now the Director of the GPDA — an annual tradition to welcome the new drivers, give them insights into the world of F1, and ensure they understand the guidelines, all while keeping it light and enjoyable. It’s also an excuse to give a PowerPoint … and George never turns down an opportunity to put his prowess to good use.

George steps up to the podium, clicking the remote to begin his presentation. The slides cover everything from safety protocols to media interactions. But then, a slide pops up with a familiar face on the screen: yours.

The title reads: “The Heart of Our F1 Family”

George pauses, taking a deep breath. “Now, for those of you new to Formula 1, there’s someone you need to know, someone who has been instrumental for many of us drivers, both on and off the track.”

He clicks to the next slide, showcasing a larger image of you, radiant in the middle of a race weekend while giving one of your famous pep talks to the grid kids.

“This,” George says, voice filled with warmth, “is Y/N Vettel. To the world, she’s known for her contributions to the sport, her philanthropy, and so much more. But to many of us drivers,” he glances at the familiar faces of the other grid kids sitting at the back, “she’s known simply as Mom.”

There’s a hushed silence, the emotional weight of the moment evident.

“She’s our anchor, our guiding light, and sometimes,” George grins, “our stern disciplinarian. If you ever find yourselves needing advice or just someone to talk to, you know where to turn. Welcome to Formula 1!”

Lando Norris: Stream and Shout

Lando is live on Twitch, engaging with thousands upon thousands of fans from around the world while deeply engrossed in a racing simulation game — swerving, overtaking, and trying to claim the top spot. Along with the intense gaming, he’s also juggling questions from fans.

“Hey Lando, any tips for new racers?” one fan asks.

“Just keep training, mate. And don’t get disheartened by failures,” Lando replies, narrowly avoiding a virtual crash.

Another question pops up in the chat, “Who’s been your biggest supporter in F1?”

Lando doesn’t hesitate. “Well, there’s my team, my family, and of course,” he pauses as he navigates a tricky turn on his screen, “there’s Y/N. She is ... well, she’s like a mom to many of us on the grid. Actually,” he corrects himself with a grin, leaning closer to the mic, “She IS mom.”

Fans catch on quickly, and the chat floods with comments.

“Mom? That’s so sweet!”

“Tell us more about her!”

Lando chuckles, “She’s just ... amazing. Always there, always supportive. We’ve had our fair share of fun, chaos, and love. If you’re ever around the paddock, you’ll know. Y/N is magnetic in the best way.”

Mick Schumacher: Drunken Adoration

The end-of-season party is in full swing. It is a tradition where everyone lets loose by either celebrating their successes or shrugging off the stress of the competitive year. The atmosphere is electric with loud music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses.

Mick has perhaps indulged a bit too much. His usually composed and calm demeanor is replaced with a giddy, slightly wobbly version of himself.

As you navigate through the crowd, ensuring everyone was having a good time and not getting into too much trouble, you find Mick seated at the bar, a glass of something strong in his hand.

“Hey!” you call out, approaching him, “Having fun?”

Mick turns, his eyes slightly glazed but recognizing you instantly. A wide smile spreads across his face, “Hey! You know, you’re really awesome.” He slurs, the alcohol evident in his speech.

Laughing, you reply, “Thanks, Mick. Maybe we should switch to water now?”

He shakes his head, trying to focus. “No, no, you don’t get it. You’re not just awesome. You’re ... you’re like ... my mom. Like, a second mom. But also the first because you’re always there and ... you get it, right?”

You chuckle, moved by his inebriated but sincere confession. “I get it, Mick. And thank you. That means a lot.”

Helping him off the stool, you decide it’s time to get him some coffee and maybe a sandwich. “Come on, let’s sober you up a bit.”

As you lead him away, Mick continues to mumble about how great you are, his drunken words filled with genuine affection.

The party continues but for you, that heartfelt albeit tipsy confession is the highlight of the evening.

You: Sons and Spotlights

It’s a grand evening and the room glistens with opulence. Influential personalities from various fields gather, all in the name of charity and giving back. The annual International Philanthropy Awards Gala is an event where the most generous hearts are recognized, and this year, you’re among the honorees.

As you take the stage to accept the award for your contributions to various charities, the spotlight shines brightly but among the crowd, you spot familiar faces — Charles, Max, Lando, Mick, George, and Lance sitting next to your husband. Their presence is unexpected but deeply touching

You begin your speech, gratitude evident in every word, “Giving back is a principle I have always lived by. We are blessed in so many ways and it’s our duty to share those blessings with others.” As you continue, mentioning the various charities and initiatives you work with, an overwhelming wave of emotion grips you.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, you glance once more at your grid kids and say, “I have had many titles over the years — friend, daughter, wife — but one that has been among the most precious to me is simply being Mom.”

The room seems to hold its collective breath.

“These young men,” you continue, gesturing towards them, “are my sons in every way that matters. Not by birth but by bond. Charles, Max, George, Lando, Mick, and Lance are my source of strength, joy, and sometimes, a bit of frustration,” you add with a twinkle in your eye, causing a ripple of laughter.

“But more than anything, they are my family. And tonight, in this room filled with so many esteemed individuals, I want to take a moment to thank my sons. For their love, for their constant support, and for making me the best possible version of myself.”

As applause fills the room, your grid kids stand, pride evident in their glassy eyes that mirror your own, joining the crowd in honoring you. They might be champions on the track, but off it, they are just sons, celebrating their mom.

Bonus: A Family Holiday

Mother’s Day arrives and you wake to find a beautiful bouquet of flowers on your doorstep accompanied by a heartfelt note that reads:

For the woman who has been a mother to us all.

Touched by the gesture, you make your way to the living room. As you enter, warm smiles greet you and the scent of a homemade breakfast wafts through the air.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” your grid kids chorus, raising their glasses.

Max grins, “We know you’re not our biological mom but you’ve definitely earned the title.”

Charles, holding a tray with a stack of pancakes, adds, “We couldn’t ask for a better mentor and friend.”

Lance, with a card in hand, steps forward, “And we wanted to show our appreciation.”

You take the card, and as you read, your heart swells. It’s filled with their personal messages, anecdotes, and memories — marking the journey you’ve all shared.

George, holds out a gift bag with a sheepish grin, “We thought you might like this.”

Inside the bag is a beautiful necklace with six interconnected rings, each representing one of your grid kids. It symbolizes the bond you share, a connection as unbreakable as those rings.

Tears well up in your eyes, “This ... this is so thoughtful.”

Mick smiles softly, “You’ve always been there, through everything. This is just a small token of our gratitude.”

You pull them all into a group hug, the love and warmth radiating through the room. “Thank you, my sons. This means the world to me.”

And as you all sit down to enjoy the homemade (only slightly charred) breakfast, the simple yet emotional celebration of Mother's Day reminds you that family isn’t just about blood ties. It’s about the connections forged through shared experiences, tireless support, and love that transcends convention.

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 1 month

Text

Hexed?

Dean Winchester & daughter!reader, Sam Winchester & niece!reader

Requested by anonymous (x2)

Synopsis: you get your period for the first time, and Sam and Dean help you through it

Warnings: blood, period, crying, fluff

You awoke in the middle of the night, unsure at first what had woken you up. Then a sudden, stabbing pain in the pit of your gut had a pained gasp escaping your lips.

“What…” you mumbled as you pulled your blankets aside and clicked on your lamp. Another gasp, this time one of shock, came out as you saw blood covering your sheets and blankets. The gasp was followed by a whimper as another wave of pain washed over you.

You didn’t understand; you hadn’t been injured anywhere recently, and certainly not down there…

The only thing you could think of was a witch—Rowena had been around lately, and though she seemed to be on your side, could you really be sure? She could have left a hex bag in your room, something that would make you bleed to death! You checked your mouth, your nose, your ears—anywhere else that you could be bleeding from—but nothing; it was just between your legs. Your chest was tight, your throat constricted, as panicked gasps left you. You tried to take deep breaths—you needed to keep calm—but it wasn’t very effective.

You wanted to go and get your dad and Uncle Sam, but first you decided to do a quick sweep of the room; you didn’t find any hex bags.

You made your way awkwardly towards your fathers room, very aware of the blood running down your right leg. Your hands were shaking as you reached out to knock on his door, and when you looked down you realized that all of you was shaking.

Dean opened the door, rubbing his face and looking half asleep.

“N/N? What are you doing up?”

“I-I-I…” you swallowed hard and tried again to speak past your tears. “I think I got hexed.”

Dean was suddenly alert, his eyes fully open and his stance straight.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Im ble-bleeding and it won’t stop,” you sobbed.

“Bleeding? Where?” It was too dark for Dean to see the growing stain on your pajama pants.

“Um…my-my…” you were suddenly shy, struck with how awkward it felt to talk about this with your father. You clammed up, alarming Dean.

“Commere,” he said, opening his room for further and gesturing you in. He clicked on his bedroom lamp and looked you up and down. It took him mere seconds to see the blood on your pants, and to your surprise he relaxed completely. “Oh kiddo…”

His lips began to twitch ever-so-slightly, and now it looked like he was having an internal battle. Was he…

“Are you smiling?!” You demanded. “Dad, I could be dying!”

A single second of laughter escaped him before he schooled his features, noting how scared you were.

“Honey, you’re not dying, I swear. This is totally normal.”

“Normal? How could this be normal, I’m bleeding!” Dean’s nonchalance just made you more frustrated, which just made more tears fall.

“Hey, hey ok,” Dean’s voice was gentle and understanding. “Just take a seat and I’m gonna go get Sam. He can get you what you need for this and while he’s gone I’ll explain it.”

“Do-do we have to tell Uncle Sam?” You mumbled, still embarrassed, but less panicked.

“Trust me, Uncle Sam knows what this is too. It’s not gonna bother him a bit.”

“Ok.” You nodded your assent. “But-but I can’t sit on your bed, I’ll get blood all over your sheets.”

“Just sit, I’ll wash them later, ok?” Only after you’d hesitantly sat on your dad’s bed did he leave to get Sam.

…

Dean was just wrapping up his explanation when Sam returned with a Walmart bag and a gentle smile.

“Hey there,” he greeted. “How are we doing?”

“Um—ok,” you mumbled. Now that you understood you weren’t dying, you were more embarrassed than anything. “Sorry for freaking out.”

“Don’t apologize,” Dean insisted. “I should’ve told you earlier, I just…I thought I’d have another year or two.” Dean ruffled your hair. “You’re growing up fast, kiddo.”

Your lips twitched up—only a little—and Dean grinned before turning to take the bag from Sam.

“Ok, what do we have here?”

“Uh—“ Sam scratched the back of his neck. “Well I asked this lady that was buying some of this stuff herself, just to make sure I got everything. I got pads and tampons, because she said that Y/N should get to pick. Then I got a heating pad—that’s supposed to help with cramps. I got this one that you can plug in, it looks easy to use, but then I got this one shaped like a teddy bear that you can put in the microwave.” Sam reached into the bag as he spoke, pulling out each item in turn. Sure enough, he pulled out a little brown bear, and you smiled. “And then I got a lot of chocolate, and some, uh…” Sam pulled out a bottle. “I don’t really know what they are, but it’s supposed to be better for cramps and stuff than Advil, so…”

Looking at all the stuff on the table, you felt incredible overwhelmed. You needed all this stuff?

“Ok.” Dean clapped his hands together. “I guess you should start with these.” He held out the box of pads and the box of tampons. You took them both, reading the instructions on the back carefully before taking both boxes with you to the bathroom. You returned a few minutes later to both men busy at work—Dean taking the sheets off his bed while Sam was returning from your room with clean clothes.

You took the clothes from Sam and retreated back into the bathroom, and after a quick shower to clean yourself off, you emerged again in clean pajamas. Dean was just returning to the room with the teddy bear fresh from the microwave, and Sam had gotten you a water bottle.

“Do you want us to take this stuff to your room?” Dean asked, and you saw his question for the open invitation that it was.

“Could I stay in here?” You asked, and Dean smiled.

“Of course, sweetheart. I’m gonna go get some clean sheets, and then we can go back to bed, ok?”

Not ten minutes later, Sam had returned to his room and you and Dean were getting comfortable in his bed.

“Just let me know how you’re feeling in the morning, and we’ll go from there ok?” Dean said.

“Ok,” you mumbled sleepily, burrowing into Dean’s side. “Hey dad?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure, kiddo.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl

#dean winchester #the winchesters #dean and sam #dean winchester x reader #supernatural dean #dean winchester x you #winchesters x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x daughter!reader #sam winchester x niece!reader

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klausinamarink · 4 months

Text

When Life Gives You Pickles, Make It Into Soup

rating: G | cw: none | wc: 920 | tags: established relationship, domestic bliss, soup | prompt: Love is silently passing them a pickle because you know it’s their favourite

written for @steddielovemonth

“So Gareth was supposed to stay on the drums, right?” Eddie waves his hands in the air where he sits on the counter. “That’s like his whole thing since he joined the band.”

“Okay.” Steve nods, glancing over at Eddie as he starts sliding the chopped carrots and potatoes into the pot from the cutting board.

“But during practice, which was today, he says that he wants to play bass guitar. Which, in another day, I would be completely cool with and the other guys will be like, ‘Yeah, Gareth, follow your heart’s intent and pick another instrument that calls out to you.’”

“That’s what you would say.” Steve points out just because he knows that Eddie’s that kind of person who says such long-winded compliments. He fills the pot with cold water from the sink, just barely remembering to throw in a pound of the meat bones to complete the broth.

“Okay, yeah, I said that.” Eddie rolls his eyes. Then he raises an index finger, pointing it up to the ceiling for no particular reason. “But I didn’t! I said none of that because Gareth said he wanted to change instruments today. The day before we will have our venue show!”

Steve drops his mouth open in a wide ‘O’ because he’s that invested in the secret drama of Eddie’s band. “He didn’t.”

“He did.” Eddie shakes his head mournfully. “You can imagine our reactions.”

Steve hums, opening the jar of pickles and plucking one out to pass it to Eddie. Eddie takes it and bites it without a second thought. There’s a couple pickles left in the jar since Steve had already blended the brine earlier so his boyfriend could finish them.

After a few chews and swallows, Eddie continues his tale of mutual devastation, still oblivious to Steve’s cooking. Good. Because this has been in Steve’s plans for weeks ever since he went to the farmer’s market and struck a lovely conversation with that Polish couple. He watches the boiling pot, making sure his attention is perfectly divided between the timer and Eddie’s story.

“-and then Jeff said, ‘How about I switch with the bass, Frankie does the second guitar, and you do the drums?’ I told him, ‘Don’t you remember my last time playing with the drums?’ Jeff just said, ‘Oh yeah, right.’ Then-”

Setting the stove’s temperature down to shimmer, Steve slowly pours in the blended pickle in the broth, mixing it together. He sees Eddie has finished his pickle so Steve passes him another.

This time, Eddie ferociously tears a chunk off, green acid spitting out as he speaks with a full mouth, “Eventually, it was Gareth who finally stood himself up and said, ‘Yeah, you’re totally right, I shouldn’t switch out before tomorrow’s gig. But I’m still doing bass after that's done.’”

“So who’s doing the drums?” Steve crosses his arms, leaning his hip on the counter besides Eddie.

“That’s the thing!” Eddie throws his hands up. Unfortunately, so does the half-eaten pickle. It hits the ceiling with a tiny splat. The two men stare up at it, Steve with genuine surprise and Eddie with horror. Before Eddie can splutter out apologies, Steve wordlessly kisses him and gives him the last pickle from the jar. Eddie carefully eats the whole thing with a bright-red face and eyes pointed downwards. Cute.

Steve double checks the soup. The lid’s so steamed over that he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s been stained completely white. He takes that cue to take it off and shut the stove for it to cool.

Eddie finally speaks, “Yeah, we have no idea who our drummer could be. Like, Gareth’s good but neither of us are. Frankie has good rhythm but he’s better with guitar. I can’t drum for shit. Same with Jeff.”

“Bet that’s a problem for Future Eddie and his friends.” Steve quips, slowly mixing the soup around.

Eddie barks out a laugh. He hops off the counter and stands behind Steve, peeking over at the pot. “This smells delicious by the way. What soup is it?”

