#but I enjoyed almost every process of this piece

[joelsgreys]

flutter

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

#tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #fic: snapshots

[cookkoo]

Drawtober 2023 day 3: Path

"Have you decided to take the path of strife?"

[1][2]

#persona 5 #niijima makoto #drawtober #drawtober2023 #inktober #inktober 2023 #I was debating really hard whether I wanna go with this or different idea #but hey this is her iconic path of strife we are talking about #anyway I really don't know what i'm doing with the screentone #cri #but I enjoyed almost every process of this piece #the only thing I'm sad about is I didn't get to draw shumako today #but oh well

[stardustedknuckles]

It's bedtime and I'm being very sappy, but I just came across a joke that my ex taught me, way back when, and it was good to have a reason to think of her and smile.

There's a great nothing where we used to be, and I feel like I recall the broad strokes and the bad details whenever I think of her. Her trauma and my unassuming arrogance in trying to help her, the nights she wouldn't reply to my texts because she knew I would stay awake terrified she'd hurt herself, the way the only thing she knew how to do with someone who cared for her was to manipulate them just to feel in control of something, and all I knew to do when I knew someone was trying to be better, when they wanted to be good and wanted me, was to stay with them - more importantly, to never give up being wanted by someone I wanted in return.

But the bad is never the whole story. And it's not excusing the fucked up little ball of issues we made together, but we wouldn't have fought so hard for us without the good. And she did teach me jokes and I did get her to sleep at my house that one time, early on, and I smiled up at my ceiling feeling floaty and warm while she slept because I was safe enough to fall asleep around when nobody else was, and she tried as hard as she knew how no matter what anyone else said. Of course she sucked at it. Of course I should've stood up for myself, of course it shouldn't have gone on for as long as it did. Neither of us even knew we were together until it was over and didn't find out we were lesbians for another five years after the end.

But she brought me to her dorm before I ever really understood the risk she was opening herself up to by having someone in a small and empty room alone, I clearly remember the first time she touched me (head on my shoulder) after months of me being careful not to touch her lest she jump out of her skin or start trembling, the paint speckled up her arms the first day of our class together, and the way it felt to have earned every morsel of her stunted and spiky affection. The nights we lingered in my driveway after she got in her car to leave, the cramps in my muscles after leaning for so long and how bright the stars always looked for all of those extra, stolen minutes. Her body weight across my lap while I threaded my fingers through her fine, fine hair (which I could probably still find attached to something, somewhere, even after 8 years). It was like becoming friends with a feral cat and I got scratched plenty. It's much healthier to read about than to live, I promise.

But it's okay to acknowledge that our explosive and often terrible attempts to care for each other were rooted in the earnest attempt to be good to and for the other, whatever our personal reasons why. And sometimes, many times, certainly more as the years went on, we succeeded. There's still nobody I would rather haunt that town with. Those moments of joy snatched from two conflicting kinds of broken shine all the brighter for the confusing mess of hormones and feelings and pasts we snatched them from. How it felt to be safety for someone who had never known it, to feel that sense of purpose before I was old enough to really understand why that was such a problem. I could go on until the sun comes up, but that's okay. Maybe one day I will. But for now I read that dumb little joke and, just for a second, I can remember how she smelled and the way the light that filtered through the old library windows poured over us like beams of honeyed time unspooling around us, the way I rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh lest I break the hush of the third floor - the wicked pride in her eyes, the surprise in them at discovering how much she liked that she made me laugh... and the smile it brings to me isn't bittersweet anymore.

#I genuinely don't know how I'm going to manage being that open with anyone ever again #Or if that's even a goal I should have #But I'm glad I had those years #I'm glad we had each other #And I think true healing - not just processing - probably comes from being able to wrap myself in the good #Without apologizing to the cop in my head for enjoying anything about it #Because almost every single person I ever told about her said I was in an abusive relationship #And it took me a decade to understand that the fact she didn't mean it to be didn't mean it wasn't #And that it's still okay that I loved her so much #I'm not an idiot for it and I don't need to qualify it and say how much I know better now #It's okay to think back and just remember the good #Anyway if you read all that I have no idea why but there you go #Also yes she's where I got so much of spiky beau from #Especially those early pieces

[screeching-bunny]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do the yandre!game show host with a himbo/bimbo reader

Yandere! Game Show Host x Bimbo/Himbo Reader Asks 1

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

Yandere! Game Show Host would absolutely adore you. He absolutely enjoys how there's absolutely not a single thought behind your eyes. He could literally be nonchalantly pulling up your clothes and you would be too dumb or preoccupied to notice him doing it. Would definitely make you wear provocative clothes all under the pretense of how it would be good for the viewer ratings and that this is just the policy of the company. Now get your ass in those tight little outfits before he explodes due to anticipation.

Yandere! Game Show Host likes how you are basically almost always dolled and glammed up no matter the time of day. He’d definitely feed into your shopaholic habits if you had any and would only allow you to get the skimpiest of clothes. There is probably a one hundred percent chance of you getting every single question wrong on the quizzes so he has to alter your answers for you.

Yandere! Game Show Host: “Okay now sweetie, what does blue and red make?”

You: “Uhhhhhh orange?”

Yandere! Game Show Host: “..... what's that you say? Purple? Why, that’s correct!!!”

You: “No I said–”

Yandere! Game Show Host: “Yep and I heard you say purple!!!!”

Other Contestants: Side-eying him

Viewers: *Too stunned to speak*

Yandere! Game Show Host is shoving his tongue down your throat the fastest chance he gets. Out of all of the yanderes he is definitely the most horniest. If you ever tell him that you want to pay him back for all he’s done for you, he’s immediately whipping his cock out, no questions asked. Just put those glossy lips right on there and all of your debt is immediately forgiven. He definitely makes sure to emphasize how sexually frustrated he is and how he would just loveeee it if someone were to give him the best sloppy toppy ever. Tries to convince you that if you don’t do it he might actually die.

Yandere! Game Show Host enjoys how easily distracted you get and how you have a hard time focusing on multiple things at once. If you ever tried to escape from him all he has to do is talk about how female hyenas have penises and you’d immediately forget what you were about to do. If he ever needed to fall asleep all he'd have to do is talk about the fall of Rome and you’d be out like a light.

Yandere! Game Show Host takes advantage of how you never fully process the dangerous situations you put yourself in. For example when it comes to the sleeping arrangement, contestants are put strictly in one room to be monitored 24/7 but you’d probably complain how you don’t want to sleep in a room with so many people in it. Yandere! Game Show Host would happily decide to offer for you to sleep with him in his bed which you would readily agree to. Next thing you know you’re stuck in bed with a creep who’s busy fondling you to sleep properly. He’d probably try to make this a regular thing and just force you to stay there every night from then on there.

—

You: “It was so nice of you to let me sleep in your bed that was so nice of you. It’s really weird though, you have such a big house but only one bedroom with one bed. You should probably start decorating your house better.”

Yandere! Game Show Host: “Yeah silly me I should really do better.”

You: “Wait a sec–” Notices how there's a piece of underwear that you lost a week ago peeking out of his drawer. “OH MY GOSH YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE!! YOU NOTICED HOW MY UNDERWEAR HAS GONE MISSING SO YOU GOT ME NEW PAIRS!!! HOW THOUGHTFUL OF YOU!!!”

Yandere! Game Show Host: sweating nervously. “... Yeah I noticed that too. You might not want to touch those though. They’re a little dirty because I haven’t washed them yet and accidentally spilled something on them yesterday–”

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere game show host

[cherryredstars]

Next door part two! I NEED THEM IN MY LIFE THAT WAS SO GOOD!

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Wet Dreams, Sexual Fantasies, Brief Mentions of Male Masturbation, Blowjob, Cum Eating

Summary: Nice but naughty, a heart that’s pure. She's the girl next door.

Word Count: 2.6K (Not Edited)

Part 1

He’s driving himself fucking mad.