Steve makes a shushing gesture to which Eddie responds by biting his shoulder. Steve rolls his eyes and contemplates if he should put in the half and half cream now. The Polish woman at the market had said it was better to wait for the soup to cool enough before adding the cream and parsley. He shrugs and just dumps it anyway.

He retrieves the bowls and scoops a good amount of the soup. “Careful, it’s still hot.” Steve warns as he passes it to Eddie’s eager hands. “And eat at the table this time.”

Eddie sticks a tongue out at him but does so. Steve watches with bated breath as Eddie carefully blows on his spoon before closing his mouth around it. He sees the exact second when Eddie’s eyes widen and his body going stock still. For a terrifying moment, Steve worries that he had messed up the recipe and Eddie was going to spit it out in disgust.

But within a blink of an eye, Eddie’s standing in front of him. Hands clenching tightly on his shoulders while his eyes start watering.

“Sweetheat,” Eddie says oh-so softly, “did you make soup from pickles… for me?”

Steve smiles at him sweetly and gently squeezes Eddie’s wrists. “Pickles are your favourite after all.”

Naturally, Eddie cries his eyes out with blabbering declarations of his unending love for Steve. Steve is more than happy to hold his boyfriends and return those favors.

#if anyone makes me pickle soup we shall have an autumn wedding #klaus writes #steddie #stranger things #steddielovemonth

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 1 month

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Down Bad - A Joel Miller Drabble

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Pre Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 800 Summary: You get ghosted after a one night stand with your handsome neighbor. Warnings: Drinking, smut remembrance, angst. A/N: Happy Tortured Poets Department release day! Thank you to @beskarandblasters for the amazing Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge AGAIN. I previously wrote Paper Rings for it. TBH, I stayed up until 3:30 AM listening to TTPD last night with @ohheypedrito and your girl is STRUGGLING TODAY, but well worth it. What an album.

Masterlist

One night out with your friends, one shared glance, one half smile, one opportunity, one drink bought, one phone number drunkenly tapped into his phone.

One date, one heated make out session in his truck, one moment of being heaven struck, one naked body left alone in your bed as he quietly leaves without a word.

One text telling him you had a good time, one week since you’ve heard from him, countless hours of yearning for your neighbor.

Across the street and two houses to the left, Joel Miller lives. Well manicured lawn, cute daughter who goes door to door selling Girl Scout cookies, large truck parked out the front dinged and well used.

You’ve been down bad for him since you first moved in, a quick introductory hello and wave one early morning as you took your dog for a walk, how could you be so attracted to a total stranger?

That stranger ignoring you from that moment on, leaving you feeling nuts. Sometimes you’d take your dog for a walk when you’d notice him mowing the lawn, sneaking a glance under your sunglasses, watching the sweat make his skin glisten. Teenage crush vibes, teenage petulance coming out because you can’t have him or his attention.

You never see him with another woman there, only his loud, precocious brother Tommy who stops to talk with you whenever you’re outside. You know he likes you, but you’re too drawn to his older brother’s beam to even want to lead him on.

That night shared between the two of you, it almost feels like an evil experiment. He fucked you, fucked you hard, stared into your eyes as he came all over you, devoured your cunt as if he was starving, made you cum so hard it felt like you were floating in a cosmic cloud of sparks, then he left you naked and alone. He owned your body, like it was some sort of hostile takeover.

You’re barely even sure it happened, like if you speak about the existence of that night, everybody will tell you it never happened, that you’re nuts.

Why did he leave you like that? Why did he strand you the way he did? Why can’t you have him? Why cant you have an us?

Doesn’t he know what you would do for his attention? How you feel like you could just die when you think back to that night? You’re pathetic for him, isn’t it romantic?

You replay the words he uttered against your skin as he fucked you. “You feel so fucking good, like you were made for me.”

The taste of your sweat against your lips makes you almost want to cry as you try to run the thoughts of him away on the treadmill at the gym. The last time you sweat like this his cock was stretching you, his hand holding your cheek, his tongue languidly licking into your mouth.

——

After a night of staring at the ceiling, sleep not visiting you, tossing and turning not being able to get the thought of the weight of his body against yours, you decide to sit out on your porch with coffee in hand, staring at the sky as dawn approaches. A door slamming across the street startles you. He’s outside. This is it, you live in the same old familiar town, he can’t escape you, you can’t escape him. You trudge across the street, only clad in your shorts and your old Rangers shirt. You wave at him to get his attention as he finishes lifting his tool box onto his lift gate.

You see him swallow as you stand at the edge of his driveway.

“G’morning,” he nods. “Quite early.”

“It is. Could’t sleep.”

“Happens to me too.”

“Mm,” you tap your foot, arms folded across your chest. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

“S’complicated.”

“Try me, it’d make no difference.”

“Alright,” he runs a hand through his hair, “you’re too good. I don’t think it’s smart… for me to be with someone right now. Too much going on, ’n it’s safer if we just leave it at that. It’s better for you.”

“So, you fuck me, whisper all those sweet things in my ear, make me feel like I’m the chosen one, then just leave? How romantic Joel.”

“Never said I was the romantic type.”

“No, you’re just the fuck ‘em and strand ‘em. I guess.”

“Listen,” he looks down at his watch, “I gotta get goin’, got an important job to start. I really would like to talk more, I respect you too much ’n I really like you, I just think it’s better if you find someone else.”

“Right, well, see you around neighbor,” you bite.

Fuck it, you can’t have him.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #taylor swift #ttpd #down bad #the tortured poets department

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flowerandblood · 2 months

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The Temple of the War

[ Ares • Ettore x Aphrodite • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, hate sex, smut, angst, violence, domination, swearing, marital infidelity ]

[ description: Although she thought it would be a fleeting affair, her disturbing relationship with the god of war only deepens, condemning them both to any attempt to reach an agreement. However, her brother loses his patience, wanting to find out what his lover gave Paris in exchange for the apple that Hera and Athena also deeply desired. ]

This is part 2 of The Temple of the God but it can be read as a standalone story. 💕

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

She wasn't sure she had ever felt anything like she did then, that night, as his heavy, sweaty, muscular body lay on top of hers, his hot breath enveloping her cheek as the last waves of pleasure and heat surged through her.

She stroked his smooth buttocks with her hands feeling his hips rock softly in some natural, subconscious reflex, his half-soft manhood still throbbing deep inside her.

She heard him swallow hard and grunt before he rose up on his elbows, looking down at her with his lips slightly parted, sliding out of her slowly with a quiet click of her moisture, rising up on his knees, stepping off her bed as if nothing had happened, making her press her lips together, disappointed.

"Are you going to simply walk away?" She asked coldly, saw him stop in his half-step, glancing over his shoulder at her, some kind of shock in his eyes, as if she had surprised him.

"Hm?"

"Are you going to leave me like this?"

He looked at her dully, clearly not understanding what she meant, what he was supposed to do now, what more she expected of him.

She realised, sighing heavily with disapproval, that after his aggressive rapprochements with women he was simply leaving them, going back to his own affairs, thinking no more of them, not knowing the tenderness of embraces, of soft, dreamy kisses, of hands trailing over warm, soft, naked bodies, of peaceful, deep sleep after an intense closeness.

"What do you demand of me, sister?" He asked her impassively like a soldier asking his commander for an order; she raised herself up on her elbows, looking at him intensely.

"I do not demand. Do you desire that I should now, after you have warmed me, be left alone in a cold bed?" She asked regretfully. She saw him blink, his eyebrows raised, his gaze quickly traveling over her naked, bared flesh, his Adam's apple waved hard as he swallowed loudly.

"That is not my desire." He replied calmly, looking at her expectantly, his silhouette frozen in stillness like a marble statue, the same kind people placed to honour them in their temples.

She nodded, moving aside, looking at him expectantly. He hummed under his breath, his gaze softening a tad as he lay down beside her lazily, sighing quietly through his nose, watching her, his large hand in some simple, primitive gesture rising to her breast, squeezing it uncertainly. He lifted his gaze to her face, apparently wanting to see if he was causing her pain again as he had when he had first done it.

Something about how direct, how roughly honest he was captivated her; years of poetic chants under her windows, long, theatrical declarations of love that in the end turned out to be lies had tired her.

She thought, surprised, that perhaps such a change would do her some good.

Surprise flashed through his gaze as she moved closer to him, placing her hand on his, encouraging him not to stop, laying her body on her side facing him, looking straight into his face, for the first time so shamelessly, so closely.

His facial features were sharp, as if the sculptor had struck the stone with his chisel too brutally and without finesse, his mouth full, his eyes as dark as the night around her. He shuddered and swallowed hard, drawing in quiet breath as her hand rose tentatively to his cheek, closed his eyes as her fingertips brushed over his warm, soft skin.

She ran her hand like this over his exposed flesh, over his jaw, his neck, his collarbones, his shoulders, his chest, feeling him flinch as waves of heat surged through his body, the flick of her fingers leaving a trail of his goosebumps behind.

He opened his eyes as she suddenly took her hand away, placing it casually against her body, the fingers of his hand from her breasts slid down to her waist and from it to her buttocks, squeezing it, pushing her closer to him with a sure, soft movement, she felt his hard manhood on her stomach, ready again for him to possess her.

Though she wanted to protest, she let him take her for the second time that night, her folds slick from his seed and her moisture allowed him to slip easily into her hot interior, a low, animal grunt of satisfaction came from his throat as he threw her thigh against his waist, spreading her wide on his fat cock.

"I can do this all night, sister. You know I can." He exhaled with a hint of menace, from which her lips parted in a shy moan as her walls clenched around him tightly, making him gasp. He accelerated his pace, his free hand clenching in her hair, forcing her to look straight into his empty black eyes as he pounded aggressively into her again and again with loud splats of his thighs against her buttocks.

"This is what you want, isn't it? You despise these poets. Those weak, little boys. You don't believe them, because what's the truth in their pretty words? Hm? This is the truth, sister." He breathed out, and for some reason she clamped her hand on his broad chest and kissed him, heard his low groan of surprise, his tongue came out to meet her immediately, licking her encouragingly, teasing her with the very tip as she longed for him to slide it deep down her throat.

"− take care of me, brother −" She whispered in surprise as her voice trembled, as she felt tears under her eyelids, wishing for someone to protect her, for someone to watch over her, to be safe in someone's arms at last.

She felt him quiver all over, he gasped loudly as if he had waited his whole life for those very words, his hands clenched painfully tight on her hair and bare buttock, forcing her to fit him all the way in as deeply as he desired. Both of them moaned helplessly as they came out to meet their bodies, entwined together like vines, sweaty and hot with desire, his cock throbbing intensely inside her, betraying that he was close to fulfilment.

She thought in disbelief that he truly desired her all this time.

This rapprochement was more tender, more passionate than the first one, shamelessly close, her breasts pressed against his chest, their fingers digging into the naked skin of their bodies, their legs thrown over each other, making it so that if either of them wanted it, they couldn't break free.

"− beg −" He growled like a wild animal, panting right into her mouth, so she begged, again, again and again; she didn't even know when warm tears of relief and regret ran down her cheeks, his hot, accelerated breath enveloping her face, their kisses were an aggressive, wet dance of their tongues and lips, loud and slick.

After his last few desperate, deep, confident thrusts she was sure that all Olympus heard their groans of pleasure as they both finally reached their peak.

"− stay inside me −" She mumbled out, panting heavily along with him once the first waves of pleasure flowed through their bodies. She heard him hum under his breath; she knew he was grinning mischievously, his hand in a careless, lazy motion pressed her cheek against his chest, all wet from exertion.

"− sleep −"

Despite his command, she got no rest that night, and though she slept only for her own pleasure, unlike mortals do not need it every day, never before had anyone fucked her as many times in a row as he had, and as their brother, Helios, appeared in his chariot lighting up the sky, they both breathed heavily, his face snuggled into her bare, sweaty shoulder, one of his hands on her breast, the other on her womb.

"You will bear my children." He ordered, as if it was an obvious decision to which he was sure they were both agreed. She closed her eyes, sighing quietly, knowing that if he was going to leave this amount of his seed deep inside her frequently, for her to carry his legacy under her heart was only a matter of time.

She had no intention of denying him that.

To her surprise, he had visited her every night since that day, leaving his barracks late at night, returning there only at dawn.

He wanted her to satisfy him in every way possible.

She wasn't sure if he preferred to watch his fat cock thrust deep down her throat or between her thighs, she noticed, however, that as she caressed him with her tongue and her lips, licking and sucking him unhurriedly, sounds came from his throat that she hadn't heard before, higher and more helpless, as if the sight of her like this, with her mouth full of his swollen manhood, completely overwhelmed him.

"− f-fuck − faster −" He was panting then, clamping his fingers tighter on her soft hair, forcing her to quicken her pace, as impatient as always, wanting only to come down her throat as quickly as possible, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat again and again, making her gag.

Out of sheer mischief, she gave the tip of his length a few encouraging, teasing licks of her pink, fleshy tongue, feeling his body quiver then, his hot spend spilling deep down her throat with his loud curses and groans of pleasure.

She swallowed everything he gave her, feeling him watching her; he hissed quietly, tilting his head back, clamping his hand warningly on her hair as she began to suck him again, his manhood twitching vigorously between her lips and throbbing, oversensitive after his fulfilment. However, after a moment he gave in, allowing her to repeat the whole process, his gaze hazy, hot, his lips puffy with desire and emotion.

"− sister −" He whispered then, completely absorbed in his deepest thoughts in a way that sent shivers down her spine, betraying what he truly wanted.

She could rarely count on him reciprocating in a similar way, but when he did he was merciless, eating her like a starved man; his tongue forced its way aggressively inside her, pressing and licking the bud between her muscles from which she was shaken again and again by waves of pleasure, his nose pressed against her pearl, his fingers digging into the soft, smooth skin of her hips, not letting her escape even when she begged him to stop.

She could hear his mocking grunt then, his dark eyes shining suddenly with a dangerous gleam, one that sent a cold sweat running down her back, he swapped his lips for his cock then, all hard and swollen from listening to her moans.

Rumours of their affair spread quickly across Olympus. Hermes tried to lay a trap for them, jealous of her and the fact that she had never let him possess her, however, when her fierce lover caught him in the act he would have nearly killed him with brutal, swift blows of his fist, if only their brother wasn't immortal.

Though still silent, cold and distant, in his own way he responded to her request, protecting her the way he was capable of.

"What have you done?" He asked her one day, infuriated, startling her, opening the door to her chamber with a loud slam, bursting inside at noon in full armour, his jaw clenched, his nostrils quivering in anxious breath.

He was furious.

She swallowed hard, putting aside her embroidery, looking at him in disbelief.

"What do you mean, brother?"

"What did you give him for that fucking apple? Hm? What did you give him to satisfy your vanity? Did you suck his cock? Did you let him come deep inside you?" He hissed coldly, walking towards her like an enraged, ferocious animal with the loud clang of his gilded steel armour, ready to hit her, to hurt her, to pierce her with his sword, to destroy her in every way possible.

She rose from her seat, furrowing her brow.

"I gave him what he asked for. I give him Helen of Sparta."

She saw him stop, hesitation in his eyes, as if he was comparing her words with his knowledge. He swallowed loudly, his broad chest rising and falling quickly in accelerated, heavy breaths.

"How."

She turned her face towards the large windows of her chamber open to the view of the halves and rivers around Olympus and sighed loudly.

"He wished to possess her. I described to him her desires and her weaknesses. How he could make her content."

"This whore ran away with him. The Achaeans declared war on the Trojans." He growled low. She looked at him wrinkling her brows and snorted, shrugging her shoulders.

"The God of War does not rejoice that in the name of love blood will be shed again? I do not follow your desires, brother."

"Be silent, woman. Do not speak on my behalf." He grunted warningly, looking at her with a sharp, piercing gaze from which she felt a drop of cold sweat run down her bared back. She smirked involuntarily and laughed helplessly, shaking her head.

"It is you who speak on my behalf, boasting before your brothers and comrades that I believed your words and, out of feminine naivety, let you between my thighs. I gave you what you desired and you come and spit in my face, jealous that another man could reach for what you think is yours. No wonder our father didn't give you my hand."

She snarled, and he stared at her, the corner of his mouth raised slightly in a grimace that could be called a smile if not for his gaze, his eyes wide open, filled to the brim with fire and rage, his hands clenched into fists, his nostrils quivering with each of his deep breaths.

A silence filled with suffocating tension fell between them, the quiet singing of birds outside her chamber windows, the rustling of grass and leaves, the pleasant breeze around them, cool and crisp.

She knew he was going to do it, but still she was surprised that a few brisk steps from him were all it took for him to be in front of her, turning her violently with her back to him, clasping his hand in her hair.

She whined helplessly when her cheek hit the table top in front of her, and whimpered loudly when she heard his fingers tear the material of her thin robe at the height of her buttocks, the fat head of his cock pressed against her fleshy walls without any preparation, without any caress.

"Do you think I fucking brag about how much seed I left in your womb to my soldiers? I have killed hundreds of those who dared to dream aloud about you and your body with my own hands." He gasped through clenched teeth, imposing a violent, fast pace on her at once, thrusting furiously inside her with sure, deep stabs of his hips. She heard his low chuckle when all it took was for the thick tip of his cock to rub a few times against the spot inside her, for her quivering to begin to be accompanied by the loud clicks of her moisture.

"I know exactly what you're doing. You like to fucking tease me, don't you? You know the way I'll fuck you then, hm?" He growled, one of his hands pressing her head against the table, the other digging hard into the bare skin of her buttocks, pounding into her so fast and brutally that he didn't slide out.

She could tell that he was staring at the place where their bodies joined, at what he was doing to her, at how wide he was opening her on his fat, aching length.

"− yes −" She mewled, heard him sigh loudly as he fucked her relentlessly, sinking his short fingernails painfully hard into the delicate skin of her hip as if he was just waiting for this; they both began to moan low hearing how loudly their bodies slapped against each other again and again.

"− that's what I thought − fucking take it now −" He snarled mockingly; she felt his words do something to her, the sensation she was experiencing was on the verge of ecstasy from pain and pleasure.

She cried out loudly, mumbling something, probably his name and how pleasurable it was. She lost control of her body as her walls began to suddenly squeeze him, sucking him inside.

"− shut the fuck up − mghmm − s-sister − fuck −" He gasped and she heard him groan low, feeling her fulfilment, her moisture running down his thighs, his hot spend finally filling her womb with his loud sigh of relief.

He rocked his hips for a moment longer with a lewd, sticky slap of skin against skin, his grip eased and she sighed heavily, feeling immense relief, wonderful shivers ran through her body, something like a tickle throbbing at the tips of her fingertips, her lips and inside lower abdomen.

"− you should stop doing this − at least until you're carrying my child inside you − " He gasped; she could feel him looking at her, his manhood still pulsing deep inside her, his large hand slid lower, stroking her slightly rounded abdomen for a moment in a manner that could be described as tender.

"− I can't −" She mumbled out, ashamed at how pleasurable it was, how wonderful it felt to be out of control, that there was something she had no power over.

His element, his aggressiveness, his unpredictability attracted her, just as he was drawn to her understanding of his complex, violent nature.

He hummed under his breath and she closed her eyes as his free hand took the unruly curls of her hair from her face with a gentle flick of his wrist.

"− let this little boy fuck his Helen of Sparta − I'll support you in the coming war − I'll gladly spit in the face of Athena and your sweet husband −" He sneered, and she sighed in relief, pleased with his words, rising on her hands.

His strong arm embraced her at the waist, his free hand clamped down on her cheeks, turning her face in his direction, their lips pressed together in a greedy, sticky kiss. She heard his low, drawn-out murmur of satisfaction, his soft manhood still twiched deep inside her.

"− brother −" She whispered, his nose pressed against her hot cheek in a sudden, surprising surge of tenderness, his hand ran over her soft, smooth hair, only one more word left his lips.

"− undress −"

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sideofanime · 3 months

Text

Stay

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Sanemi (Demon Slayer)

Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of fighting/violence

Word Count: 12K

Summary: You and Sanemi were once close until a fateful decision tore you both apart. A year later, you still struggle with your feelings for him, but Sanemi isn't going to make it easy for you to confess.

The wind hadn’t always been your enemy, but you felt each strike across exposed skin like a knife slicing through flesh as you raced through the forest. Under normal circumstances, your travels were poised with that special degree of flashiness that your mentor had instilled in you - moving with the wind and dodging every obstacle. But you found yourself in an unexpected rush, and you were pushing yourself far beyond your usual limits.

It wasn’t like you to lose track of time. In fact, if it hadn’t been for a recent clash with a demon that left a heavy burden of responsibility on your shoulders, you wouldn’t have forgotten the emergency meeting. Not until Kanao reminded you that her own mentor had already departed earlier that same morning.

For the most part, it was rare for a meeting of all ten Hashira to convene on such short notice, and it was rarer still for you to waltz into the Ubuyashiki estate after it had already started. Yet, you seemed to be going for some kind of record as this would be the second time you were showing up late to a meeting of this magnitude. You wondered, however briefly, if this would be strike two as your master had already sat you down once to scold you for the behavior.

You doubted they would extend you the courtesy of waiting to start this time around, and you could feel the heavy presence of your fellow Hashira as you neared your destination. Slowing to a stop on the estate’s grounds, feeling the exertion of pushing yourself in your throbbing feet. You allowed tentative steps until you stood outside the room where they had gathered, and you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable embarrassment.

It was with an uncharacteristic shyness that you slid the door open with trembling hands, and you could feel all ten pairs of eyes land in your direction. You grimaced at the attention: both for your undoubtedly unsightly appearance and the reprimand you were sure to face from your master once all was said and done.

Even so, Kagaya Ubuyashiki offered his usual generous smile when you dropped down next to Obanai, flinching at the hostile hiss from Kaburamaru. Unsurprising, considering the shoulders he coiled himself around as Obanai had ardently hated you for as long as you could remember. In return, your falcon Kaya returned a growl of her own, wings flexing as she perched on your shoulder. She had been flying behind you on the way over, but had taken to using you as her usual seat, talons flexing against your skin.

“Y/N,” Kagaya greeted you once you recovered your bearings. “Glad you could join us.”

“Sorry,” you whispered, startling again when Kaburamaru struck out in your direction, and you heard Obanai’s wince after Mitsuri elbowed him in the side.

You shot her a grateful smile, waving your hand to ward off Kaya’s returning strike. There was little doubt in your mind that your falcon could tear through Kaburamaru’s scales if given an opportunity. And you didn’t need to piss off Obanai more than you already had.

Thankfully, your master continued from where he had left off, and you glanced over your shoulder to meet the disapproving gaze of Kyojuro Rengoku. You wilted under his stare, feeling your face blossom with red, wondering if he knew the reason for your delayed appearance. It wouldn’t bode well for your reputation because Rengoku wasn’t much of a gossip, and if he was aware of your transgressions, then it likely meant everyone else knew as well.

It also meant that he knew, and your eyes unwittingly sought out Sanemi’s from across the room. You swallowed hard when your gaze became ensnared with his own, anger and hostility flickering vibrant flecks of fuschia in those irises you had once found comfort in. Sanemi knew, and you couldn’t help but deflate. He would take it the wrong way, and there was no reasoning with the stubborn man once he made up his mind.

You looked away in shame, keeping your head low as you focused on your master’s words. Apparently, there was a recent sighting of Muzan Kibutsuji in one of the villages near the Ubuyashiki estate. It might’ve been a coincidence, but nothing ever seemed to be the case with Muzan. The Demon King lacked that sort of nonchalance, preferring a clinical intentionality that meant the worst for your fellow Slayers.

“Be on vigilance,” your master warned, and you nodded along with the others. You could at least agree on your collective disdain for Muzan and the demons who remained loyal to him.

Your master quietly worked out a plan to investigate the alleged sighting: you weren’t surprised that he was dispatching Tomioka - the water Hashira made for a formidable opponent. And he was disarmingly good at moving with great stealth when he went on these reconnaissance operations.

The meeting adjourned thereafter, and you grunted when Obanai stood and let his knee graze your shoulder. “Prick,” you hissed at him. “Maybe next time I’ll let Kaya have a taste of serpent for her breakfast.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he spoke in that unnervingly calm voice. You had always loathed how controlled he appeared, no matter the circumstances.

“Iguro,” Mitsui gently interceded, curling one of her arms around his own. “Let’s have lunch together.”

He softened immediately at her words, and you rolled your eyes at the blatant favortism. At least it made him forget all about you, and you gave Mitsuri a subtle nod, slowly rising from where you had been crouched on the floor. You stretched your arms over your head, catching sight of Rengoku speaking in a low tone with Tengen. That was never a good sign.

It distracted you enough to miss the flash of purple at your side. Until she made her presence known. “You made quite an entrance,” a familiar voice spoke.

You let out an exhausted sigh, seeking Shinobu from the corner of your eye. “What have you heard?”

“What are you expecting me to say?” she returned in that annoyingly grating voice.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you longingly looked at the exit door. “You run the Butterfly Mansion. Shouldn’t you know everything?”

“Maybe not the whole truth,” Shinobu said with a little giggle as if amused by your situation. “That Slayer came in just last week, and you’ve suddenly made more appearances than the entire duration of our acquanticeship.”

Well, when she put it that way… “Listen,” you started, only to break off when you realized that your master was approaching the two of you, and his presence was not to be ignored.

“Y/N.”

You would have to clear the air another time, steeling yourself for the inevitable. “Sir?” you greeted him politely, reaching up to stroke a finger down Kaya’s chest.

Shinobu hummed, giving your master a polite smile as she followed Rengoku and Tengen out of the room, leaving just you, your master, and Sanemi. Kaya chirped happily at the sight of him, even as your own heart warred inside your chest. “May we speak alone, Sanemi?” Kagaya requested, and you restlessly shifted between your feet.

“Of course,” Sanemi replied, ever the polite gentleman when he wanted to be, making sure to bump his shoulder against your own as he waltzed by. Even more obnoxious was Kaya’s quick dismissal of you, hopping onto Sanemi’s shoulder as if wholly unaware of the blanketed tension between her two favorite people.

You were annoyed at her betrayal, knowing Sanemi did that on purpose just to aggravate you. He didn’t even bother to give Kaya back, leaving the room with your falcon in tow. But with a considerable demonstration of patience, you managed to school your expression, dropping to your knees in a show of respect to your master.

“It’s not like you to be late,” Kagaya remarked, coming to a stop in front of you. His fingers curled beneath your chin, forcing your neck to incline in his direction. “This is your second time.”

You wriggled under the weight of those unseeing eyes. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“Oh?”

“A young slayer who helped me on a recent mission,” you explained. “He was injured protecting me, and I’ve been going to see him to keep progress on his recovery. I lost track of time this morning. But I think…some of the others have taken it the wrong way.”

“How so?”

You immediately blushed. “I mean, they think my visits are less…innocent, sir.”

“And this has caused problems with your fellow Hashira?”

“With some of them,” you agreed, frowning as you thought of Obanai and Sanemi. The two had seemingly decided without conscious volition that they would be best friends. They always had each other’s backs, and it made sense that when one held a grudge, the other would also harbor the same resentment, even if unwarranted.

“This displeases me to hear,” Kagaya remarked, and you hated the idea of disappointing him. “After all, you have the same goals.”

“It’s my fault,” you said. “I will do my best to rectify the misunderstanding.”

“I know that you will,” Kagaya agreed. “Is this incident related to what happened the last time you were late?”

You swallowed hard. “No.”

That day in question had happened almost a year ago, when you and Sanemi fought to the point of mutual tears and splintered feelings, destroying any semblance of friendship. It had upset you so much that you slept well past your morning wake up call, causing you to nearly miss the entirety of the Hashira meeting in question. “When you fought with Sanemi.”

You nodded. “It wasn’t his fault. I was the one to blame.”

“Fights are usually mutual.”

The simple words surprised you, but you kept your expression blank. “It was my doing, sir.”

He didn’t understand. When you knew you were at fault, you often punished yourself - perhaps a result of your intense Kunoichi training from your younger years. The fight with Sanemi had been your own doing, and that innocent Slayer’s near-death experience had been your fault as well. Your thoughts became plagued with endless reminders of those occasions, playing through your head like a looping slideshow, exhausting you to the point that you were completely thrown off your game.

“You’re too hard on yourself, Y/N,” he said with a soft smile. “See to it that you learn to forgive yourself. I think this may resolve future problems.”

“Yes, sir,” you said - even though you would’ve feigned agreement for whatever he proposed, thinking yourself quite circumspect to have gotten off with such a generous punishment.

Unfortunately, it was easier said than done in your case. Forgiveness was hard-fought where you came from, especially if it meant pardoning one’s own transgressions. The worst sin of them all.

Rengoku was like an older brother, having been friends with Tengen for as long as you could remember. The two of them practically helped raise you after you ran away from your clan. Even moreseo when Tengen took you under his wing as a Tsukugo.

You weren’t surprised when you noticed Rengoku lingering outside after your master dismissed you. He was always checking in. “You waited,” you remarked as way of greeting.

“Tardiness is not an attribute tolerated in your Clan,” Kyojuro chuckled. “At least, not the way Tengen has explained it to me.”

“No,” you agreed, and you were touched that Rengoku had went out of his way to understand. He had done so ever since he first learned about the warrior traditions taught to you and Tengen as children - having grown up in the same clan of Shinobi and Kunoichi fighters before you both turned your backs on those ways.

“That means I should be worried about you,” Kyojuro continued, hands crossed behind his back. “If such values are so recklessly abandoned after having been instilled in you since childhood.”

“I wouldn’t say recklessly,” you argued, turning your thoughts to the Slayer that had caused such turmoil. He was young, far too young in your opinion, and you had been surprised to have him join you on your latest mission. It wasn’t uncommon for young Slayers to accompany you when a mission posed to be a challenge. They could assist you and learn in the process. But this Slayer had been far too willing to intercede and take the full brunt of a strike meant for you.

It was the same kind of self-sacrifice that your Clan honored in their warriors. But one that Tengen had taught you meant nothing if the mission was left in shambles and there were no warriors left to fight another day. For years, you struggled to dismiss the instilled inclination, even after hearing it disparaged so easily from such a prominent member of your former Clan, and it wasn’t until Sanemi Shinazugawa sat down to speak to you that you learned to value yourself.

“What’s the point?” Sanemi had grunted, sitting next to you side by side on the roof of his Pillar estate. For several weeks, you had been spending all of your nights with him, preferring his company to the silence of your little estate. “If you go down in a mission like that, with all those kids who need you for guidance, how the fuck are they supposed to survive?”

Your heart ached at the memory, even as you reaffirmed that Rengoku was wrong - the recklessness that defined so many of your Clan’s teachings had gradually disappeared in place of a strong sense of self-preservation. The guilt too, that had once plagued you for putting your own life over others, was nothing but a distant feeling.

Even if you still battled daily with the nastier parts of yourself that had been molded so impurely by your clan.

Rengoku laughed at your denial, but his eyes spoke volumes. “Don’t give me that look,” you huffed at him, hating the height advantage he had over you.

“What look?”

“Your disapproval,” you remarked. “I can feel it.”

“Fascinating,” Kyujuro hummed. “But I don’t wish to argue.”

“Advice then?”

“Always!”

You had grown used to his boisterous attitude, but that didn’t mean you wanted to deal with it at this moment. “Rengoku-”

“Y/N!” he returned. “First, tell me about your relations with this new slayer.”

Your face instantaneously heated at his bold words. “There are no relations!” you hissed.

“Really? Everyone else speaks differently,” he said, forcing an eye roll from you. “And here I thought you had affections for young Shinazugawa.”

“Where did you get that idea?” you deadpan, wondering how anyone could mistake the frequent exchange of barbs between you and Sanemi as affectionate.

Rengoku didn’t respond immediately, instead taking the time to study you with a curious look. “I may not be the best at reading people, but I had never seen Shinazugawa spend as much time with anyone like he did with you.”

“You have no idea-” you started, only to break off at the sound of approaching footsteps and the all too-familiar call of your raven. “Great,” you muttered, trying to ignore Kaya’s excited chirps. Your battle-trained falcon was difficult to impress, and only one man had ever successfully won over her favor.

As well as your own.

You felt Kaya return to your shoulder at the same moment Sanemi chose to speak. “You were late again.”

You narrowed your eyes, releasing a long-suffering sigh. “I know.”