It’s been almost two weeks since he last saw you in person. It’s somewhat his fault. He hasn’t been avoiding you exactly, just giving you room. You were so dazed when he left you, he could almost smell the remains of sex on you. It drove him crazy, fists clenched as he stood outside your closed door for what felt like years. He cock strained so painfully against his pants that he had half the mind to pull it out and jerk off in the middle of the hallway. 

He didn’t want to scare you. Big, old him running after small, delicate you. A pretty and young thing that he wouldn’t mind locking in his bedroom and fucking until the sun rose and he was off to work. He could- would - worship you. He has done it thousands of times in the last two weeks in his dreams. They plague him almost every night, his body pressing you down into the mattress as you mewl out for him. He can hear the sound of your arousal as his balls slap against you echoing in his ears. Your phantom grip on his cock follows him when he wakes up, his hands wandering into his pants to try to replicate the feeling. 

He’s always interrupted by the sound of your front door slamming as you rush out to go to one of your little classes, his frustration and want burning strong in his chest. But he has to be patient, has to wait for you to seek him out. He can’t just break through your door, no matter how badly he wanted to and show you how a real man would treat you. How he’d treat you so good, spoil you in a way that none of the boys your age can. He could make you his pretty little girlfriend, giving you anything you want. Fuck, he’ll pay for your entire college tuition if you asked him to. 

Or, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d make you beg for it. Maybe he’d force you to work for it. He can already imagine it. He’d have you riding his cock, maybe even his face, laying back and watching you take your pleasure from him. He’d enjoy himself, moaning as you gasp and cry above him. You’d look so pretty with tears running down your face, asking him so sweetly to give you what you wanted. Your hips working to show him how much you deserved it, how you’re his good girl who deserves the right to every one of his credit cards. He’d have you coming until he’s satisfied with your pleas, finally giving in to you a-

Fucking annoying piece of shit.

Miguel’s eyes snap open, wondering to the alarm clock on his nightstand. The numbers are still blurry, and the sound of someone knocking on his door is the last thing he wanted. Especially when it pulls him away from his private time with you. His cock is poking a dent into his sweats, and he runs his hands down his face in frustration. He groans to himself as he gets up, adjusting his pants as he goes. His mind is still semi-stuck in his fuzzy little fantasy when he opens the door, mind slow as they try to process the sight of you. 

You’re looking up at him with regretful eyes, a blanket draped loosely around your shoulders. His eyes can’t help but travel down your body, salivating at the way your cropped long sleeve shirt pokes out from your nipples and reveals the expanse of your navel. His eyes travel further down, catching on the plaid pajama pants that sit low on your waist with the strings untied. If his cock wasn’t hard before, it definitely is now. 

“I’m sorry to wake you up,” Your siren voice calls to him, his eyes snapping back to your shy face as you bite your lip. “But, my heater is acting up again and I can’t sleep with it switching between hot and cold. I already called the landlord, but he said he’d send someone by next week.”

You look so pretty before him, cheeks slightly red from embarrassment as you stare up at him like he’s your savior. His hand grips tight on his door as he processes what you said. His poor little baby, suffering in her apartment. You should have come to him sooner. He would have gladly taken care of you. This just goes to show how he’s the only man capable of taking care of you, the only man you need to take care of your needs. 

His hand covers the expanse of your stomach as he touches it. His warm hand is instantly met with your cold skin, sending shivers up your spine as he pushes you back so he can walk through his door. You walk obediently, taking a step back for every step he takes forward until you’re following him like a sweet puppy into your own apartment. It’s ice cold when his bare feet hit the wooden floors, his eyes trailing down to your own sockless feet. It brings a frown to his face, brows furrowing as he leans down and picks you up. 

Your cold hands shock his shoulders as they hold onto him tight. The most precious squeal leaves your lips at the unexpected move, looking up at him with wide eyes as he carries you to your room. Most of the lights are on from your journey to the front door, but your bedroom is still clad in darkness. Your bed is soft when his knee sinks into it, lifting the covers to tuck you in where you’ll be nice and warm. He wraps them around you, covering you as much as possible. He makes sure you’re taken care of before he goes off into the hallway to check the heater. 

It’s a quick fix, something he can do easily and doesn’t need a maintenance guy for assistance. It’s just dirty air filters, and he has spares in his apartment. It's a quick trip, with minimal labor. It takes him less than an hour to complete, but it’ll take some time before the heat starts filling up the place. When he walks back into your bedroom, you’re still under the covers and they shake slightly from the way you’re shivering. 

“Got it fixed, should be working fine soon, give it an hour max.”

The soft thank you and beaming smile you give him tempts him to break something else in your house so you can give him more. He walks over to you, sitting next to you on the bed. Your skin still quakes from the chill, and he hates to see you so uncomfortable. His hand comes up to your cheek, attempting to warm the skin with the heat of his hand. You instantly melt into the touch, practically purring as you lean into his hold. He’s seen this scene so many times in his dreams that he can't help the dirty thoughts circulating in his head. 

The darkness of your room hides the glazed look in his eyes as he studies your mouth, his thumb rubbing the expanse of your cheek, “You’re so cold, cariño. Needa find a way to warm ya’ up quick.”

The words are almost unheard, his thumb sliding down your face until it presses into your bottom lip. Your lips part slightly from the movement and he doesn’t ignore the temptation to slip the pad of his thumb through. Your mouth is warm and oh so inviting, your saliva coating his thumb print. You instinctively suckle at the skin, eyes shining bright at him as you open your mouth wider. It makes him groan softly, pressing his thumb further into your mouth until his hand is supporting your chin as his thumb presses flat against your tongue. It holds you still, blinking innocently at him as he rubs gently. 

He can feel his cock twitching in his pants, and it doesn’t take him long before he picks you up again, dragging you and the covers to the floor until it forms a pile before him. You’re on your knees, body half covered in blankets and sheets. They protect you from the icy cold of the wooden floors, and simultaneously makes you look like an offering for him. Miguel spreads his legs, grabbing your chin again until your face is hovering at the same height as his stomach. Your beautiful doll eyes blink up at him and he smiles at the sight of you. 

“It’s okay, I got a way to make you feel better again.” He mumbles down at you, his free hand fishing into his pants until he grips his cock.

It’s heavy and burning in his touch, a bead of precum glistening at the tip as it meets the frigid air. You stare at it in wonder, leaning your face closer to see better through the darkness. He watches you closely, slowly stroking his base as he basks in your attention. His hand leaves your chin, moving around until he grips the back of your neck. He pushes your face closer to him, stopping when your face is pressed to the underside of his cock. 

The skin burns where the two of you meet, and his cock jumps in excitement. His hips move slightly, slowly dragging his cock along your face, the tip of your nose brushing just under his tip. Miguel lets out a muffled moan, his hand squeezed tight at his base as he slaps his dick against your face. Your eyes instantly closed, taking it without complaint besides a low whine. 

Miguel lets out a low ‘fuck’ as he looks down at you, pulling your face away until his tip presses against your lips. He rubs his cock along the seams of them, watching as they get glossy with his precum. Your tongue tentatively slips out, gathering some of it as you hum out. His cock is quick to follow your pink muscle, slipping in the crown of his tip into your mouth. He can feel your hot breath on his tip as you gasp at the intrusion, your tongue pressing against him. 

He lets out a pleased sigh, slipping his tip back out to slip it back in. You try to call out his name, but it gets swallowed by his cock reentering your mouth. Your hands fall to his thighs, gathering the fabric in your fingers as you lean into him. You instantly gag when you do, mouth and throat not used to taking something thick. It makes Miguel moan, knowing damn well he’s nowhere near the back of your throat yet. You’re so fucking sensitive. He pulls back, but you eagerly try to follow. His grip on your neck tightens, making you whine as he keeps you in place and he slips out. 

“Careful now, muñeca. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You whimper at his words, blinking teary-eyed at him. He coos gently down at you, shutting you up by sliding himself back into your mouth. You hum against him, eyes shutting as he works himself in and out. He barely gives you anything, going no further than the end of his tip as your tongue glides against him. He moans, finally feeling what he’s wanted for so long. You’re sloppy, tongue uncertain as it prods at his slit and drinks up the precum he spills into your mouth. It’s warm and slightly salty as it travels down your throat, making something warm bloom in your stomach. Your hands fist his pants tighter and Miguel’s eyes drop down to them. 