“What’s your excuse this time?” he questioned, and you hated the condescension in his tone. Like he was better than you.

“Y/N…”

Rengoku’s intonation of your name held a warning, but Sanemi had learned long ago how to crawl under your skin. You brushed aside Kyojuro, turning around to face Sanemi, hating the smug grin lighting a teasing glint in his gaze. “Back off, Shinazugawa. I don’t have time for your shit.”

“Yeah? But you waste our time fucking off with that slayer?”

There was a strange undercurrent of something vile in his question that you had never heard before. It felt bitter coming from him, crawling across your skin with a shiver.

You weren’t surprised that Sanemi knew about the slayer, but the idea of you fucking around with anyone had your hackles raising. You hated that everyone had assumed the worst; instead of an innocent gesture, they decided you had taken the slayer to bed. As if you would use your position of power over him in such a way.

“What’s your problem?” you snapped.

“I’m looking at my problem,” he growled in return.

“You have no idea,” you said. “You couldn’t be more wrong, and it’s none of your business.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Rengoku quickly inserted himself, coming to stand between you and Sanemi. “Y/N, Tengen wants to see you later. If you leave now, you can be at his estate before dark.”

You swallowed down your pride, glaring at Sanemi. That ego of yours, fed from your parents at such a young age, had never gone away. “Fine,” you agreed, even though it physically hurt to be the one to back down.

The combined weight of their stares as you retreated felt like heavy flames rolling over your shoulders. Rengoku would no doubt reprimand Sanemi for his behavior, but the Wind Hashira had a rebellious streak. He had decided that you were his enemy, and no simple conversation would change his mind.

It hurt you to recall the past and your more tender exchanges. You hadn’t always shared a hostile relationship with Sanemi. When you met for the first time, he made an off-hand comment about your small size, to which you responded in kind by laying him out on his ass in the middle of the other gathered Hashira. After that, you both gradually warmed up to one another, spending a great deal of time training together as your breathing techniques were remarkably complementary. Your Falcon breathing thrived in the breezes afforded by his different wind forms, sharpening your attacks and allowing them to gain incredible speed.

Gyomei himself had once interrupted a session, making a random comment about your compatibility. You laughed at his observation, even as Sanemi remained unusually quiet from next to you. “Are you ready for your first mission?” Gyomei had asked.

“Of course,” you replied, closing your hands behind your back as you stood before the older Hashia proudly.

“I’ll be with her, so don’t get any ideas, idiot.” Sanemi glared at Gyomei, and you were surprised to learn that he requested to join your first mission, but you weren’t opposed to the idea. You thought about it a lot as you continued training, studying Sanemi in a different light. Afterward, laying side by side under the watchful gaze of the stars, you thought that your heart would burst from your chest, and it had nothing to do with the exertion of your training; rather, the proximity of Sanemi so close to you, scars awash in the gentle glow of the moon’s light.

You enjoyed your visits to Tengen’s lavish estate, especially when his wives joined you. Having come from the same clan of Shinobi and Kunoichi warriors, it wasn’t unusual for you to take comfort in their presence. Especially considering your close history together.

Originally, you were meant to be Tengen’s third wife, a point of contention between you and your own father. However, after Suma stepped forward and requested to be the third, you easily allowed her to take your place. Angering and ostracizing your parents in the process, and pushing you away to live on your own away from the Clan.

For a long time, you wandered from place to place, never quite fitting in. It was difficult to find work that suited you since your entire life had been spent training for battle and fighting as opposed to menial labor positions. You did the best you could, but found yourself miserable for the year you spent in isolation.

Eventually, Tengen sought you out after leaving the clan himself, and he managed to find you in a remote village. You had been surprised to see him, but it wasn’t all that shocking to learn that he cared too much to leave you to self-implode. It made sense considering all of your time spent together, nurturing romantic feelings, and he had been right about your tendency to shut down when things weren’t going the way you planned. “Is there room for a fourth wife?” you had joked with him, but he understood that you didn’t mean it, having never truly wanted a path that you didn’t choose for yourself. Instead, he agreed to take you on as his Tsukugo, training you up to become the Hashira that your younger self would’ve been proud to see.

Ironically, you would’ve made a great partner to Tengen - the two of you had quietly admitted that on numerous occasions. You had known him for your entire life, and you both thought alike, holding long conversations together without a trace of awkwardness, and your differences were complementary to one another. You even had your first kiss with Tengen, just to see if those compatibilites might extend physically. It had aroused you to shameful degree; although, you had certainly lost those feelings for him overtime, considering him a close friend and mentor as opposed to a real partner.

You frowned at the reminder, thinking about the differences between Tengen and Sanemi. At different points in your life, you had affections for both Hashira; although, a reluctant part of you admitted that your feelings for Tengen had disappeared whereas your attachment to Sanemi had never quite done the same. But it was too late to entertain such feelings, even if it hurt to settle for the torrid relationship your friendship had become.

Things were complicated with Sanemi. But it was much easier with Tengen, and you found yourself smiling as you stepped up to the main entrance of his estate. “Y/N!”

You recognized Suma’s voice immediately, glancing to the side as she ran around from the back of the mansion. “Suma,” you greeted her cheerfully, groaning when she threw her arms around your shoulders, jostling Kaya from her place on your shoulder. Your falcon let out an ear-piecing screech before taking to the skies, no doubt deciding that she wouldn’t be needed at the Uzui estate.

“We’ve been waiting for you!” she cried, keeping you locked tightly to her as you both ambled through the door.

Makio and Hinatsuru were waiting inside, laughing at the way you tried to pull out of Suma’s arms. “You’re smothering her,” Hinatsuru said, and Suma reluctantly allowed you to escape her grip. “Tengen is in the drawing room,” she continued. “He wants to speak to you alone.”

“Alone?” you released a breath through your nose, feeling your heart drop at the somber note in her tone. “Okay.”

“He’s worried about you, Y/N,” Suma added, searching you closely.

“I get it,” you muttered, even though it was hard to stay mad at any of them. But you had been lectured all day, and Tengen had a tendency to ramble on for hours if he felt like he needed to do so.

You obeyed regardless, leaving the three girls to huddle close together, whispering amongst themselves, as you followed the familiar meandering hallways that never seemed to end - a testament to the size of Tengen’s mansion. Not that you expected anything less of the man. He enjoyed showing off in any way that he could.

The door was open when you arrived, stepping through to see Tengen already sitting on a cushion on the ground, legs crossed beneath him. You raised a brow, noting that the table was already set, a kettle of what smelled like tea at the center with two cups on either side.

You took your place without question, dropping down on the opposite cushion from where he watched you with a friendly smile. “You’re on time!” he remarked, and you snorted at the unamusing joke.

“I’ve heard enough about it,” you said. “From our master AND Rengoku.”

“Then I can keep my own words brief,” he replied, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“Let’s hear it then.”

“Y/N!”

��What?” you snapped, only feeling a little guilty for using such a snippish tone with him.

“Your mind is troubled,” Tengen said, ignoring your tempestutous temper. “I assume all is not right about what I’ve heard of you and this Slayer.”

You gritted your teeth, recalling to him the same explanation you had given your master. “Everyone was quick to assume the worst in me.”

“I see.” Tengen nodded. “Does that bother you?”

“Of course it does,” you snipped. “They all have bad opinions of my character.”

“Is it really everyone’s opinion you care about, or one person’s in particular?” Tengen asked with a smirk. “Shinazugawa, perhaps?”

“Is that what this is really about?” you asked. “You want to give me another talk about Sanemi?”

“He seems to be at the forefront of most of your troubles,” Tengen said. “You were quite heartbroken over your fight with him.”

“I wouldn’t say heartbroken,” you retorted, but Tengen could see right through you - right at the center of the affection you wore for Sanemi so clearly on your sleeve.

“Have you spoken to Sanemi about this misunderstanding?” Tengen asked, reaching over to pour himself a second cup of tea. “You used to talk quite often.”

“We don’t talk like that anymore,” you said, wincing at the pathetic way you sounded. Like a kicked puppy whose favorite person scolded them. “He’s infuriating. After I left the estate, he was right there questioning me. He even called me his problem.”

Tengen considered your words. “He’s very brash with his approach. You should’ve told him the truth!”

“He gave me no opportunity,” you said, wincing as you recalled the brief interaction. “He never does anymore…”

Pathetic. You were a lovesick fool. Sanemi could smash your face into the ground with the sole of his shoe and your silly heart would still find a way to beat off rhythm in his presence.

“It started after you told him about your marriage contract,” Tengen remarked, gaze boring into your own. “You don’t think that hurt him to hear?”

The marriage contract - the bane of your existence. It had once almost trapped you into a marriage you had never wanted with Tengen, and years later, the damn thing was still laughing at you. “He never told me,” you argued. “Sanemi has never said anything about having those kinds of feelings. He had plenty of chances to speak up if he did, and he knew I was trying to make things right with my parents and the clan.”

Even though you had abandoned the clan in favor of living on your own, you hated the thought of completely ostraciszing yourself - from the family that you still loved despite the past. Even if you no longer respected their traditions, you often thought back on the situation with a different light and a clearer head. There was only one regret that lingered, and it was the burdening responsibility you felt for your younger siblings - for leaving them behind to suffer the clan’s cruelty and twisted values. It became obvious to you that the only way you could extend an olive branch and see your siblings again, was agreeing to marry another Shinobi when he finally came of age.

You convinced yourself that you didn’t mind so much this time since it had been a Shinobi of your choosing, but there was a part of you that boiled at the idea of giving yourself away to someone you had no real feelings for. At least you could reconnect with your family - to the siblings you adored. The same brothers and sisters they wouldn’t allow you to visit since you left the clan, losing any privilege of being part of their lives.

At least this marriage came with freedom - you could still continue your duties as a Hashira while living away from the clan, and the Shinobi’s other wives could handle most of the duties expected of a spouse. The relationship, in your eyes, amounted to nothing more than your signature on a piece of paper. After that, everything would be right again, especially with your family. Maybe then you could lure your siblings away from negative influences.

But Sanemi hadn’t seen it the same way. When he learned about your new marriage contract, the two of you fought bitterly and without mincing your words. Even in the present, you couldn’t understand what bothered him so much - this was the only path you could take, and he had never given any indication that such a decision would lead to long-lasting repercussions to the closeness you once shared:

“You wear them proudly,” you had remarked to him on your last morning together. It wasn’t unusual for him to spend the night with you, and despite ordering a spare room prepared for his arrival, Sanemi had made himself more than comfortable in your bed.

“Hmmm?” He opened one eye to look at you, watching as you trailed your fingers across the scars on his exposed chest.

“I have something to tell you,” you whispered, as if the peace of the room would be disturbed at a higher register.

“What is it?” he asked with a lazy tone, more than content to wander back to sleep as his hands crossed behind his head, goosebumps forming in the wake of your light touches.

“I’m taking a brief leave of absence,” you said, and you could literally feel the muscles under your fingers tense as both eyes flew open.

“What for?” he immediately questioned, jostling you as he sat up higher. “How long?”

You sighed, pulling yourself upright. You had spent long enough in bed, and you rose to your feet with an exaggerated stretch of your arms above your head. “It might be a month,” you explained.

“You’re leaving for that long?”

You looked at him from over your shoulder. Sanemi’s tone was strangely morbid, watching you move about your room, collecting the things you would need. “Just for a little while,” you sighed. “I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” you replied simply, frowning as you looked over the wrinkles on one of your nicest kimonos. Your family would expect you to dress the part, and you wished you had taken the time to be more careful with your old clothes.

“To your Clan?” Sanemi scoffed, and you could hear the floors creaking beneath his weight as he stood up from the bed. “What the fuck are you going back for?”

“I’m going to see my family,” you explained. “You know I’ve been trying to see my siblings again, and this is the perfect opportunity to do so.”

“I thought they refused,” he grumbled, and you turned to face him. “Y/N…” he trailed off when his gaze met your own, struggling to find the right words. “I need to tell you something…”

“Yes?” you prompted him because Sanemi looked unusually sheepish, messing his hands through the disorderly locks of his spiky hair.

But this was Sanemi, and you were amused when he forced his way through, boisterously declaring: “Let’s spend more time together, outside of training,” he said as if you didn’t already do so. “The way things are supposed to be done. Properly.’

His words didn’t make much sense to you, but Sanemi seemed awfully proud of himself, and you would hate to take away that rare smile you could never get enough of seeing. “Of course,” you agreed. “Once the marriage arrangements are done, we can do whatever you’d like.”

“Marriage arrangements?”

It was like the temperature in the room plumeted at once, and your own look of confusion likely matched the one reflected on Sanemi. “Well, yes, I explained it to you before: my parents proposition for letting me see my siblings,” you said. “I’m to marry one of our clan’s Shinobi when he comes of age. In exchange, I get to keep my Hashira spot and see my family more often.”

You nodded when you were finished - the deal made perfect sense in your mind, and you knew your parents were being very flexible by letting you get away with so much. Even so, Sanemi’s perplexed frown quickly evolved into something that you could only describe as mutinous. “Are you fucking serious?” he growled, and you shivered at the anger in his tone. “I thought you were over that. Isn’t there a different way you could still see them that doesn’t involve whoring yourself out?”

You grimaced at his crude choice of words. “It’s not the way of my Clan,” you explained. “The Kunoichi in my clan are honored through marriage - the highest they can achieve. I defied them once before, letting Tengen go. I can’t do that again.”

The explanation made sense to you - after all, you weren’t the same girl who felt coerced into marrying Tengen. Instead, you had grown into a powerful Hashira, and you were fine with this decision since it is one you had made on your own.

But it was obvious that Sanemi wasn’t seeing it the same way, and you were stunned by the aggression in Sanemi’s stance, fists balled at his sides. “You said you followed your own path!”

“I am!” you insisted, starting to feel yourself grow a bit perturbed by his unwarranted anger. “If I want to see my siblings, I must regain my Clan’s honor and make my parents happy. I have no other choice,” you said. “This is a decision I have come to on my own.”

“You didn’t want it last time!” Sanemi said, daring a step closer. “Why the hell is this any different?”

“Because,” you emphasized. “I am the one agreeing to the proposal, and I was able to make my own conditions for the marriage.”

Sanemi scoffed. “Are you that desperate for their validation that you would literally bind yourself to someone you’ve never even met?”

“That’s not what this is about!” you cried. “I have a duty to my family-”

“You have a duty to yourself,” Sanemi interrupted. “If they can’t see how much you hate the idea, then they don’t deserve you.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is!” he said. “They’re using you, Y/N. Manipulating you to get what they want - who the hell do you really think benefits the most from this? Certainly not you, but I guess your parents and the lucky jackass signing that fucking contract deserve more than your happiness?”

“I get to stay a Hashira,” you insisted. “And I don’t have to live at the Clan’s village or with the Shinobi. I get to do what I want.”

“You’re fucking naive if you think that’s how it’ll work,” Sanemi growled. “They’ll figure out a way to trap you there - to force you back into that clan for good.”

“No they won’t,” you hissed, incredulous that he could think of you like that - as a person less than capable of understanding. As someone incapable of discerning the intentions of their own family! “How can you think so low of me? I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah?” Sanemi laughed - choking back a noise that sounded dangerously similar to a sob. “What happens to you later in life when you want to be with someone who actually cares about you? Will you need a mediator to negotiate a divorce contract with your fucking clan?”

“Stop it!” you warned, unaware of how close the two of you had gotten during your spat, practically toe to toe as you fiercely met his gaze. “I don’t need your permission, and I would think you might be more mindful of my feelings.”

“Not like you give a damn about my feelings!” Sanemi retorted. “I’ve put it all out there and you stomp on it like some kind of vindictive bitch.”

You winced at the insult, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “The only thing you’ve done is help me see how much of an asshole you really are! As if I’d let your crude opinions come between me and my own family!”

“Right,” he drew out, and you were taken aback at the raw emotion in his voice. “I get it, Y/N. I’ll always play second fiddle to the clan and your family. They could throw you into a pit full of demons and you’d still fall to your fucking knees and pray to your stupid idols.”

“You have no idea,” you said, despising the quiver in your tone. “You don’t know my Clan.”

“Sounds like you don’t know them all that well either,” Sanemi snarled. “To not see through their bullshit. Guess I was wrong to think you were strong enough to move on even after leaving.”

“I am strong!” you snapped. “Don’t you dare look at me and call me weak! I’m sacrificing for them-”

“Exactly!” Sanemi said. “You have to make all the sacrifices just to meet them halfway. They’ve never extended the same courtesy, and I guess we need a fucking baseball bat to get that through your thick skull!”

“Get out!” you screamed, unable to keep your anger from simmering over, beyond repulsed that the man standing in front of you had managed to insult you, your family, and clan in one fell swoop - the same man you had considered a close confidant and the one you harbored sweet affections for in ways you could only whisper to friends like Suma or Misturi.

As if he would ever return them, especially if this is the way he thought about you! “Fine,” he whispered, and you startled when the first tear fell. You had never seen Sanemi cry before, and you found yourself completely immobilized as he roughly swiped the sleeve of his uniform against the wet trails.

He didn’t say anything else. Not bothering to rectify his harsh reprimand or the uneasy tension left stewing between you. Instead, Sanemi slammed the door behind him, rattling it against the hinges, and leaving you to fall into a broken heap on the floor.

Even a year later, the memory made you feel guilty all over again, and you tried to keep your tears in check this time as you turned to your old habit of fighting through the pain. “I explained it to him the best I could,” you argued, glaring down at your tea cup. “How else should I break that kind of news?”

“You don’t,” Tengen said. “I disagree with your decision.”

“Yeah, I know,” you glowered. Tengen had made that very clear. “But I had to do it. My parents weren’t speaking to me, and they wouldn’t let my brothers and sisters around…” You trailed off, feeling your throat become thick with emotion.

“Family comes first.”

“I admire your commitment, but it’s your true family that comes first,” Tengen quickly amended. “If your parents really cared, they wouldn’t have those expectations of you.”

“Well,” you said, allowing a sinister edge to creep in. “You certainly had no issue with your family’s decision. I didn’t see you complain not once when you married your wives.”

His gaze darkened right back. “If I truly followed that tradition through, then Suma, Makio, and Hinatsuru would’ve been trapped in that village. They would fear me instead of the respect we share now.” He cleared his throat, reigning in some of the raw anger you had briefly seen reflected in those violet irises. “You and I might be married instead.”

You wrinkled your nose and Tengen laughed at the reaction. All at once, the tension dispelled from the room, and you frowned. If only it could that easy with Sanemi. “Why are you doing this?”

Tengen hummed around his tea cup, and you snickered at how small it looked held between his fingers. “I’ve never claimed to be a matchmaker,” he said. “But you’ve told me about your feelings for Sanemi, and I doubt they’ve gone away. Even after all this time.”

“Tengen-”

“His feelings for you are quite obvious as well,” he interrupted, quickly moving on before you had a chance to intercede. “He hides them well, of course. But I’m left wondering why you insist on letting a piece of paper keep you from the happiness you deserve.”

“It’s not the contract keeping me from anything!” you said. “Sanemi said the most vile things to me. How can I hope to salvage anything from the destruction he left? And for what reason? Why did he treat me like I was an enemy?”

“It may be that young Shinazugawa has decided that it would hurt too much to treat you as anything less than a romantic partner,” Tengen said. “Going back to friendship…” he trailed off with a contemplative hum. “He seems like the type of person who is stubborn in their ways.”

“Even if it wasn’t just Sanemi, I still have to appease my family-”

“There are always other ways to get you back to your siblings. Your parents cannot refuse their Clan leaders,” Tengen said. “I know that I left the Clan, but there are those who would still allow my influence. If it meant allowing you to see your siblings again.”

A soothing warmth formed at the center of your chest at his willingness to go out of his way for you, especially if it meant dealing with the clan. Perhaps he had, in few words, proven his point about his definition of a true family. It felt that way with Tengen and the other Hashira - like you could be some semblance of a family, even if you sometimes bickered.

You were touched more than anything else, forcing down any remaining argument. “You shouldn’t have to do that. Not after the way your father deceived you, and the horrible things he made you go through. Not for someone like me.”

“Well, I’ve found my happiness,” he conceded, gesturing toward the door as if his wives were waiting on the other side. “Even if it was once under the illusion of marriage, I also promised to guarantee yours as well.”

“And you think my happiness is with Shinazugawa?”

“Yes,” Tengen readily agreed, slamming his cup back onto the table. “I’m certain that it is.”

“He barely tolerates you,” you grumbled, finding yourself lost in another memory:

“Why do you like that bumbling idiot so much?” Sanemi growled, eyes carefully examining your face as you continued to dress his arm in the bandages Shinobu had brought you.

He had been injured during his latest mission. Choosing to come to you instead of the Butterfly Mansion. Where they could undoubtedly treat him more efficiently.

“Tengen and I have history,” you reminded him.

“I’m aware,” he said in a tone much colder than you expected.

“He reminds me of home,” you continued, hoping to appease him. “I don’t hear much from the Clan otherwise.”

“Your Clan doesn’t deserve you,” Sanemi said, leaning in closer despite the startling proximity it left between your lips. “Your home is here with us.”

Each puff of breath against the slick skin of your lips sent a tremble down your spine. “Sanemi,” you said, clicking your tongue as you finished treating his wound. “It’s my family.”

You knew it would be harder for him to empathize considering his tumultuous history with his own family, and you weren’t surprised by his response. “Family doesn’t always mean the ones who share your blood.”

“Talk to him.” Tengen’s voice pulled you back into the drawing room with him, reaching over to pour you the cup of tea you had denied yourself. “Even if you proceed with your marriage, your mind will be less burdened knowing you at least told him how you felt.”

You frowned, hating that he was right.

On Thursdays, you sat with Gyomei among the vibrant wisteria flowers in his backyard. It was a tradition that started on accident - when you caught the Stone Hashia in the middle of a meditation session, finding yourself curious about the display.

He had heard you sneaking through the gardens and invited you to join him. But one invitation had extended to as many as you desired, and you always returned when you needed to clear your mind.

“You poor child,” Gyomei said as you struggled to forget about your conversation with Tengen from the evening prior. “Focus.”

“I can’t,” you sighed, pouting up at him even if he couldn’t see you.

“What troubles you?” he asked, letting out a deep exhale as he sat cross-legged on the grass.

“How much time do you have?” you grunted, tucking your legs further beneath you in an attempt to copy his pose.

“I feel you hurting,” Gyomei said. “It’s remarkably similar to the same emotion I felt yesterday when Sanemi visited.”

“Sanemi came here?” you asked, wincing at the desperation in your tone. You might as well wear a sign around your neck proclaiming your crush in bold-faced letters.

Gyomei hummed, bringing his hands together in front of him. “Sanemi is hurting too.”

“Hurting?” you repeated, feeling a sharp pin-prick of panic run ice through your veins. “Was he injured?”

“Not physical pain,” Gyomei chuckled, reaching over to ruffle your hair like he found you to be a cute puppy. You grimaced at the contact, smoothing the strands back into place. “Somewhere here.” You stiffened when his pointer finger pressed against the center of your chest. “Inside.”

“Not Sanemi!” you protested. “He doesn’t…He doesn’t let his emotions affect him.”

“Y/N.” Gyomei’s tone was gentle but appraising. “Even Sanemi isn’t immune to the whims of the soul.”

A breeze tickled the back of your neck, alleviating some of the heat there. “Did you ask him about it?”

“I told him to speak his mind,” Gyomei said, and a smile brightened his features. “He spoke of another Hashira, and I think you’re smart enough to figure out the rest.”

Huh? Sanemi mentioned you to Gyomei? You longed to ask the Stone Hashira to give you all the details of their conversation. But Gyomei would never betray another’s trust like that.

Even so, you apologized when you told him that you wouldn’t be able to stay. “I don’t think I’d make good company for you today,” you said, and Gyomei simply hummed in response.

You stood to brush the grass from your uniform pants. “Y/N,” Gyomei said before you could take your leave. “I did tell Sanemi that he should go see you soon. Perhaps you should prepare for a visit.”

Your eyes widened at the mere thought of having Sanemi back in such an intimate space. “Thank you, Gyomei.”

“Listen to him with an open mind,” Gyomei said to your retreating back. “Sanemi may not express himself well, but his eyes always betray him.”

You shivered at his words, and those fierce hues of violet that you adored so much followed you all the way home.

You were truly pathetic. It had been days since your conversation with Gyomei, and you spent them lounging around your estate, waiting like an impatient dog. What if Sanemi showed up when you were out on a mission?

The idea was unfairly troubling, and so you waited, feet propped up in front of you as you reclined on the futon in the main room, eyes closed against a slit of sunshine beaming in through the door. It felt like a punishment - maybe some form of recompense for all you had done to mess things up. If that was to be the case, then you could tolerate the pause on everything else in your life, giving all your attention to Sanemi.

After all, even your master had, in his eloquent manner, asked you to resolve the problem with yourself, and this was the way you had to do it. Even so, you couldn’t fault any of the others for growing worried about your absence, which is why you weren’t all surprised to hear a familiar voice calling out your name as they let themself inside.

You opened one eye, watching as Suma entered the room. “Oh? This is a surprise.”

“Well, you’re not usually moping around,” Suma remarked, studying you lounging across the futon, feet curled together at the end.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “Where’s the rest of you?”

“Tengen sent me alone,” Suma explained. “He’s been worried about you.”

“Is that so?” The automatic response came unbidden, even as you knew that your questions were unfair. Vague, non-commital things that spoke of your desire to be alone. To wallow in self-pity and remorse.

“Y/N,” Suma said in that nagging tone that she had likely learned from her husband. “What’s the point of this rebellion?”

“I wouldn’t call it that…” you said, groaning as you forced yourself to sit up. “I guess it is self-imposed.”

“Is this about the marriage contract?” Suma huffed. “That nasty Clan. We all know that it isn’t worth returning just for them to poison your good heart. I know you want to save your brothers and sisters, but there must be another way.”

“It’s not about the contract!” The damn thing came up during every conversation that you were involved in. “That doesn’t even matter. For the Clan, I’ve already defied them once before…”

“Defying the clan doesn’t make you a bad daughter,” Suma said. “If your parents can’t respect your choices, then they’re the ones who are wrong.”

“It’s not that I want to be in the Clan,” you grumbled. “I hate their ways just as much as you and the others. It just feels like I’ve always failed in the things I’m supposed to be responsible for. I failed to fit into the Clan because I despised their traditions, I failed as the oldest sister for leaving her siblings behind, and I even failed as a warrior.” Your eyes burned at the prospect of tears. “I failed to protect that slayer on my last mission, and I failed Sanemi when I hurt him…”

“None of those things are true,” Suma immediately denied in a tone fiercer than anything you had ever heard from the warrior - the same one who once sobbed into your arms in gratitude when you gave up your marriage to her husband. “Tengen was right, Y/N, you’ve always been way too hard on yourself. You want to shoulder the burden of responsibility, but most of those things are beyond your control.”

You considered her words, begrudgingly admitting to yourself that there was obvious merit and truth to them. “It doesn’t feel that way…”

“Because you haven’t learned to just let go,” Suma said, sitting down next to you on the futon to take your hands in her own. “It’s alright, you know? To let go of the things that hurt you before they consume you. There are no expectations from any of us, Y/N, for you to be anything more than the Falcon Hashira who saves innocent people and works relentlessly to make the world better.”

Subconsciously, your grip on her hands tightened. “I’ve already fucked everything up at this point. I tried to do what I thought was right.”

“Tengen said there are other ways to see your siblings-”

“I know what he said!” Your cold tone cut in, but you couldn’t help your outburst. Not when it had been fueled by frustration that mounted every second. “But I don’t want him to be involved. I don’t want people to go out of the way for me.”

“We’re a family!” Suma insisted. “We take care of each other. Tengen knows enough to keep himself safe from the Clan.”

“Even if it’s not the clan, I’ve already burned every bridge with Shinazugawa. I ruined our friendship, and I made him fucking cry, Suma! Did I ever tell you that? He cried that day we fought.”

Suma was clearly caught off-guard by your confession. Maybe even more so because you could feel the corners of your eyes stinging with the promise of tears. “Y/N.”

Your throat felt dry. Ears ringing.

“I can’t speak on Sanemi’s feelings, but it seems like he was upset that he was losing you.”

Your tongue lay utterly useless in your mouth as you tried to make sense of it. “That’s not true. I wasn’t going back to the Clan full time. He told me I was weak.”

“Did he say those exact words?” Suma challenged. “I don’t know him that well, but it seems like Sanemi isn’t the type to control his emotions when he’s upset.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to lose his shit!”

“No, but it should tell you how much it bothered him.” Suma let a huff of breath escape. “Did you even ask him how he felt about it?”

“He didn’t give me the opportunity.” She was taking up for Sanemi, and you wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to do that. You blamed yourself plenty and had always given him the benefit of the doubt.

“Well, based on what I’ve heard, you might want to consider visiting the Wind Pillar estate…”

“Suma-” You broke off at the uncomfortable sensation of a shiver snaking its way up the length of your spine.

Your instincts whipered that you and Suma were no longer alone, and they were proven correct when you whipped your head in the direction of a familiar head of onyx-black hair walking into the room. “Tomioka.”

Suma blinked at the name, following your gaze to where the Water Hashira stood with your attendant muttering apologies from behind him. Apparently, Tomioka was the type to make himself more than comfortable in your estate, even without permission. Although, you found that you were even more troubled by the fact that in all your years of camaraderie, Tomioka had never once come to visit you.

From behind him, your frazzled attendant cleared her throat, blushing bright red. “Master, he came in without an invitation.”

“It’s alright.” You brushed off her concerns. Tomioka didn’t seem like the type to go out of his way for anything. If he came here to speak to you, then he wouldn’t leave without doing so.

“Y/N.” Tomioka was always short with his words, perfunctory in a way that made you respect him.

“Uh-” Suma inserted herself awkwardly, standing up from the futon. “I can give you both a moment alone.”

You nodded, watching her retreat from the room. She moved around Tomioka, sending a suspicious glare in his direction. You allowed a succession of pulsating silence before breaking it: “You’ve never visited before.”

You studied Tomioka as he carried himself further into the room, reaching behind himself to close off the partition separating the foyer from the main room. “My apologies,” he said, offering no further explanation as he took Suma’s spot next to you on the futon. “I’m not one for gossip-” You snorted in interruption, whispering an apology at his responding stare. “The situation with you and Sanemi is affecting the rest of the Hashira,” he continued. “I’ve decided to intervene.”

“Giyu-”

“You knew you had feelings for him,” Tomioka persisted, giving you no room to protest. “Even before the contract.”

Always straight to the point. “Yes,” you sighed. “But what’s the point of remaining chaste if I didn’t know if he reciprocated? I’m not sure if you know about my clan-”

“I know about all of it.” Tomioka cleared his throat. “Sanemi told me.”

“He did?”

“You should’ve told him about your feelings regardless.” Tomioka ignored your question, but he seemed determined to get his point across. “I think your honesty would’ve made him see reason in ways that I couldn’t.”

You flinched at his words. “In ways you couldn’t?”

“It’s my fault,” Tomioka said, looking down as if in shame. “I pushed him to go after you. The day you told him about your plans for your marriage, I convinced him to tell you that he had feelings for you.”

You were silent at his confession. Tomioka had done what? As if acting on unconscious urging, you moved closer to him, smelling the scent of fresh water lilies on his skin. “You couldn’t have known.”

“It’s the reason why he hates me,” Tomioka whispered, and despite wearing an empty expression, there was an uncanny sadness in Tomioka that made you want to lean in and offer some kind of reassurance.

“Giyu-” you tried to protest until you were interrupted by the sound of the partition sliding against its track, revealing a surprised Sanemi standing on the other side.

There was a brief moment where all three of you were stunned into silence, before the sound of Suma’s screech reached your ears. “Y/N,” Suma shrieked from behind him, waving her hands through the air. “He let himself in! I couldn’t get him to stop!”

You’re suddenly made aware of your closeness to Giyu, nearly jumping back in your haste to create some distance. What were the odds that Sanemi would choose to make his grand arrival on the same afternoon when both Tomioka and Suma had decided to visit you? After days of waiting for him, trusting Gyomei’s word, he shows up when youleast expect it.

“Tomioka.” Sanemi’s tone was strangely cold.