His finger is gentle as it glides over the back of your hand, the cold skin raised with goosebumps. He tsks lightly at you, grabbing your hand and placing it around his length. He moans at the contrast in temperature, hips bucking into your touch. 

“Shit, baby, gotta warm up those hands too.”

He grabs your other hand, putting it slightly lower than your other on his cock. His hands leave your body, falling over your own as he guides you to stroke him. His tip still lingers in your mouth, and you moan around him from how heavy and warm he is in your grasp. Once you work up a rhythm, Miguel’s hands leave yours. His hand falls back to its original position at the back of your neck, letting out soft groans and grunts as you work him. He massages the pressure points near the back of your neck, encouraging your mouth to relax and start sucking at him again. 

Miguel can’t help throwing his head back, eyes shutting as you work waves of pleasure out of him. He can feel his balls grow heavier. His cock twitching and jumping in your mouth the more you play with him. He’s close, and he looks back down at you before he pulls his cock away from you again. You cry out in displeasure, looking up at him with a pout on your wet lips. He sighs deeply at you, moving back to grip your chin. 

“Open your mouth for me, yeah?”

You instantly do, not needing to be asked before you stick your tongue out eagerly. He chuckles lowly at your desperation, hand tight around his base as he rubs his tip against your tongue. You whine at him, eyes getting droopy as he slaps his cock against your muscle. It doesn’t take long for him to cum in your mouth, watching as thick, white liquid spills onto your tongue. He moans as he finishes, tapping his cock against your tongue a few more times to make sure he’s given you everything. 

When he pulls his cock away from you, you close your mouth and swallow. Your eyes close as you savor the flavor, feeling the warm liquid slip down your throat and warm your belly. The warmth makes you sleepy, eyes half-lidded as you lean forward and press your head to his stomach besides his semi-hard cock. His hand comes to stroke your hair, humming at you as your warm breath hits his skin. Sometime during his attempt at warming you, warm air has started to spill into the bedroom. Miguel sighs in content, leaning down to kiss the top of your head before picking you up for the last time. 

You instantly snuggle into him, always whining out when he deposits you into the bed. Your covers are soon placed over you, and you watch as Miguel tucks himself back into his pants before sliding into bed beside you. You’re quick to snuggle up against him again, basking in the extra warmth he gives off. The warmth in your stomach and from Miguel loll you into a sleep, your body pressed hard against him. 

The comfort of it all and the post-orgasmic bliss makes Miguel drowsy, breaths beginning to slow. He can feel his eyes drooping, taking in the final sights of you before his eyes close. But once they do, a loud band echoes in his head. He’s quick to spring up from the bed, eyes opening as he finds himself staring at a wall. His wall. In his bedroom. In his apartment. Even from his bedroom, he can hear the sound of you rushing towards the elevator and on the way to class. 

Miguel blinks in confusion, eyes moving towards the alarm clock at his bedside table. 8AM. He groans, falling into his bed as he sighs in frustration. His hands trail down his body, moving towards the aching dent in his pants.

Just another fucking dream about the girl next door.

Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Join the Taglist

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara x you #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #cherry's requests🍒 #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o hara #spider man 2099 #miguel ohara #astv miguel #across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv #miguel ohara x reader smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x y/n

[thebibliosphere]

In case you were wondering how deep down the Batfam fixation hole I am, it's something I've actually been talking about in therapy a lot.

Not like, in a worried way, more just when my therapist asks me what I'm doing in my downtime, my answer always used to be either "sleeping" or "I don't have downtime. I have too much work to do."

Now my answer is "playing my Batman game" or "watching Batman show/reading comics/writing unhinged Batman x Muppet fanfic."

And my therapist is delighted. She's fucking ecstatic. She's like, "You have interests again!" and I'm like !!!! Because here's the thing.

Almost dying in 2019 kinda irrevocably fucked up my brain, like, a lot. Like a lot, a lot. And I've been grieving over that for the last few years as well as recovering from the physical aspects of it. And to cope with it, I threw myself into work even though I wasn't physically or mentally well enough, and that made everything worse, and well, if you've been here, you know.

My brain has not been kind to me for a long time. It still isn't. But I do the work. I do multiple types of therapy a week. I piece myself back together on the daily and try to remember what it means to be human and not just this numb static void that sometimes sounds like shrieking if you listen too closely.

And then randomly, a few months ago a friend bought me Gotham Knights on Steam, and it was like a light turned back on. The engine that'd been refusing to turn over for years suddenly sputtered back to life, and something in my brain went, "Hey, I remember this... this is fun?"

And then I started tentatively searching the tags here on Tumblr, and yeah, actually. I remember this. I remember enjoying this. I can dip my toes into this. This is safe. This is a childhood interest from Before the almost-dying-trauma. And besides, it won't get in the way of my work. This isn't going to consume me. Nothing consumes me like it used to. I'm too broken for that.

Except, haha, jokes on me because, for some fucking reason, Brucie fucking Wayne and his gaggle of chaotic crime-fighting children is what reached into my brain, picked up my trauma, and started shaking it loose like a category 7 earthquake.

I actually laughed about that with my therapist a few weeks ago. Of all characters, of all pieces of media, it's Batman that's helping me process a significant chunk of my emotional trauma in a healthy way.

The most emotionally constipated vigilante in superhero existence, and I'm weeping like a child every time I get an achievement in Gotham Knights, and it says some bullshit like this:

ID: a purple steam achievement icon that says: He'd Be So Proud Of You. Reach the maximum level as any member of the Batman Family. 6.3% of players have this achievement. /end ID.

(for context, Batman is dead in this game, and you are playing as his emotionally devastated children trying to keep it together. Wailing, gnashing, crying, throwing up etc, etc.)

And my therapist, who has sat with me through EMDR sessions and a multitude of other shit designed to rewire your brain, just shrugs and says, "Sometimes we need to externalize our emotions through safe media. For you, right now, that safety is Batman having a relationship with the Muppets."

And like... okay, yeah. I'll take the win on that one.

#personal #batfam #emotional trauma #death mention #emotional damage #batmuppet

[soggyriceee]

strawberry | Konig nsfw

| this one is a smut, but also angst. basically, Konig gets you to use your safe word for the very first time after being gone for a year in the German base. so, I hope you all enjoy :) |

warnings: rough sex, crying (not good kind) angst, aggressive konig, not edited, will be edited in the morning

╰┈➤

Konig was always gentle during sex. and it a hundred percent had to do with the fact he was literally twice your height and then some. yes he left hickeys, small small bruises on your hips from his grasp, left your legs a bit wobbly. but those were normal considering his size. and even when you reassured him you liked that, he would always apologize profusely, getting you anything you need for hours and hours after.

but tonight, he was a whole other man. he wasn't the same kind and giving Konig. and to an extent you liked the new dominance, the new aggression. it was hot.

until it wasn't.

Konig had been between your legs, fingering and eating you out for about an hour. he was hungry, and not for edible food. he was hungry for you. that sweet pussy of yours, your tight cunt gripping his fingers or dick. he missed it while he was back in Germany for some mission he had given you little information about. all you knew was he was in the middle of Germany, killing potential threats.

already you had came 4 times (that he allowed). he was so pussy drunk, he hadn't realized the tears that brimmed those pretty eyes. in fact, his eyes were closed, his lower half grinding into the bed. you were sure he had already came in his pants at least twice at this point. he would occasionally whimper into you pussy, his hips moving faster against the bed. " fuck ive missed this pussy maus.. you dont even understand." he said into your drenched cunt. a mix of saliva and cum ran down your legs, a big puddle underneath the both of you.