“Shinazugawa,” Giyu returned in a calm manner, simply rising from where he had been sitting next to you.

“Oh please.” Sanemi sneered, flickering his gaze between the two of you. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

He was walking away in the next moment, and you jumped into action, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste to catch him. You made it to the front door without making a complete fool of yourself, leaning against the entryway when you cupped your hands over your mouth. “Shinazugawa,” you nearly snarled at his retreating form. “We need to talk.”

You could see every muscle tensed and coiled beneath the tight fabric of Sanemi’s uniform top.

For a moment, you thought he would just ignore you and keep walking, but he defied your expectations. His shoulders dropped under the weight of a visible exhale, glancing back at you. “Well?”

“Let me see them off first,” you said, throwing a distracted hand back at Suma and Tomioka who were standing together behind you. “You can meet me in our usual spot-” you broke off, startled at the words - at how easy it was for you to say them as if you had never missed a beat.

Your usual spot, of course, being the roof where you spent countless nights watching the stars. In the past, you and Sanemi spent the majority of your time split between his estate and your own. Favored places to spend that time had always involved being outside and under the moon light.

Sanemi seemed to also be affected by your words, but he tried to play them off with a loud scoff. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Thank you,” you said, grateful that he hadn’t stormed off instead; perhaps Gyomei had been right in his reassurance that Sanemi truly wanted to speak his mind.

From overhead, you heard the ruffling of feathers as Kaya likely spotted Sanemi from her nest in the largest tree on your property. It didn’t take her long to soar down on a passing breeze, landing on his shoulder with practiced ease.

“I won’t be long,” you said, turning back to study Tomioka and Suma. “Sorry to send you away…”

“No!” Suma squealed, coming up to squeeze your shoulders. “I think we both understand.”

You nodded, feeling nervous about your impending conversation with Sanemi. “Giyu-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said - easygoing as always, even as he passed you by to brush his shoulder with yours - a show of comfort. One that you clutched too, leading them both down the well-worn path to the woods, wondering if your heart could take Sanemi’s rejection.

It was as you stood in front of the open window of your bedroom - the one leading out to the platform on the roof of your estat - that you took a moment to study Sanemi. At a distance, you could openly admire him - everything from his muscular shoulders to the untamed mess of wispy silver spikes that you knew felt unbelievably soft under your fingers.

He looked almost peaceful, not nearly as tense as you felt, and you huffed in annoyance, seeing Kaya snuggled up to Sanemi. The traitor! Watching as he copied your same gentle motions of stroking a finger along her spine.

You closed your eyes around a deep inhale and exhale. This was your chance to make things right, and you wouldn’t forgive yourself for ruining it. For once, you would leave everything out in the open for him, and it would be entirely Sanemi’s decision whether he accepted you back into his life.

Of course, he wasn’t exactly instilling confidence, sneering at your approach. You forced yourself to study him closer, to see past the carefully constructed mask, to examine the same eyes that Gyomei had promised could not lie. Kaya fluttered her wings at your arrival but refused to leave Sanemi’s lap. “She remains loyal to you,” you remarked as way of starting what would prove to be a difficult conversation.

Sanemi huffed at your introduction. “I guess she takes after you in that regard - loyalty that is.” You blinked, touched by the unexpected compliment. “Though maybe not to me.”

The barb stung deep. “I never wanted to leave your side,” you informed him, making yourself comfortable in the chair next to his own, gazing out across the empty field.

“But you did,” Sanemi said, hands clenched tight on his armrests as if holding himself back. “You made your decision when you signed that fucking contract.”

“Oh, this?” you questioned with a sly smirk, removing it from the pocket inside your jacket. You held it up to him, taking only a small degree of satisfaction in seeing him physically recoil at the sight.

He took a deep breath as if trying to calm himself down. “You’re taunting me.”

“No,” you disagreed, allowing the contract to rest in your lap. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s the reason we fought before.”

“Of course it is,” Sanemi said. “I hate that fucking thing.”

“What do you hate exactly?” you asked.

“The idea of it,” he said. “You giving yourself away to someone undeserving when you don’t really want it.”

“Is it just because of that?”

Sanemi squirmed, visibly uncomfortable. You held your breath, wanting to push him the rest of the way off the ledge - no other outcome would matter to you just as long as you confirmed whether or not Gyomei, Tengen, and Tomioka had spoken the truth. “No,” he eventually admitted, perhaps braver than you had ever seen him before.

“Then tell me,” you said. “What are your other reasons?”

His responding breath echoed with the sound of a shudder. “I don’t want you to,” Sanemi said. “If you were with someone else, you couldn’t be with me.”

“Sanemi-”

“You’ve said no before,” Sanemi went on as if afraid of your next words. “I spoke with Tengen about it - there are other ways to see your brothers and sisters and stay connected to the clan…even if they don’t deserve you,” he tacked on almost like an afterthought.

“You’ve thought this through,” you noted. “How many people have you talked to about it?”

“Does it matter?” he grunted.

“Yes,” you replied. “Because none of them were me.”

His head whipped to you in a flash, and you briefly admired his impressive reflexes. “What did you want me to say?”

“Maybe telling me how you really felt instead of being an asshole?”

“You were just as vindictive,” he retorted.

“Fine,” you agreed with a dismissive shake of your head. “You didn’t trust me either. Did you really think I slept with that younger slayer?”

Sanemi grimaced. “No, but not because you wanted to or not. You’re bound by that ridiculous contract.”

“That’s true,” you agreed. One of the conditions for marriage had always been your chastity. “How did it make you feel?” you asked instead. “When I told you about the contract?”

“Like you stabbed me in the fucking back,” he gritted out.

“It wasn’t to betray you-”

“But you signed it anyway because you don’t give a shit about me,” he said, glaring daggers at the contract. “You don’t have the same feelings.”

“How do you know?”

“You never said anything!”

“Neither did you,” you responded, trying to keep your temper in check, and your tone neutral.

He growled in frustration. “Fine, but I was also pissed because you left that stupid clan, only to let them sink their claws back into you.” He visibly trembled, looking down at his lap. “They would’ve taken you away.”

“From who?” you questioned. “The Slayer Corps or from you?”

“Both!” he snapped. “Satisfied? You wanted to leave, and you didn’t care who you hurt on the way out.”

“You’re wrong,” you said, holding his gaze despite how difficult it was to be on the receiving end of the fire.

“Wrong?” he repeated.

“You’re too stubborn,” you said, uncaring of his snort. “I have to prove it to you.”

“Prove what?”

“Here,” you said, holding up the contract once more. “You get the honor.”

“Of signing you away?” he growled, snatching it from your fingers with his characteristic roughness.

You turned to look at him, heart clenching painfully at the sheer agony heavy in those violet eyes. “Rip it to shreds,” you said, noting the evident surprise that quickly overtook the bitterness. “Hell, burn it if you want.”

Silence descended between you both at your words. Kaya chirped from Sanemi’s laugh as if sensing the situation taking a turn. She opened her wings to take off toward the stars.

Sanemi’s fingers tightened around the contract, digging in almost painfully. “What is this?” he asked, and you could hear the uncertainty as clear as the wind whipping through the branches overhead in response to him.

“This is me telling you that I’d throw away my twisted sense of responsbility in a heartbeat if it meant being with you for the rest of my life,” you said. “But only if you want the same thing. I’m literally putting my heart in your hands. If you have feelings for me like you said-”

You broke off with a start when calloused fingers did just that, tearing the contract in half right before your very eyes. You didn’t even have a chance to finish speaking. “Impatient,” you tsked, but whatever other words had been waiting on the tip of your tongue were gone in a flash when two strong hands gripped your face tightly between them, tilting your head just enough to meet the desperate lips of the man sitting next to you.

In that brief second, it felt as if all time had stopped, locking you and Sanemi in a single moment, and you were determined to cherish it. Savoring the smell and taste of him, the smooth glide of his tongue against yours, and the soft strands of his silver locks as your fingers knotted themselves between them. You heard Sanemi’s groan as he forced himself even closer, stealing each breath of air from your lungs as he kept your mouths connected.

He chased you even as you reluctantly pulled back to relieve the ache in your lungs. “Total concentration breathing,” he whispered in the sliver of space separating you, and it took your lust-addled brain a moment to comprehend what he meant before you scoffed, shoving him playfully as a shit-eating grin stretched the corners of his lips.

It had been a long time since Sanemi had smiled at you like that, and it was even more breath-stealing than your feverish exchange of kisses. “Forgive me for being distracted.”

“Distracted?” he repeated, lifting one of his hands to brush his thumb across the swollen purse of your lips. “That’s unlike you.”

“Is it?” you managed in return, closing your eyes against his touch and shivering when he leaned in closer to whisper in your ear.

“Spend the night with me.”

“Hmmm…” you pretended to contemplate his words, slightly embarrassed at how quickly you wanted to agree. “Isn’t that too forward of you?”

He snorted at your teasing, fingers cupping your chin to direct your gaze, caught in the bright allure of violet pools. “I’ve waited long enough.”

Under the watchful gaze of the sky, his scars were even more discernible, and he didn’t even flinch when you reached out to trace their path. “What will you do?”

Your question was met with a dark chuckle, and before you could even process his movements, Sanemi had kicked aside his chair in favor of kneeling between your thighs, spreading them apart with his broad hands. The position was dizzying, and you felt the back of your skull hit against the wall behind you, breathing hard as those same hands journeyed across your hips, fingers spreading wide when they held your waist. He still managed to look so big, even down on his knees, pulling you close enough to lock yourself around him, hands balancing your weight on his shoulders as his teeth caught onto the skin of your exposed throat. “I’m taking you out of these clothes,” he growled, loosening your shirt from where it had tucked into the waistband of your pants. You hissed between clenched teeth as bare hands smoothed across your skin, thumbs teasing the sides of your breasts. “And then I’m getting my cock inside you.”

His words did little to alleviate the warm flush to your skin, heart practically vibrating against your sternum. “Please,” you whispered, finding yourself growing faint as his touches grew rougher, teeth digging in more firmly at your neck.

“Will you let me?” he asked, hot breath tickling the skin where he had been spending far too much time licking and sucking, no doubt painting all sorts of colorful bruises. “Tell me what you want.”

You gripped tight to the back of his hair, pulling him away from the mess he was making of your neck. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? You think that little virgin cunt can handle it?”

“I can take it,” you insisted.

“I know,” he agreed, and you whimpered as he untangled your hands, rising to his full height to look down at you. “You’ll let me, won’t you? Make you feel good in ways those clan boys of yours never could.”

The remark should’ve stung your pride, or at the very least come across as an insult to your warrior traditions, but it only fed your arousal instead, legs clenching together on reflex. “I only want you,” you insisted, and this seemed to please Sanemi, teeth on full display in a smile that could only be described as arrogant.

“Then what are we waiting for, sweetheart?” he asked, and your stomach flipped at the nickname.

You didn’t bother disguising your eagerness any longer, letting him take your outstretched hand, and leaving the shredded marriage contract forgotten to the wind.

#sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi shinaguzawa x reader #demon slayer #kny sanemi #sanemi smut #demon slayer smut #demon slayer fanfic #sanemi fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kny x reader

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heizenka · 3 months

Text

𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

♆ Luke Castellan x f!reader

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

— content warnings: mentions of blood, semi-gore, use of y/n, angst, death, chiron being a father figure to reader

— word count: 2.0k

Luke Castellan and I Had been inseparable from the moment our eyes locked during my first day at camp. I had been new to camp, and unclaimed by any godly parent, leaving me with only one cabin to stay in, Hermes.

That was almost 6 years ago, and nothing much had changed. I’d remained left in the dark about my godly origin, as my 'parent' had made no attempt to claim me as their own, even after so many years.

Though all else remained the same, my feelings towards the boy I called you best friend did not. Of course I’d made other friends during my stay at camp, but my friendships with them could never come close to the one I held with Luke. It was all the small things he did that truly made me see him in a different light so suddenly; how he always saved a seat next to him at dinner just for me, how when I spoke all of his attention was on me, as if nothing or no one else existed, and how he would instantly smile when he saw Me.

Me and the son of Hermes were inseparable, but ever since I'd been the first person at his side when he'd gotten back from his quest, something more had blossomed between the two of us. It was something sacred, yet it remained unspoken.

"Y/N L/N, your presence is requested by Chiron at the big house." I immediately looked in the direction that the... tired.. voice had come from.

There stood Dionysus, the look on his face showed nothing more than complete uninterest. I looked back towards Luke, who merely shrugged, the faux training armor moving stiffly around him. I swallowed my nerves, and began to take off the armor I was wearing during me and Luke's sparring session, quickly placing it in its rightful place before waving a quick goodbye to Luke and jogging towards the big house.

"What do you mean I've been assigned a quest? I haven't even been claimed by my godly parent, how is this even possible?" voice heightened near the end of my sentence.

Chiron simply put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a saddened look. It wasn't one of pity, it was one that came from a place of understanding.

After spending 6 years at camp and still being left unclaimed, Chiron had made it his place to act like the father I was never given. Oftentimes I found myself spending extra time I had with him, whether it was in his office simply talking about our days, or if it was in the arena.

"I don't know Y/N, truly. But I do know this is an opportunity and it’s one that not many others see, and you should take advantage of it. I know you Y/N, with or without a godly parent to guide you, you know how to take care of yourself."

I left out a sigh, and nodded. I looked up at the only man I'd even seen as a father and waited for him to carry on."The oracle is waiting for you. Everything is going to be fine." His voice was gentle as he spoke, but something about his words twisted my gut.

you shall delve in the darkness of an endless maze, you shall rise or fall by no other hand than your own, the child of the unknown's final stand, and death unleash

'I guess everyone was right, the oracle is never wrong' I laughed at my own thought while laying in a warm pool of my own blood.

...

I was on my way back home, to camp, to Luke, when I had been struck from behind. Fear ran through my veins as I remained on the brisk forest floor, no more than a mile from camp. I looked around me trying to spot where or what the attack came from.

Without warning or was grabbed by my legs and pulled, further from camp, but worst of all from my sword. I let out a shout, twisting my body to get a view of the creature that no doubt planned to end my life right here and now.

A harpie.

Its long talons dug deep into my calves, I could feel each layer of muscle tearing as its grip tightened from my attempts of trying to get away from the creature. Suddenly it's movements stopped, and its grip on my legs released.

I let out a grunt of pain as I felt each talon being pulled from my body. I turned onto my back, holding myself up with my arms, to get a good look at it. My heart dropped, along with any hope I had at getting away,

It stood at least a foot taller than me, with huge gray wings, and sharp talons on each finger.

I looked down at my legs and a small sob left my mouth. I was in no condition to run, but even if I were, this thing was without a doubt going to catch up to me. I calmed my breath and pushed my body up and made a run for it.

My vision went white with the pain coming from both of my legs, but I couldn't afford to stop, not if I wanted to get back, not if I wanted to see Luke again. There was so much I needed to tell him, there was no way this was going to be it for me.

I was stopped once again, A gasp leaving my body at the new painful sensation being spread through my body. looking down I saw the sharp tips of the harpies talons, sticking through my body. Tears gathered in my waterline, the pain was unbearable, unlike anything I had ever felt before.

I was sure nothing could have felt worse until the harpie pulled its long talons from my back, causing even more damage within my body as they left.

I could hear the harpie walking away, most likely bored with me as I was no longer able to put up a fight to entertain it any longer.

I fell to the floor, my body left a bloody mess on the forest floor.

There was truly nothing I could do any more, I had no energy left in me to call for help, nor any left to carry myself back to camp. I looked at the sky, it was clear of clouds, yet full of stars.

It was beautiful.

Tears fell down the sides of my face, and I didn't mind at all. I cried. I cried at the fact that I was never going back to camp, that I was never going to see my dad again, and that I was never going to see Luke.

Sobs racked my body, and with each breath I took the pain in my body doubled only causing more tears to fall from my body.

I felt the life draining out of me, each breath a struggle, each heartbeat a painful reminder of what was inevitably going to come. I wanted to scream in anger at what was happening, but my voice failed me, leaving only a hoarse whisper.

My vision blurred, and I did nothing to fight it. I looked up at the sky for a final time, wondering if he was looking at the same stars as me. Though I was alone in the forest for what were becoming my final moments, I was grateful that I was still under the same sky as Luke. In a way he was still here, and that was all I needed as I closed my eyes.

News of Y/N's death traveled soon after her body had been discovered by a camper patrolling the woods.

Chiron was the first to be alerted of what had become of the girl he proudly called his daughter, His heart shattered into a million pieces as he realized he would never see her again. The pain was unbearable, like a knife through his chest. The void in his heart was unbearable, as he mourned the loss of his little girl who had left too soon.

He did his best to keep the word of her death between him and the young camper, unfortunately, news traveled fast.

Luke had been in the arena sparring with some kid from the Ares cabin when a camper from Apollo cabin gave him his condolences?

Something painful twisted in his gut as you were the first person to cross his mind. You'd been gone for a week, but there was no way this kid was talking about you... right?

"Y/N was a great-" That was all Luke needed to hear before he sprinted to see Chiron.

...

"Chiron!" He burst through the doors, not caring about anything but finding out if what he heard was true. Gods he prayed it wasn't...

Chiron looked at the young boy, his heart felt like it was breaking all over again. He knew he would eventually have to tell the boy about Y/N but he'd hoped he would have had a little more time to prepare himself.

"Luke..." that look Chiron gave Luke told him everything.

He gripped the door frame, to steady himself, the boy's heart ached with a pain that seemed to have no end. Tears gathered in his eyes as he thought about Y/N.

His now tousled hair and tear-stained face were a stark contrast to the vibrant soul he once was when he was with Y/N. He had lost the girl he loved dearly, the one who made his heart skip a beat with just a smile.

"You.. you're wrong. She's not.." He sobbed and he tried with everything in him to convince himself this was merely a cruel joke from the universe.

She was the one good thing he was ever given, and she's just been ripped away from him with no warning, or a final goodbye.

He fell to his knees, the tears streaming down his face, as he let out a gut-wrenching scream. The pain was unbearable, a constant ache in his chest that he knew would never go away. He had lost the love of his life, and with her, a part of himself.

Chiron could do nothing more than watch, he knew no words would help. All Luke truly needed was you, but now he didn't even have that.

...

Days after Y/N's death all Luke was left with was an empty void, a constant reminder of the love he lost. The pain consumed him, but he couldn't let go. She was his everything, and without her, he felt lost and incomplete.

As he sat in the dimly lit room, he closed his eyes and whispered her name, hoping that somehow, she would hear him and come back to him. But she was gone, and he was left with nothing but the excruciating pain of losing the one he loved.

#angst #luke castellan #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x reader angst #percy and luke #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson show #chiron #character death #y/n #x y/n #percy jackson x reader angst #percy jackson x reader #percy pjo #percy series

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nouearth · 10 months

Text

the remedy for guilt.

clark kent x male reader.

summary: guilt, pain, and shame consumes clark as his nightmares have been haunted by the memory of lois.

wc: 2.5k. genre: angst, comfort. warnings: cavill!clark, clark has ptsd, nightmares, topic and depictions of death, mentions of blood and wounds.

request.

thunder blared and cracked to the man’s startle, and immediately, the sky unlocked with a haze, ghastly as if stolen from humanity. spirits of hard rain quickly crashed onto metal gates, barriers that ward off trespassers, and came down harder onto carved stones. it sank into the heart of earth after.

it was an orthodox setting some have found comfort in after painful months of mourning. clark wondered how incredibly cathartic mother nature’s tears would feel on his skin once it was his turn.

he flinched when a droplet does—burned—and the wind heckled.

in loving memory of lois lane, it was carved beautiful like her handwriting. she was always in a rush, chasing after the biggest scandals with a notepad in her hand, yet the scribe flowed with impressive structure, prideful in every stroke of her pen. kneeling on one leg, without a care that mud had inked uncomfortably into his pants, clark caressed the engraving of lois’ name, gently as if it was skin—her skin, and the gale laughed—louder now.

“—got you these flowers,” clark bitterly chuckled, gently waved the wrapped bundle of cream and pink rosebuds that the wind was sure to have blown away by now if it weren’t for his clench on them. “figured these colors would be a nice change of pace, so…”

the thunder approved clark’s choice of flowers.

“i’ll get going soon, but i just wanted to see you one more time before—“ the gale blew stronger, lifted clark’s bangs and almost his glasses, but they soon found refuge in his breast pouch. there was a beat of silence as the wind sang, unusual in its whistles. “before i head back to—“

there it was again.

a gentle croak that harmonized with the wind.

someone’s hurt. struck by lighting, maybe? if being drenched in the rain hadn’t strung him back to reality, the eery sound of help definitely woken clark to his senses. he was vigilant, carefully scanning his surroundings with his x-ray vision.

nothing out of the ordinary—

“help,” a voice squeaked from somewhere, barely audible, but clark managed to filter the gust out. he spun in place when a whisper attacked one ear then the next. defensively, he lifted himself off the ground and scanned the gravesite from a higher viewer. alert, yet calm.

no one.

“please, speak up!” clark roamed in the air, inspected every corner. the wind and rain fogged his endeavor, but he was determined. it grew louder now after several patrols, and relief settled because he was getting closer.

“help me,” it whispered in the fog, and the haze grew thicker, heavier. “please, help me. i can’t breathe!” it cried out now, desperate because safety was near, yet so far away. “please, where are you?!” it pleaded.

“I’m coming, stay put!” clark shouted, and he flew down, a bewildered frown etched into his face when the mist barricaded his arrival, knocking him back. “what the—“

it was like touching an invisible shield when clark curiously reached out, pressing a palm into nothing. thick air swallowed his hand and he pulled back when another cry startled. “hurry, please! i-i think I’m going to—” it choked.

“i—“ clark ascended higher now, challenged by the mystical fog. he was absolutely clueless, puzzled, but was later comforted because force was always on his side.

“i’m here!” the clock ticked in his head. thunder and lightning shook the atmosphere of earth, and the rain hit clark’s skin like bullets as he rushed down the gravesite, punching through the several layers of air. one by one, they unfurled, and clark grunted as if it could boost his strength at the very last layer. “please! help! oh god, i—”

“you’re…” it was sheer, unveiling the field of gravestones, and he could see something moving, waving, but the rain blurred his vision. “you’re…” the voice weakened.

harder now, clark punched several more times with a battle cry louder than the previous, through gritted teeth enough to break bone, and the fog cowered at the very last second, thinning in wispy strides from his force. the swing from his arm pulled him to the source with incredible force. it was out of his control now, the wind yanked, then drove him to the ground, dragging clark across the muddy field. absolute black had entered his vision, and he could only breathe. breathe in mud, rain, grass, as he was pulled everywhere but nowhere, yet somehow closer to the source of those dreadful cries.

“you’re...”

the voice croaked over him as clark was grounded, blindly face-planted into the soils until he wasn’t. his head slowly lifted by an unspeakable force, and the cry continued to creak like nails on a chalkboard, unbearably closer to his face. a cold breath bit at his skin and as if the spell was broken, clark snapped his eyes opened.

it was horrid. it took every little breath clark had in him, and he tried to shut his eyes. he couldn’t. the spell hadn’t been broken. it was a mere glamor as clark’s eyes began to stung, brimmed with tears as he was bewitched to stare into the bloody corpse of his former lover. “you were,” the more it croaked, layers of skin cracked and peeled off. clark shuddered, his eyelids unwillingly pulled to the heavens as he watched lois’ broken skin unveil bloody wounds, then flesh, then bone, as she ascended higher before him, like a deity, until his head was thrown back.

“TOO LATE.” the voice crackled like the thunder before it, and her corpse crumbled into ashes, spilling onto him like heavy rain.

a guttural inhale stirred you from your dreams, flinching, but it was the sudden movements within the bed that woke you into a fright, scrambling you in bed. equally, clark’s silhouette sat up and slumped against the headboard as he paced his breath. in and out, his pants began to slow, but it was the flicker of the lamp, unveiling reality, and then the warmth of your hand on his chest that pacified him.

“clark,” your voice made him turn and he watched you simulate a regular breathing pattern before following your guidance. “slow, just like that.” your hand rested over his beating heart, aiding its journey to its regular pace with calming strokes, while you held his distraught with assurance, locking it into a vault when you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. a job well-done, but also a measure to bring him back.

his breath was warm against yours, and he muttered a soft apology before pulling away, but keeping your hand to his chest, appreciative but silently afraid of letting you go.

“water?” before he could answer, you offered your cup of water that’s been sitting at the bedside table, and with two quick gulps, he soothed his throat.

it was a routine at this point. not every day, but at least once a week, clark would get night terrors that would startle you awake. others would’ve found it incredibly annoying, but you could never bring yourself to that thought. after what clark had told you, it would’ve been incredibly wounding for you to.

“i’m sorry,” clark sighed and pressed a warm hand to your cheek. you shook your head against it, mustering up a tired smile before pressing a kiss into his palm. he only pulled you closer to his side as you both lay breathless in bed. “let’s go back to sleep—“

“hah, you and i both know that won’t be happening.” chuckling, you playfully pushed him away before laying his head on your lap. he does so without any complaints, and an appreciative kiss to your stomach pressed. clark was always so protective of you, it was the least you could do for him. “want to talk about it?”

“no, it’s just…” clark’s gaze drafted to the wrinkles of your shirt, then he spent the majority of the silence inhaling your scent. it assured him that you were here—still here.

your fingers threaded through his locks in soothing rhythms, but clark’s frown remained. “lois again?”

“i didn’t mean to—“ he looked up, apologetic in the weary state of his gaze.

“clark,” your palm gently applied pressure to his temple, and you couldn’t help but to kiss him once more, then his nose, then his forehead, before pulling away. “she’s not… she shouldn’t be treated as if she didn’t exist.”

“I know,” clark hummed, agreeing yet reluctantly so. the strokes to his head—your touch—crumbled the protective walls of his nightmares and dreams, and a vault, mainly consisting of his insecurities and guilt, unlocked. “i know…”

one would agree that it was weird, offensive even, to talk about your ex-partner, more so if they had passed away. it gave the message that they still clung onto them, that they still loved them, that you were brought into someone’s life solely to fill that missing puzzle in their life. you’ve admitted that you struggled with that before, your self-esteem took a dive because you compared yourself to the impact she made on clark’s life. envious, you teared over.

but you’ve accepted it now. because clark’s dreams of lois wasn’t because he needed to replace her. the more he awakened you with his night terrors, it was telling that he was haunted by guilt—consumed by it. it ate him up on the inside. where the happiness that you would fill clark was immediately swallowed by regret, because the voice told him that he didn’t deserve to be happy.

clark agreed.

“i killed her, didn’t i?” his voice animated like the soft wrinkles on your shirt.

“you know that’s not true,” you frowned, and you pressed your palm to his cheek. “clark.”

“if i had been there quicker, if i had been stronger, if i had—“

“if you had abandoned the hundreds—thousands—of people in the city?” you questioned his blame, and he once again, looked up at you. orbs wet, glistening under the shade of dim lights. a sigh left your lips, and you continued the stokes to his head. “i know you’re superman, and… and you feel like you have to do everything—like you can do everything.”

“for the most part, you can.” your voice softened as well as your touch, until it came to a halt. warmth seeped into his head as you rested upon it. “but it’s frankly impossible to save everyone, you know that. and from what you’ve told me about lois, she would’ve wanted this outcome.”

“(m/n),”

“she probably would’ve forced you to, if i’m being honest.” you chuckled, and looked down at him, into his sober orbs. “and i could never, ever, know what you are going through. to have the safety of the planet fall on your shoulders. to fight those who try to destroy our planet. to take the life of those who do. to play god.”

“but what i do know is that,” clark gazed up now, his turn to caress your cheeks while you closed your eyes to the roughness of his hand. to the warm touch that has become a memory you would yearn for on a daily basis. “it’s not your fault. you had the impossible decision to choose between thousand of lives versus the love of your life, and i’d reckon you’d feel guilt either way, clark. and i’d also reckon that…”

“hm?”

your forehead pressed to his while his hand maintained on your cheek, and you blindly kissed at whatever was in front. his nose, lips, cheeks, features that you felt and cherished with all of your heart. all of your being. “you and lois knew the lives of thousands mattered the most.”

“i wouldn’t have had to make that decision had i been stronger, though.” clark reasoned, pulling away to sit up now, because guilt ate him again, as soon as you fed him his innocence. “if i was smarter, i would’ve been ten steps ahead. i would’ve figured out that the sun could heal me, to grant me more powers, to—”

“clark,” his mutters halted when you touched him again. though his back faced you, he knew the look you were giving him as he stared blankly, achingly into the wall. reassuring strokes lined his broad back before you leaned your forehead on it. “you can’t change the past.”

“it’s not about changing the past, it’s about,” he was frustrated, apologetic, sorrowful, all in one, and clark buried his face into his palms, muttering. “it’s about you. i can’t let it happen again. what if i lose you too?”

“you’re not going to lose me, clark.”

“we don’t know that—“ he sighed, lifting his head up, and then peered back at you. his wrinkles have never forested deeper, and exhaustion seeped into the fine lines. “it would break me. i wouldn’t know how to move on with myself, how to live, how to—“

“if that day ever comes, then i’m telling you now that i want you to make the right decision.” your arms wrapped around his waist, embracing him with the utmost warmth because in the pit of your stomach, in your deepest worries, you were afraid too. he was right. you never know if something might happen. whether from another attempted destruction of the world, or a simple heart attack, life was short.

“i need to keep you safe.”

“you already do, clark. and if something were to happen to me, then i trust that you will do your best to spare me from looking at death in the eye.” but clark’s hold to your hands sobered you, the warmth and beloved roughness like a potion, broke you free of those reckless thoughts, and you melted soft kisses along his upper back in appreciation, sighing. “but until then, i don’t want you spending the rest of your life worrying about me.”

“it’s my job to.” clark mindlessly played with your fingers, thinner than his. “to worry.”

“i know,” you squeezed tighter around him. “but i fell in love with clark kent, not the man of steel.”

“but—“

“if it’s my time to go, i don’t want you looking back at how we should’ve made more memories. you don’t need any more powers than you already have, clark.” you assured him with another kiss to his shoulder, and despite his refusal, he melted, leaning back into you. “you’ve kept me safe as you already are, and you will continue doing so until my very last breath.”

“until your very last breath…” he repeated, but you can hear the bitterness in his tone. chuckling, you soothed him with another kiss, to his other shoulder now.

“and until my last breath, i promise to also protect you as you will protect me. i may not be as strong as you are, and i may not be the sun that heals you.”

“(m/n),”

“but when the time comes, i assure you that your guilt will not be anchored to me. that you will no longer suffer because of me.”

“because i trust you.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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bunnylovesani · 6 months

Text

Miss Congeniality

Chapter 5

Content warnings: p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), toxic ani, dom ani!sub reader, creampie, daddy kink, dirty talk, general smut

WC: 3.7k

The air is thick with smoke in the visibly unpoliced venue, filled with weed-smoking teenagers and middle-aged alcoholics. “What a charming audience.” You thought to yourself as you weaved through the sticky crowd to get a spot near the front.

You’d rummaged through your wardrobe to find something suitable for the boys’ rock concert but couldn’t find an article of clothing that wasn’t pink or frilly. Setting your sights on the metal band tee Ani gave you after hours of futile browsing, you settled on that along with some baggy black jeans you stole off Jaden. As you secured your spot in the front row, you lifted your jeans and checked on the pink Mary Jane heels you had on- you couldn’t find anyone to steal black shoes from but luckily the jeans swallowed them into obscurity.

All eyes turn to the front and conversations cease as the venue manager climbs up to the platform with a mic and announces tonight’s main act.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage- Dead Rebels!” Applause erupts as the lights dim and a group of 4 men approach the stage. Your eyes are instantly set on Anakin- who’s sporting a long-sleeved top, black and slightly see-through so that his nipple piercing glints in the low lights. He takes a seat behind the drums and scans the crowd, grinning mischievously when he locks eyes with you.

“Good luck.” You mouth to him and he winks back, before counting the band in and commencing the evening with their first song. You try to focus on the music, try to keep your eyes on your brother- who’s singing his heart out- but your eyes keep wandering over to Anakin; glowing with a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion of smashing the cymbals over and over again. Dirty thoughts creep into your mind as you shamelessly ogle his defined but lean arm muscles, gaze shifting from there to his beautifully concentrated face.