"k-konig can we.. take a break please." you cried from above, your legs shaking despite his mouth simply on your thighs, leaving more and more marks. he nipped at the soft flesh of yours after those words came out, a low growl leaving his lips. " how dare you ask such a question?" he rose, pulling his pants down. and you were right.

his dick was layered in his cum, more of it dripping out from the tip. he was so agonizingly hard, he couldnt bare to fuck into the bed anymore. he needed what he dreamt of every night since leaving. and he needed it now. "imma fuck my babies into you liebling.. make you swollen with them." he said, almost to himself, as he grabbed the base of him, looking down at your pussy.

as much as you wanted him to rearrange your guts, you were drained. he had made you so overstimulated, you could barely form thoughts. it was hard trying to even raise your head from the pillow. but he didnt care. he hadn't realized it before, but as much as he does want to cherish your body like its a rare piece of art from olden times, worth millions of dollars, he loved seeing you fucked out just as much. he loved seeing how he had complete control over your body and there was nothing you could do. it sparked a whole new person in him, one that you were quickly growing scared of.

before you could process his tip sliding slowly into you with ease, his hips were already slamming into yours, his balls hitting your cum soaked ass with so much force, the sound filled the room. your hands clutched onto his shoulders for dear life, your eyes squeezing shut. " you look so fucking pretty maus.. so fucking pretty. all fucked out like this.. shit~" he groaned, his eyes watching your face twist in what he believed was pleasure.

and for a bit it was. until he raised your leg all the way up, leaving the other down. your leg fell over his shoulder and your arms flopped to your side. he was hitting directly at your cervix and it hurt. but he was in so much pleasure. his head fell back as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his lips spitting out dirty phrases in both English and German.

and of course, being away from sex for a year, Konig was beyond sensitive. he came for the first time within the first few thrusts, his head falling into your bruised breasts, whimpering out how good it feels. but that didnt stop him. he kept going.

his hand found its way to your throat, gripping it unintentionally hard. with the mix of tears and now the shortness of breath, it was all a lot on your body physically. Konig had gotten to carried away inside your pussy, the way it sucked him back in. "fuck maus.. your s-so wet.. im close again~" he whimpered, his lips latching to your breasts to find space to mark it yet again.

at this point you were literally going in and out of vision. his grip on you grew tighter as he released yet another load into you. you too felt your pussy leaking, unaware of the knot that was in your stomach. you were feeling too many things at once that you ended up going completely numb. you whimpered below him, trying to find anything to get him to realize that you needed a break. but the tears that fell from your eyes only made him wanna fuck you more.

he slid out, watching the mixture of cum literally pour out of you. your thighs were soaked and red from the constant biting and nibbling a few moments ago. your face was red as well from the lack of oxygen. he let go of your neck, licking his lips as if he was deciding what to do with you next. all he knew, was that he wanted to keep fucking you.

he grabbed your legs and pressed them together and into your chest. immediately you felt his dick slide right in, going at his fast pace yet again. "k-konig please- I-i cant" you managed to choke out, your head hitting the bed frame with each thrust he gave you. this was when the fun for you ended. it only made him more and more horny, seeing you tap out so soon after he began to fuck you.

the look in his eyes was not the same look when he came home, a huge bouquet of flowers in his hand as he ran up to you, lifting you off the ground and placing kisses all over your face. no. this look was dangerous. it was almost like it was the same look he had on the battle field.

his hand went back to your throat, his head tilting to the side slightly. "shut up a-and fucking.. take it. I know.. you missed this a-as much as me." he growled, moving his hips only faster and deeper. but you couldnt take it. you truly couldnt take it.

by the time you felt your 6th orgasm approaching, you began to see white light in the corners of your eyes, and you knew you were truly at your limit. "s-strawberry" you tried to say as loud as you could. but the sounds of your cunt and konigs whimpers, he couldnt hear you. his thrusts kept going until you felt him release inside you again, his grip on your throat enough to snap your throat. and at that same time, what you though was impossible happened. you had the most painful orgasm ever, your body feeling like it was going to shut down entirely. it was like you had nothing else to give.

""fuck libeling.. gimme one more.. be a good girl." he whispered breathlessly, his hips beginning to once again, move. this time slower but still deep. but you physically couldn't take it.

once you felt yourself begin to doze off from the lack of oxygen and overstimulation, you were finally able to coherently and loudly say, 'strawberry'.

╰┈➤

you woke up about a half hour later, your throat sore and body just as sore. you tried to turn but your legs gave you a painful sign to stay put. thats when it all came back what had happened. of course, it made tears well up in your eyes. you'd just seen a side of Konig you never thought you'd see. a side of him he kept hidden from you.

you stayed completely still, looking into nothing until you heard sniffles coming from the floor behind you. of course, you tried to move but it hurt. but eventually you were able to turn to your side, a few pained moans leaving you every now and then. thats when your eyes landed on Konig sitting on the floor, head in his hands as tears seeped through his fingers.

"Konig?" you said, wincing right after. but he didnt look up. he kept his head in his hands, his chest rising and falling quick. and you knew what this was. you'd been with him for so long, you knew exactly what he was going through based off his body. but as much as you wanted to help him, you genuinely couldnt feel your legs. "please come here.. I cant get up. let me hold you." you said, reaching your hand out. but still, nothing.

you felt a pain in your chest watching him like this, unable to do anything. you wanted to help him, reassure him that everything is okay. but words only do so much for him, he needed you to physically show him everything was okay. "Konig please I-" "I h-hurt you. im s-so s-sorry." he spoke out, hyperventilating throughout all. he began to rock on the floor, crying harder into his hands.

hearing him cry, it made you want to cry with him. especially since, you couldnt do anything but try and talk to him. "Konig please." you tried reasoning with him. but he couldnt get himself off the floor. thats when you decided to drag yourself off the bed, no matter how much pain you felt. you knew that yes you needed help too, but you weren't gonna get any if your help was having a panic attack.

once you got to the end of the bed, you crawled off of it slowly, your hands hitting the ground first, legs second. you groaned at the light impact, but still dragged yourself over to Konig. he was shaking when you got to him, his cries not stopping, even when you rested your hand on his foot. "Konig please stop crying.. look im okay. im alive." "but you almost weren't." he was looking up now. seeing his red puffy eyes broke your heart. and seeing you, looking lifeless and not responding to him made him even more worried for you than you were for him. the only thing that kept him going was your pulse, and barely that.

"I-i almost k..killed-" he couldnt finish his sentence before sobbing into his hands again, shaking his head. your head dropped, you didnt know what to say. you'd never experienced this issue with Konig, with anyone before. you'd never had to use your safe word and you never expected to. "Konig.. can you look at me?" you finally spoke, your voice stern.

he looked up at you, wiping his eyes. " it was an experience, okay? yes it was scary and yes it could've gone wrong. but it was a could've situation, not a did happen situation. as much as I want to help you feel better, I cant do that if I cant see you, and talk to you like I am now." your hand took his, squeezing gently. he sniffled and nodded, looking straight into you. " right now, I need help too. so lets help each other feel better." you said, smiling softly at him.

he looked down at your neck, some of the hickies leaving behind dried blood or bite marks. some even both. his heart dropped as he ran his eyes down your body again, the thsirt he put on you the second he realized you had passed out, barely covering the similar marks on your thighs. "im.. im so sorry maus.." he whispered, shaking his head.

you smiled and grabbed his face, leaning in as slow as you could as to not hurt yourself, leaving small kisses on his cheek. " I love you Konig, okay? you got a bit carried away. you've been gone a year. its normal. unexpected, but I understand. just please, next time-" "ill treat you like your made of glass libeling." he finished, grabbing your face.

Konig knew deep down, he'd never forgive himself for this. for putting you in danger like that, for turning into the man he was on the battlefield. he'd never forgive himself, no matter how many times you told him it was okay. it wasn't. and he felt worse about being the one on the floor crying instead of showering you in love.

he stood, grabbing you with such ease into his arms, flipping you bridal style. you clung to his neck, smiling at him. "lets go give you a bath, ill order your favorite food. or I can cook. then we can watch that show you've been watching. we can do anything you want maus.. I love you." he said, walking towards the connected bathroom.

and you both did just that. the rest of the night you stayed in, cuddling and watching your favorite shows. as bedtime grew closer for you both, he began to clean the marks along your body, kissing each one and apologizing after them all. he felt so bad, and he was willing to go above and beyond, and even then some, to make you feel like the beautiful princess you were.

#konig #konig smut #konig fanfiction #konig x reader #cod #cod x reader #call of duty fan fiction #call of duty x reader #konig fic #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #mw2

[xo-cod]

forgive the inaccuracies, idk much about babies <3 ooc/rushed :)

simon w his baby but she has a preference for one parent and it's not him

simon finally coming back to his safe place, his sanctuary, his home, all but eager to spend some needed time with his family. be had been off to a mission, the last one for a while to make sure that everything was okay. he had already been incredibly reluctant to leave you but now that you both had a baby, it was hard. not a second was spent on the field where images of the pair of you blazed through his mind, almost nearly costing his arm and leg in the process of being too distracted. it had been hell to say the least

but the day finally came, there he was finally on his way back after an intense gruelling month. simon saw you first, bundling you up close in his built arms enjoying your little chuckles that fell from your lips. removing his balaclava as he peppers tender kisses across your cheeks before your lips, his soft smile growing at how happy he was to be back. before he set you back down, eyes scouring about for his bundle of pure joy

"where is she, lovie?? i missed her so much, i got her a little trinket from the place we were deployed in, hope she likes it" he chuckled softly, opening one of his pockets to reveal the gift as he catches his baby on the carpet playing with toys babbling away. his heart was practically bursting at its seams, shedding away his utility vest and his gear to make sure nothing could hurt her before he gently padded his way over. he had different ways the evening would pan out but he hadn't expected this.

he didn't ever expect to be met with a blank stare in return

his heart dropped when he picked his little girl up, she was too busy playing with her favourite toys to even react to him. he hadn't anticipated her looking at him like a stranger. he could've cried with the way she wriggled out of his grasp and wanting to be let down as if he was some enemy. as if instead of being the protector he was now the very thing he swore to keep away from his child, a stranger.

his face like a kicked puppy when he looked at you with pure shock and pain, looking back at the baby who was eagerly crawling back to you having wanting nothing to do with him despite him trying to come closer. you could see all the happiness he previously had practically disappeared from his body, his shoulders deflating with sadness and pain

she couldn't recognise him, she was no longer a daddy's girl

"honey.... sweetheart, it's me, dad. daddy's here. c'mon, c'mere munchkin" he tried to chuckle, kneeling down opening his muscular arms only for her to blink at him and then look back at her toys again

"lovie.... what's going on?" his voice is so soft with hurt and shock looking back to you with huge shining eyes as if he had encountered the worst loss till date. suddenly the mission he had just been on was nothing, the weight of his child preferring you over him was crushing his heart into pieces he didn't think he would come back from. how he'd do any mission 10x over if it meant his child, his treasure would love him again

•••

and it remained that way for the next week, he tried his utmost best but it never seemed to be good enough for her. you tried to console him but he remained dejected, she was always wanting to run back to you. to be comforted by you and to be held by you. every time he tried to tuck her in, his efforts simply proved fruitless. she would cry and cry until you came back in and he watched from the side never feeling like he had failed so hard before in his life.

it hurt more than any of the superficial wounds he ever managed to get in battle, it hurt more than him being on his literal deathbed all those times he was caught in the cross fire. and it only propelled him further into despair when he made the mistake of googling it and realising that this phase may very well last years.

you could see him break with everyday, doubting himself as a father and as a husband. blaming himself and letting the doubt plague his heart and mind. it seemed nothing could comfort him apart from his baby that wanted nothing to do with him. he hadn't managed to hug her at all, he missed being able to snuggle her soft skin for hours. lounging around the home with her cuddled up in one arm as the other gently rubbed on the back of her head soothingly holding her close to his heart. and the thought of never being able to cuddle her without the cries that accompanied it was more than he could bear, it hurt more than anything he had gone through

that was until one night, he was tiredly going to the bathroom and pausing over the nursery. he hadn't meant to but he peeked in and saw her laying in her crib half asleep. her eyes big and brown exactly like his, blinking up slowly at the lieutenant. she was quiet apart from the small sounds she made sucking on the pacifier, a soft bunny in her hand as she peeked back at her father.

"hey baby...." he whispered so softly, he didn't even think she had heard. but her head tilted in curiosity and he chuckled, his hands coming to rest on the walls of the crib. desperately aching to feel her soft skin but too nervous to agitate her

"it's me honey, your dad. i really.... really miss you" he broke off, his heart feeling so heavy as the guilt came barreling in once more. it was his fault that he left her for a month, he shouldn't have been so surprised when he came back and preferred you. you had been there when he couldn't, she developed an attachment with you, not with him

"i'm so sorry to have left you for a month, honey. if i had known- if i thought for a second you'd hate me-" he didn't have the heart to finish the words, the guilt overriding his senses. with a soft sigh, his forehead leaned against his palm for a moment. his own baby didn't like him, he hadn't felt this low in a long time.

he promised he would never raise her in a volatile environment like he had grown up but already he hadn't been any better. he left her knowing for a month, coming back to see her favouring you. and it wasn't easy on both of you, he knew that. he knew he was being irrational but it stung more than any cut, the fact that if he hadn't made the choice to go on the mission that his baby wouldn't be acting so strangely around him.

simon didn't expect anything more tonight, too scared to touch her in case she started crying so he settled for placing the blanket back over her and heading off to bed with a heavy heart. what he didn't expect was the small coo coming from her lips, her tiny fist wrapping up over his index finger. his heart was in his throat, eyes wide at the sight as he looked back to her sweet innocent face again

"me?? you want me?" his voice was so gentle, too scared to speak loud as if this was all a beautiful dream he would wake up from. hesitantly he had reached down, his breath held as his large hands wrapped around his baby so delicately as if she'd shatter beneath his fingertips. slowly sitting down on the rocking chair, the moonlight pouting through the window illuminating her features.

how everyone around claimed she was a carbon copy, how proud he was to call her his daughter. all the moments that they shared running through his mind like a montage and she tilted her small head up at him, a gentle giggle falling from her lips before she rested her weary head against his warm chest. he could've cried and he did, gently but firmly holding her body between his hands. thanking whatever goodness he had done in his life that she was back, his baby was back. and she loved him just like before. she recognised him, she wanted him willingly. it was enough to break him out of whatever funk he had been in, trying desperately not to sob happy tears after a long gruelling two weeks.

you woke up the next morning to see simon laying on the rocking chair, one hand protectively over her small back while the other locked around her little legs as they both slept peacefully. his cheek leaning against her forehead as they cuddled up close on the rocking chair, both making the exact same sleeping face causing you to hide your growing smile and snap a little picture of the tender moment.

she truly was his little mini.

#simon riley #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #dad!simon riley #dad!ghost #dad!simon riley x reader

[stsgluver]

TAKE ME BACK TO BEFORE – gojo satoru

summary. based off of this drabble. satoru loses his best friend, and, in the process, loses you too. PART ONE OF FOUR.

wc. 4.4k

tags. ANGST <33333 some fluff at the beginning, slight mention of some suggestive activities, cliff-hanger ending (neither happy nor sad), might be swearing I can't remember and it's 12am I'm too tired to check, may include spelling mistakes

a/n. sorry some bits are a little rushed but I wanted the focus on yn and gojo without making it too long!! hope you enjoy (unknown whether i'll pt2 it, might just leave it to the imagination)!!!! this is also my first long long piece of writing so i’m happy to accept any criticism xxx

chapped lips kiss along the back of your neck, soft hair tickling with each movement. you can feel the heat of the sun that peaks though the half closed curtains – satoru’s fault since the additional two seconds that would take is two seconds that he’s not with you and god forbid he’s not wrapped around you like a koala.

like right now.

you daren’t not open your eyes yet, enjoying the peace of being gently pampered by your boyfriend’s love as his kisses move down your shoulders and his fingers draw circles on your thighs and tummy. one leg is slotted neatly between yours and for a few blissful moments, he’s not the strongest sorcerer alive and you’re not his semi-grade one girlfriend that is constantly scrutinised for not coming from a well known clan. in their eyes you weren’t worthy to be in bed with a special grade. not that that had ever stopped you or gojou.