The only thing that draws your attention away from him is the persistent glare of the bassist, Max. The first time you met his gaze and you thought you saw a smile creep up on his face, you thought it might’ve been a coincidence- but after the second, third and fourth, you knew for sure: Max was into you.

With the last chord struck, the show was over and the audience began clearing the venue while you made your way backstage with the aid of a security guard. Rushing into their dressing room, you barged in to give Jaden and Anakin a hug.

“Oh my God guys, you were amazing! I never knew you had that kind of talent, I just always assumed band practice was code for getting high.” You joked, gushing about their performance.

“Thanks sis.” Jaden chuckled, hugging you back while Anakin awkwardly patted your back and withdrew. “And it was, but only half the time.”

“And the rest of you guys were fantastic too!” You pointed at the guitarist and bassist and they smiled humbly.

“Are you wearing my jeans?” Jaden remarked agitatedly.

“Maybe…come on Jay, I didn’t have anything to wear, I was only borrowing them!” You squeaked defensively.

“Ah whatever - wait a sec, is that Anakin’s tee?” He pointed at your skull-imprinted shirt and you looked to Ani before answering. “You need to give that back, it’s one thing to take my stuff but you can’t go around taking my friend’s clothes too!”

“Oh no, it’s okay, Ani g-“

“Yeah can I have that back please?” Anakin interrupted you.

Your heart dropped as you stared at him in dejected confusion, waiting to see if he was joking; when you saw that he wasn’t, a wave of rage overcame you and you started to pull the shirt over your head.

“I didn’t mean right here in front of everyone!” Jaden protested, jumping to cover you up.

“No no, I insist, don’t let me wear it for a second longer!” You ripped it off and threw it harshly at Anakin, leaving yourself exposed in a lace pink bra in front of the room, much to the chagrin of your brother and the shock of the bassist.

“Here, put this on.” Max scrambles over to hand you the hoodie he’s just taken off himself, putting it over your head and dressing you gently.

“Thank you Max, it’s nice to be around a gentleman for once.” You flash an exaggerated smile at him and shoot daggers at Anakin. “You have to come by at some point so you can pick it up.”

“Oh, yeah- give me your number and we can arrange something.” Max sees a window of opportunity open up and he takes it. “Maybe you can give it back to me after I’ve taken you out one time?”

“Sure. Give me your phone.” You flatly reply, punching your digits in while glaring at Anakin, who’s visibly seething but remains silent.

“Great, I’ll give you a call soon. Bye sweetheart.” Max chirps, kissing you on the cheek before heading out the door.

“I’m going home now.” You announce monotonously, now feeling the rage subdue and the misery kick in. Was he embarrassed to be associated with you? Or does he think what you two shared is so insignificant it’s not even worth mentioning?

“Wait, I’ll drive you.” Anakin reaches out to place his hand on your shoulder but you shake him off. “I’ll get a cab.”

2 days later, you received a call from an overly eager Max asking you on a date; you feigned enthusiasm convincingly when he revealed his plans to take you to dinner and ice skating. You knew this was the kind of guy you should be entertaining - someone who wasn’t ashamed to make his affection for you public knowledge- but great as he may be, he just wasn’t Anakin.

Nonetheless, you used this sham of a date as an excuse to go shopping and get your hair and nails done. Once you’d returned home, you tried on your prettiest dresses, settling on one that perfectly matched the shade of your glittering pink nails. Staring out the window, you applied another layer of lip gloss and anticipated Max’s imminent arrival.

Checking your phone, you knitted your brows together: he was meant to pick you up 20 minutes ago- and now he’s left you waiting without so much as a text. Guess he wasn’t much of a gentleman after all.

Just as you were about to give up and change into your pyjamas, you heard the crunching of gravel in the driveway. “It’s about damn time.” You thought as you packed your lip gloss into your bag, listening to the sound of footsteps thudding up the stairs.

“Rather presumptuous of you to come straight up to my room, don’t you think?” You reprimand him playfully when you hear the bedroom door swing open.

“Sorry, guess I’ve gotten too comfortable around here.” A familiar voice answers and you turn around so fast you get whiplash.

“Ani!” You’re filled with the urge to jump up and hug him, but the memory of his cowardice prevents you. “What are you doing here?” You fold your arms and turn your back to him. “I’m expecting someone.”

“No you’re not.” He states simply.

“What are you talking about? You need to leave, Max is going to be here any minute.”

“You’re not listening to me darling, no he’s not.”

“What did you do?” You roll your eyes at him, knowing he meddled in some way.

“Let’s just say you won’t be leaving the house anytime soon.” He approaches you and you’re powerless to move. “On account of that nasty accident you had.”

“B- but I wasn’t in an accident.” You stutter, body racked with intimidation.

“You would’ve been if you’d have gotten into that car with him.” He snarls into your ear and snakes his hand around your waist. “You really thought I was going to let you go out with that idiot? Have him try to make a move on you- when I know you were only doing it to make me jealous? You’re dumber than I thought, princess.”

“Did it work then?” You bat your eyelashes innocently but can’t stop the wild grin that overtakes your face.

“Oh, you are so bad.” He grabs you by the jaw and meets your lips, fueled with a fire unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

“No, stop.” You put your hand against his firm chest and push him away. “You really hurt me, you know. Why would you let Jaden think I stole your shirt?”

“Are you serious? Use your brain, sweetheart.” He scoffs and you scrunch your face up in disbelief.

“Stop being mean! I’m not dumb and I deserve better than this.” You back away and climb onto your bed, grabbing a nearby teddy bear plushie and embracing it tightly.

“Okay, okay- I’m sorry, princess.” He sighs and takes a seat at the end of your bed. “I do care about you, you know that-“

“No! I don’t. And I’m starting to think you’re just a big fat liar who’s selling me dreams to try to get in my panties.” You huff, hiding behind your teddy.

“They are very nice panties, admittedly, and what’s underneath them is even nicer-“

“Ani!” You throw the teddy and it goes flying in his direction.

“Let me finish!” He sniggers, climbing up closer to you and handing you your teddy back.

“As much as I am a fan of your panties, I’m an even bigger fan of you. Your beautiful face, your mind, the way you wear your heart on your sleeve. I’m sorry I hurt you darling, it just wasn’t the right time to reveal a thing like that. Y’know your brother would kill me if he found out. All ramped up on post-show adrenaline. And he’s my best friend, ya know? He means a lot to me- you both do, so I just need some time to figure out how this is gonna work.” He speaks softly, brushing his knuckles against your cheeks.

“O-okay, Ani. I guess I understand.” You mutter, entranced by his close proximity and the way he’s touching you.

“Good girl. Now take that dress off.” He commands and you’re rendered speechless. “I know you bought it for him and that sickens me.”

For reasons you can’t explain, you stand up and begin slowly peeling off the dress, pushing the fabric off your shoulders and allowing it to drop to the floor, pooling around your feet.

“Now throw it away. I’ll buy you a new one.” His slippery voice seeps into your mind and you crumble the dress up, throwing it into the bin by the door.

“Good. Now come here.” He gestures you towards his lap and you slowly climb him, wrapping your legs around his smooth torso.

“You know you’re mine, right?” He slides his broad calloused palms over your ass cheeks, eliciting a squeak from you when he squeezes them roughly.

“M, m’ all yours Ani.” You kick yourself for how easily you gave in -but those eyes, and that body- oh that body. How could you be expected to stay strong when you were pressed this tightly against him?

“That’s right, babydoll. You’re all mine, and I’m all yours.” He purrs and you feel a damp spot forming in your panties at the sound of his velvety hushed voice. “And that’s the way it’s gonna be from now on. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Ani, crystal.” You whine, pawing at his chest and planting kisses around his neck.

“Needy little thing. Do you need daddy’s help to make you feel better?”

“Yes please, daddy. Make me feel good like you did last time.” You moan at the memory and goosebumps form all over your skin.

“Oh, I’ll make you feel even better. Lie back down, sweetheart.” He helps you off him and you sprawl out onto your mound of fluffy pillows.

“W-what are you gonna do t’me?” You question, a tingle of apprehension piercing your excitement.

“I’m gonna mark you as mine. I’m gonna fill you up full of me.” He begins to plant kisses all up and down your thighs, making you whimper with anticipation.

“Remember how good you did for me last time? I’m gonna need you to do that again- spread your legs, sweetheart.” You obey him and spread yourself open, revealing the wet spot permeating your lace panties.

“Nice ’n ready f’me.” He grumbles with a quietly content sigh. “Lift your hips.”

Doing as he wishes, you let him slip your underwear off and settle himself between your heat- his warm breath causing tingling sensations to bloom all over your skin. A hunger overtakes him and he dives in abruptly, tongue flicking up and down your sensitive clit. You pant and moan, feeling a full-body blush warm you up, all your nerve endings on fire at the feeling of his flat tongue against your cunt.

“Fuck Ani, you’re so good at that.” You moan breathlessly and feel him chuckle, the vibrations buzzing through you. He lifts his head and allows a glistening trail of spit to drip down from his lips to your core, soaking you entirely.

“Not that you need any help getting wet, but I want it to feel as good as possible.” He wipes the drool from his mouth and rises until he’s hovering above you. “Do you want to touch it first?” He asks and you nod slowly.

Unzipping his jeans, he grabs your hand and guides it to feel what’s underneath his boxers. A small gasp escapes your lips once you touch the ridged edges of his tip, before trailing your fingers down to his veiny, thick base.

“Oh my God, Ani…” You utter, barely above a whisper. “How…how will it fit?”

“We’ll make it fit.” He smirks, before putting your hand back and removing his jeans. “Are you ready, sweetheart? Remember if it hurts too much just tap me and I’ll stop, okay?”

“Okay Ani, I trust you.” You couldn’t believe you were finally doing this- years of saving yourself, only to give your virginity to a guy who you weren’t even in a real relationship with. It was so unlike you, so contrary to the way you’d been raised, so bad- and you loved it.

“Spit.” He orders, holding his hand under your mouth. As with all his commands, you obey without question and observe as he takes that same hand and strokes his cock with it, your spit wettening his entire base.

Lining himself up with your entrance, he takes a deep breath- as if he’s the one who’ll be in pain- and pushes in just the tip. You wince a little and grab the bedsheets- seeing this, Ani offers you his hand to hold. “It’s just the tip baby, relax. I’m not moving.” You nod furiously, blinking away tears that are forming; you’re not sure if they’re from the pain, the shock or the emotional effect this is having on you.

After taking a minute to adjust, you find yourself moving your hips just a little, impaling yourself on his cock by just a centimetre at a time.

“I thought it hurt, princess- do you want more already?” Anakin teases but remains completely still.

“Mhm, I’m ready for more, daddy.” You mumble, rotating your hips impatiently.

“Alright, if you’re sure.” He smirks, pushing the rest of his length into you in one swift motion- causing you to throw your head back at the overwhelming sensation of being filled. “What’s the matter, bunny? Too much?” Your eyes are screwed shut but you can feel his cocky smile radiating at you as he thrusts in and out.

“Fu- ugh, ani, mmph!” Little squeaks are pounded out of you a syllable at a time as your poor pussy is bullied by Anakin’s cock.

“That was quick, thought I was gonna have to ease my way in an inch at a time- but you just swallowed me right up, greedy pussy.” His vulgar words prompt whimpers to leave your wet lips and cause your legs to tremble.

“Goddamn baby, you are just so wet.” You don’t even have to look down to know he’s right- you can hear the lewd squelching that accompanies every smack of flesh.

“Please, I wanna, mmph.” You can’t get the words out as you claw at Ani’s shirt, hoping he gets the hint to take it off.

“Alright baby, alright.” He rips his shirt off, leaving his tanned chest exposed. Wanting to follow suit, you try to reach around and take your bra off- but the cock deep inside you is blighting your cognitive ability too much for you to succeed.

“I got you, baby, c’mere.” He coos, unhooking your bra with one hand- an act you raise a disapproving eyebrow to. “What? We can’t all be virgins.” The rational part of your brain wants to get mad but your body can’t seem to focus on anything other than the deliriously good way in which you’re getting pounded right now.

No doubt trying to get your mind off his sexual history before you started ruminating on it, he massages your breast, reaching down to suck on one while his relentless thrusts continued.

“If I could stay in here for the rest of my life, I’d be a very happy man.” He mumbled in between sucks, the cold air making your wet nipples hard. “Can I, princess? Can I stay inside you forever?”

You look down at the sight of your bodies meeting- his cock barging into your core, coated in creamy arousal- and you almost turn hysterical.

“Yes, yes, yes! Please Ani- mmph- please never, ever leave.” You beg, head spinning with pleasure as you feel your climax approaching.

“Shh, you have to be quiet, we’re not home alone.” He places his hand over your mouth and pounds into your little guts, muffled squeaks sufficiently silenced.

“Do you want me to fill you up?” He says breathily, trying to hold back moans. “Would you like that sweetheart? Want me to fill you up while your brother’s next door? Want to walk around the house with my cum dripping down your thighs?”

He knows you can’t say anything with his hand clutched over your mouth so tightly but he wants to give you the illusion that you have an option.

“Are you gonna be daddy’s good girl and let him spill his cum deep inside you? Yeah?” You nod frantically to everything he says, too cock drunk to think logically. He puts one of your legs over his shoulders as he drills into you with an increased intensity and you notice a warm, tingly feeling rise within you.

“Ahh fu- mm Ani, Ani, ‘m gonna cum.” You yelp out wildly, biting through his hand.

“Daddy’s gonna cum too, baby.” He groans in response, grip on your thigh hardening as his thrusts become more sloppy. “Oh, baby! Fuck, princess.” He whines as you feel hot ropes of cum shoot into you, pushing you over the edge into your own white hot orgasm. Your legs shake at the aftershock of such an intense feeling and Anakin remains on top of you, catching his breath.

“Who moans who’s name when they cum now?” You tease and he slaps the side of your thigh in response, chuckling as he slowly pulls out to reveal a flood of cum dribbling from your core.

“Yep, definitely mine.” He admires the sight. “Fuck, I hope Jaden didn’t hear any of that.”

“He’s always got his headphones on- if he suspected anything, he would’ve come in and beat you up by now.” You giggle mischievously- you loved how protective your brother was over you.

You showered together in your ensuite and Anakin gently cleaned every inch of your body, kissing every part he touched so softly that you would’ve thought you were made of glass. Once you got out, you headed to your wardrobe to find pyjamas.

“I believe this belongs to you.” He reaches into his backpack and hands you his band tee.

“You sure I can actually keep it this time?” You accept it hesitantly.

“Yes. And if anyone asks, say your boyfriend gave it to you.”

You smile sheepishly and put the oversized tee on before enveloping Ani in the tightest hug you’d ever given.

“Let’s go downstairs, I’ll make us some hot chocolate!”

“Oh dear God no, please let me make it.” Ani laughs and throws you over his shoulder, trudging downstairs to the kitchen.

“There you are. Thought you said you’d be here an hour ago.” Jaden grumbles at the bottom of the stairs, staring blankly at Anakin.

“Oh! Yeah, I, uh made a detour.” He gulps and Jaden raises an eyebrow when he sees you.

“Was that detour giving it to my sister?”

“What?!”

“The shirt. Did you go to give it to her?”

“Oh! Yes, I uh think it suits her more than me.” His gaze trails off, admiring you.

“Are you two finally a thing now then or?” Jaden asks, unamused.

“Huh? I, well we, uh-“

“Relax, I know you’ve liked her for years. I guess if she has to be with someone, I’m glad it’s my best buddy. That way I can keep an eye on you both.” He points in your direction, chuckling. “Oh and by the way- our walls? They’re real thin. Just sayin’.” Jaden walks off, rolling his eyes as you and Anakin stare at each other in shock.

“Wow, that was not the reaction I was expecting. Thought I was gonna get my ass beat.” Anakin sighs in relief.

“Liked me for years, huh?” You grin, ego boosted by Jaden’s revelation.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s see how cocky you are when I’m in your guts again.” Anakin stares down at you and you’re suddenly aware of how small you are compared to him.

“I can take it.” You huff defiantly.

“One round and you think you’re a big girl? Very well, I’ll clear my schedule- looks like I’ve got a long night of brat training.”

@erinkeifer @mortalheartache @crazy4hotmen

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