“i know you’re awake,” satoru murmurs against your skin, lifting his head up so that it rests against your shoulder. his voice is laced with sleep and you’re sure he hasn’t been awake much longer than you. he squeezes you impossibly closer, his bare chest against your back and your lips tilt up in a smile at the fact you’re the only one who will ever be this close to him. able to touch and kiss every inch of his skin with no infinity acting as a barrier.

after the fight with toji, gojo had reached a state of enlightenment. he declared himself the honoured one and suddenly you, suguru and gojo were no longer doing missions together. in fact, gojo would practically drop off the face of the earth for several weeks at a time as the higher ups took advantage of his new-found skills. you and suguru coped but it had changed the dynamic of your relationships entirely so these mornings were easily your favourite time of the day.

“i preferred it when you didnt speak,” you lie, twisting round in his arms to face him. it was becoming more of a rarity to see your boyfriend without his glasses on. as his power grew stronger, the consequential headaches were only worsening and shoko could only counter his cursed technique so much. “more kisses please.” squeezing your eyes shut and puckering your lips in an over-exaggerated manner, you hear satoru snicker lightly but he complies nonetheless.

one hand dips under your head to lightly grasp ahold of your hair, ensuring you stay tightly against him. the other reaches down, skimming past your shorts to grasp your thigh and pull it over his leg so your body is pressed against his. his hands are so gentle but they leave a fiery heat in their path that makes you wish you weren’t at the jujutsu high dorms with your friends either side of you.

“so demanding,” he mocks, his voice muffled against your lips. you’re almost embarrassed by how hard you’re trying to swallow the whine that’s stuck at the back of your throat. and satoru knows, he always knows, and he pinches your thigh as your hand wraps around his neck.

you bite down on his lip and squeeze your hand and he’s gasping and you’re kissing him harder until, finally, oxygen catches up to you both. satoru keeps you close, your foreheads pressed against one anothers as your quickened breaths mingle.

it’s a few more seconds till your heart has calmed down enough to hear yourself think and you open your eyes to see his ocean blue ones already staring at you. if your cheeks weren’t already red from your small make out, they definitely were now under his powerful gaze, so full of love and adoration.

satoru sees you so clearly, you look like an angel to him. sure, he has a strip from a photo booth of the two of you folded in the back pocket of his uniform at all times and hundreds of pictures of you on his phone to look back at when he’s away from you. but seeing you like this so up close is an image he wants branded into his brain permanently.

“we don’t have class today,” satoru says suggestively, drawing dangerously high circles that have you shuddering in anticipation.

your thumb brushes against his chin, tickled against the slight stubble that he’d shave off once you got out of bed. “what are you proposing?” you hum with a grin.

satoru enunciates each of his words with a wet kiss to your lips, cheek, nose and jaw, “you, me and a whole morning of s-” 

there’s a sharp knock against the door and satoru rolls over onto his side of the bed, letting out a very loud and very mature whine. you giggle quietly and press one last kiss to the crook of his neck, telling him to go speak to whoever it is. with a grumbled who the fuck is cockblocking the honoured one, satoru complies and slides off of the bed to find his pyjama pants to at least look half decent.

you watch him lazily, and you think you could fall back asleep if it weren’t for the fact your body is buzzing from the simple make out session. it was scary to admit the power satoru had over you.

“i’m trying to spend quality time with my girlfriend kento, this better be good,” satoru whines as he slides open his dorm door. you could almost picture nanami’s disgusted expression at the half-clothed, six-foot-something sorcerer who, quite frankly, was acting like a child.

“i need your help exorcising a few grade threes that were spotted,” nanami admits in a monotone voice but your heart instantly sinks.

“you’re grade two-” satoru tries to argue but you hiss gojo and the simple use of his family name has him reconsidering. clicking his tongue, he nods once at nanami with a more serious expression than is usually worn by the special grade, “give me five and i’ll be there.”

“i’ll be outside. bye yn.”

“stay safe kento!” you call back to him as you hear his footsteps get further away. 

satoru slowly closes the door. any trace of the sexual desires that were in the room previous have dissipated into a quiet sombre. he’s silent for a few moments before he turns his attention back to you, carefully assessing your response.

you stare up at the ceiling for a few more moments before you meet the eyes of your boyfriend. there’s an unspoken name between you and both of you are scared to say what you’re thinking.

the mission had initially meant to be one for you: it was supposed to be just a couple of grade two curses. easy. but you’d pushed yourself too hard the day before during train and could barely walk on your left leg. shoko had been away with family so the higher ups made the executive decision to send nanami and him. 

things went nasty quickly with the information being all wrong and satoru was the one who ultimately exorcised the curses as the rest of you mourned over what remained of his body. it didn’t matter that almost twelve months had passed. the guilt of ‘what if’ still tormented your memories and you’d be lucky if you went a week without seeing him in your dreams.

“i love you.” you turn your body to the left to see satoru having knelt down just in front of the bed. his icy blue eyes were filled to the brim with concern and pity for your situation. with satoru so often being away for missions now, you two had struggled to work through your guilt as you tried to pull further and further away from him. 

you offer him a small smile for reassurance. “i love you too.”

“always?” he tilts his head and grins. it didn’t take a genius to figure out that satoru had two very clear and distinctive love languages: physical touch and affirmations. he didn’t need the reassurance but there was just something about hearing you profess your love for him over and over that made his heart soar. 

you reach out to hold his face, and he practically purrs as he nestles himself closer into your touch. “of course pretty boy. who else would put up with your tantrums?”

“tantrums?! i would never,” satoru says, appalled by the accusations so much so he holds your wrists and kisses both palms of your hands. “that hurt my feelings.”

“you’ll be okay.” you roll your eyes, but your lips have quirked into a small smile and satoru mirrors it with a with a wide as he classes that as a  success. he places one little kiss to your lips, sighing reluctantly as he knows he’s got to leave you. 

despite the fact he was getting ready to go on a mission and not spend the day on a date with you, you do love the view of watching him get dressed. his back muscles in particular as he pulls a white shirt over his head that you wish you could bite—

“help?”

since you had started slipping into satoru’s room and spending the night, you two had formed a codependent morning routine. one part of which being the fact that satoru seemed to lose all ability to button up his uniform jacket the second you were in his bed. 

you shrug off the duvet and slip off of his bed to stand in front of him where he stood awaiting. a silence settles between the two of you as your hands gently pull his jacket together and slot each of the buttons into place. his glasses remain in his hand so you’re blessed with those ocean eyes watching each of your ministrations.

“suguru gets back from visiting his parents today,” you loop your arms loosely around his neck once you’re done, and he wants to laugh at the way you stretch up to meet his height. “him, ieiri and i are going to get boba if you want to join. bring kento too. i’m worried about him.”

“he’ll be okay,” you frown at satoru’s cheerful, but also dismissive, tone. “it’s just a part of-”

“-being a sorcerer. yeah i know,” you grumble. satoru is not an idiot, far from it, he’s just never known anything other than the jujutsu world. in such a world death has become normalised – even for a boy only eighteen. “but me and kento aren’t from families like you. we didn’t know what we were signing up for,” you explain and his lips pull into a thin line.

he presses an apologetic kiss to you forehead and gives your waist a soft squeeze, “i’m sorry, love you, baby.”

“i love you more,” you draw your arms around him more tightly and press your cheek to your chest as you hold him close to you, “come back to me safely.”

“answer my calls idiot,” you sigh as you press on geto’s contact for the third time. he should have arrived at the school twenty minutes ago but it had pretty much been radio silent since he’d arrived at his parents. other than the confirmation that he was there and safe, you hadn’t heard anything. you initially weren’t concerned – he was seeing his family after all – but he was never late to meet you.

“ieiri!” 

as you run down the hall to her, you notice your teacher, yaga, standing stony-faced with paper in his hands. you hold up your phone with suguru’s contact on the screen, “have you heard from sugu-“ shoko sighs, shaking her head and your stomach drops. not suguru too. you could barely recover from haibara. the only person that got you through that was satoru and you don’t think he can hold you together and keep himself sane if suguru had been killed by a curse too.

“someone tell me he’s still alive,” there’s tears welling up in your eyes as your grip tightens around your phone. what if you’d called him a day prior? would he have answered? asked for help? could you have saved him?

shoko can’t meet your gaze as she struggles to find the right words to explain so it’s your teacher that wordlessly answers your demand by handing you the letter in his hand, “read this.” 

you wish you hadn’t.

“what? what?” you repeat, eyes wide as you scan the word ‘execution’. your stomach is doing flips at this point and you really think you might be sick. your head pounds as you reread the words. “is this real?”

“unfortunately,” yaga confirms.

you think maybe it’s selfish, your friend is clearly suffering because no perfectly well being commits such a heinous act, but the only person that concerns you is– “does satoru know?”

“no,” he shakes his head, “i’m informing him once he’s back with nanami. i’m going to need all four of you to be on your best behaviour, keeping a low profile and completing any missions received as swiftly and efficiently as possible. we’re all going to be scrutinised for every decision we make from now.” yaga doesn’t have to explain himself fully to you both to know what he’s implying. all of you are under suspicion now of conspiracy – one mistake and the next execution letter could have your name written.

“do you know where is suguru now?” you ask shoko with a shaky voice once yaga has walked away back to his office.

“the boba shop,” shoko plays with the unlit cigarette in her hand. she, much like gojo, kept her true emotions hidden by a veil of grins and snarky comments, but there was a clear tone of defeat in her voice. “we planned to go there so he’ll go.”

you lift your head up from the floor, “but that was before he did… this.” there is a lump in your throat as you speak and find yourself feeling selfish as your concern shifts to your boyfriend and how he’ll handle suguru’s defection.

“he’ll be there,” shoko says firmly with the utmost trust in her voice. a true belief that he will never let you both down, that he will never do anything that has been accused of him.

-

that belief is quickly dashed, a day dream that isn’t real and the truth cut through you deeper than any curse ever could. suguru was nonchalant when you had spoken, apologetic that he had to leave all of his friends as opposed to his actions that caused that. shoko had called satoru and the rest had been a blur as she took you back to jujutsu high to give satoru and suguru their space.

time stills until a familiar aura of cursed energy enters the high school. he’s not wearing his usual dark shades so you can see his eyes are clearly bloodshot and puffy from tears – even if they’re partially covered by his growing white locks and his hunched posture.

you, shoko and yaga have been awaiting his return. there is a target on suguru’s head now and your teacher needs to know if satoru has pulled the trigger. you just need your boyfriend to come back to you in one piece, both metaphorically and physically. 

he doesn’t acknowledge any of you. there’s no words, no gestures, no shift in his energy to even let you all know that he’s responsive to the outside world. it’s like he’s just on autopilot as he pushes between the three of you and heads in the direction of the dorm rooms.

shoko sighs, flicking the lighter in her hand as she silently takes her leave. your heart feels like it’s ripping in two and you’re struggling to pick up the falling pieces as you watch her walk away. suguru is gone, shoko is shutting down and satoru…

yaga encourages you to go and speak to satoru whilst he discusses with other sorcerers about plans going forward regarding suguru. 

“toru? toru?” you knock lightly on his door, repeating your nickname for him when he doesn’t respond to you the first time. you know he’s in there.

another twenty seconds go by before you make the assertive decision to enter, pressing your palms against the door and slowly sliding it open. slipping in and closing the door behind yourself, there’s a slight ache in your chest as you mourn the blissful morning you had woken up to. a morning in a world that no longer existed.

the bed is still perfectly made as you had tidied it before you’d gone on your suguru hunt. satoru sits at his desk, his foot tapping lightly on the ground repeatedly as his knee moves up and down. you have never seen him in any state of anxiety before. it felt intrusive to witness the strongest in such a manner – even if you are his girlfriend.

you perch yourself onto the edge of his bed and wait for him to open up. which he never does. shocker. “did suguru say much to you?”

“no.”

“i know this is bad right now but-“

“do you know?” satoru snaps, hands slamming down against his desk causing you to jump. you’ve never seen him speak so angrily and act out – his emotions overruling his logical reasoning. “is it because i’m fucking cryin? is that what made you realise?”

“satoru-“

“you were here. you have been with him and not once did you mention that suguru wasn’t doing well,” satoru doesn’t sugarcoat his words as he layers the blame thickly on you, “maybe if you hadn’t been so fucking focused on how your last fuck up killed haibara, i wouldn’t have lost my best friend.” you choke back a sob, hand over your mouth as tears well up in your eyes. satoru doesn’t look at you. somewhere between this morning and now, your position has shifted – from the centre of his universe to just another weak person who burdens him.

“he is my best friend too,” your broken voice tries to defend itself. the attempt falls on deaf ears because now satoru is pacing back and forth, his fingers pressed to the sides of his forehead as he rotates them in small circles. migraine.

“satoru i get you’re grieving and you’re hurt but you can’t blame me,” you try to reason because god you love him so much and you think if he means what he says, if satoru truly blames you… you’re not sure how you’re going to be able to move on.

“cant i?” satoru lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “i ignored him for you. to make sure you were okay.”

“look we’re both emotional right now. i’ll give you some time to cool off and we can work this out–” you try to reach out and hold his hand but you're met with a force you haven’t felt in a very very very long time. he turned his infinity on.

“dont bother,” he slouches back down into his chair, forearm covering his eyes as he leans back. “there’s nothing to work out.”

those tears that you’d been holding back are freely flowing now, down past your reddned cheeks and dripping onto his bed sheets as you feel yourself become light-headed. “are you break-“

“go.” there’s a chill down your spine from the assertiveness in his voice. it’s monotone and without any trace of the love he had for you that morning. he really means it then, everything he said.

so you comply and you don’t look back.

– TWELVE MONTHS LATER

“ieiri, i just need two more minutes then i should be ready to go–”

“you’re leaving.” 

your breath hitches and your whole world comes to a halt at the oh-so-familiar voice behind you. one that had barely addressed you or acknowledged your existence for a year now. a ghost.

“gojo,” you know he doesn’t like your usage of his first name from the disgruntled sound he makes. there’s a brief pause as your brain hot wires itself back into function again and you refrain from repeating his family name that tastes so foreign on your tongue. “uh, yeah, my plane to korea leaves in a few hours.” 

“you weren’t going to say goodbye?”

you scoff, closing the last box with the remains of your tape, “this is the first time you’ve recognised my existence in nearly a year, gojo. can’t say goodbye to someone who’s already left you behind.” your tone is especially sharp as you utter the syllables of his last name. it hurts to speak to him, to hear his voice, to exist to him again. he doesn’t get to speak to you with a breeziness in his voice, like he never abandoned you in the worst way possible. like he didn’t shatter your heart into a million pieces when you were already at your lowest.

the world of jujutsu is cruel and had been especially to you since geto’s defection and the break up with gojo. you had shoko and nanami but shoko was slowly regressing into a shell of a former self and nanami had always had one foot out of the door. the last twelve months had only solidified his decision to leave.

the higher ups have little to no respect for you – that is a fact. gojo leaving you had removed any sort of political defence you had against them and they didn’t hesitate to question your position and capabilities as a sorcerer after every mission. you don;t need gojo to survive, you could stand up for yourself, but you deserved more than to be left in the lurch at such a volatile time with suguru’s defection. 

there’s a dampness in your palm and you wince as you realise how tightly you had been clenching your fists.

gojo reaches out for your bloodied hands and you flinch away, finally turning back to look at him.

he’s stunning.

“don’t touch me,” you are quick to widen the distance between the two of you, wiping your hands on your dark skirt. for a moment there’s a parallel to all those months ago – when he’d decided to break up with you and cut you off from touching him with the same infinity that had once brought you so much joy. initially, allowing you to touch him had been his way of opening up, learning how to be vulnerable to the person he loves. he hadn’t needed to tell you you were over the moment he forced that barrier between you once more.

“i’m sorry.” his blue eyes aren’t as blue as they once were, their light dimmed, and he looks genuinely apologetic for overstepping. it doesn’t ease the ache.

the two of you take a breath and just stare. your eyes scan the face and body of the man who you thought you knew like the back of your hand. every scar on his body and every thought in his mind.

his lips quirk into a sad smile, “i love you.” your jaw clenches at his admission and you turn back to your boxes. 

he doesn’t mean it. he can’t.

“gojo,” you warn quietly, your thoughts quickly going into haywire at his confession because you’d be lying if you said you don’t love him too. in fact, you know you do – it’s what has driven your hatred towards him to blossom into a garden of sharp, bleeding roses.

“please stop calling me that,” he always hated to be reduced to the clan he is from. he takes a cautious step towards you as the words continue to spill from his lips. “i love you, i love you so much, but i have lost so much. i got scared and i pushed you away and it was so wrong of me–”

“i lost everything.” you look directly at him and you can only hope that he knows you’re referring to him and him alone. it isn’t that you consider everyone else expendable, you’re just capable of coping with the loss of them. a piece of you died a year ago and 

“but you’re not the strongest are you?” you click your tongue and almost laugh. he belongs in this world of sorcery more than you ever could. everything is reduced to power. “i’ve been this prodigy since as long as i can remember and i couldnt save haibara, i didn’t even realise suguru was spiralling and you…” 

“i was right here,” you press a finger directly into the centre of his chest to emphasise your point. somehow you manage not to hesitate and stutter as you realise he’s dropped his infinity for you again – even if it is just to allow you to prod him in anger. “i needed you. i lost someone who i saw as a little brother and then one of my best friends kills his parents and an entire village. i needed you.”

gojo’s left silent for a moment so you finish off, “you know how i find this society to be a prestigious bunch of shit but i stayed for you and you still left me. i would’ve done anything for you.” there’s those tears again. you need him out of your room and you need out of this world as soon as possible.

“i have two kids.”

“what?” you don’t bother to hide the hurt in your voice, nor the underlying tones of jealousy. you’d been out of his life for twelve months and he’d already moved on? and had kids? at nineteen?

“they were about to get sold to the zen’in clan-“ your eyebrows furrow as the pieces of the puzzle come together. 

“fushiguro’s?” you cut him off to ask tentatively, and gojo nods. you take a seat on your bed. you’re not quite sure you can handle anything coming out of his mouth without risking passing out from the sheer overwhelmingness of it all. how dare he waltz back into your life, announce he has two kids that he was willingly raising to ensure they didn’t become victims of the zen’in clan? for what? as a favour for the man who basically killed him not even three years prior?

gojo flashes you a sheepish smile, clasping his hands together as he rocked back and forth on his heels nervously. “want to raise them with me?”

taglist ! @sanokiss ! @dummyf ! @erenssin ! @makiuchiha97 ! @sosoa ! @bontensh0e ! @cole-silas ! @fenrysashryver ! @istanuwow !

#— toru!! #gojo drabbles #gojou satoru #satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojo angst #gojo fluff #gojo oneshot #gojo fic #jjk #jjk angst #gojo #gojo x reader

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP fic idea: Lex Luther's youngest

Lex Luther will admit that his attempt to clone Superman had failed because he gave Superbo far too much free will. He may have lost the lab and a few scientists, but he still had the receipt in his head.

Yes, Superboy's creation was considered a miracle, but there is no such thing in science. He was sure he could recreate the experiment.

He just needed to ensure this one would have less world knowledge. Keep the weapon a weapon by providing it never thought of itself as anything else.

So he got to work. He blended his DNA with the small remaining samples he had of Superman. It was frustrating to see ninety-nine failed attempts to get the cloning right. Lex was on the last of his piece when he almost gave up, choosing to hype up everything in a last desperate attempt.

He placed it in the tube, left it to process overnight, and when he returned, there was a full teenager in the pod- now glowing green for some reason? Lex pauses, surprised beside himself, before fierce pride overcomes him.

He did it. He's completed his second clone all on his own.

Lex had only a few seconds to celebrate before the experiment jerked awake, and the bluest set of eyes he's ever seen stared back at him. It should be aware later in this stage. Then again, it shouldn't be this grown, either.

The clone screams.

Its voice slams against the glass that should have held against any full Kryptonian and shatters it. Lex throws himself behind one of the counters, feeling the waves of power wash over him.

It shakes the whole underground lab, threatening to bring down the roof over their heads, and Lex can do nothing but cover his ears and press himself against the ground.

The clone is wailing like a haunting banshee. He wasn't even aware Kryoptonian could do this.

The noise dies down. Lex glances over the counter only to find the clone on its hands and knees, gasping for breath. He reaches for the lead box in his pocket, mindful of the clone's every movement.

He'll put it back to sleep with some kryptonite, then place it back in its pod to have its mind molded into the perfect weapon. The experiment springs to his feet as his fingers close around the box. Lex pulls it out and flips open the lid as the clone's eyes lock with his.

Its eyes are green and glowing. Fascinating.

He watches as it starts to waver, tilting dangerously to the side, and smirks, knowing the rock is working. Calmly he walks over; the clone raises its hands in two tight fists, a frown on its face. "None of that now."

He presses the kryptonite against its chin to teach it a lesson. Pian will be the best teacher, and it will learn to obey every command of Lex or face severe consequences. The clone looks down, gaps, and then bites the kryptonite. Cleanly enjoying the flavor as it chews and hums, eyes closing in blessed like Lex had just fed him the highest quality chocolates.

Lex's soft "What the fuck" was very warranted.

"Thanks for the food, Mister." The clone chirps after going for another bite. It smacks its lips, then in a bizarre turn of events, it holds out its hand for a shake. "I'm Danny, by the way. What's your name?"

Lex kept staring at it before slowly taking the offered hand and pumping it up and down. He's not sure if this is real anymore. Maybe he was still asleep?

"This is the part where you tell me your name." The clone says after a while of handshaking. It shifts on its feet clearly with far too much personality, but not one Lex created. Not even one that was influenced. It was literally made last night.

"You know what. This sort of feels like a FruitLoop-level situation, so I will go. Have fun with whatever this is." The clone says, gesturing to the area around them while stepping backward. Lex opens his mouth to tell it there is no escape when it goes through the wall.

Density shifting!? But that was a power of Martian Manhunter, and Lex knows he had not even gotten close to that DNA yet.

He quickly grabs his tablet, clicking on the security cameras of his home, watching the clone fly through all his walls- flying as simple as walking, but not like Superboy, who picked himself up with telekinesis, or Superman, who pushed against gravity but flying as if though he was swimming with the airflow.

The young clone found the last wall and flew out of his home, far above his property, disappearing into the sunset with a black and green blur in his wake.

Lex leans back, putting down the tablet now that he cannot watch the clone and its obvious awareness of its surroundings. How had it learned all of that?

The mystery didn't get in the way of the most important fact: His youngest seemed to be very talented.

Maybe he would treat it like a person if only to keep him here to study. He had to get to Danny- before the rest of the Justice League could and bring the boy into his fold as the perfect heir that Kon refused to be.

How hard could it be to get Danny on his side?

(Danny punched his way into a new dimension after escaping from the burning remains of Amity Park. His parents, sister, and friends fell in battle trying to keep humans and ghosts safe after the GIW started a war with the zone.

After losing his hometown, he led the spirits to victory once the GIW labeled all citizens as too contaminated and ripped away their rights. His town's survivors were at his side, fighting for the ones they lost.

Once they beat the GIW, the government was informed of the small civil war and disbanded the department. It was a hollow victory- their apologies and promises to rebuild would never bring back the ones he lost.

In his grief- and fear of becoming Dan- he went to Clockwork, who only shook his head and told him time was flowing correctly. He then went to FrostBite, who, after listening to the broken King, offered him a home among his people. Danny lived with the Far Frozeen for three years when he was offered a position on the exploration team that would map out the Ghost Zone.

Only the elites of the elites were allowed among them. He accepted. He was given a watch, a magical journal to record what he saw, and feast as a far well.

He then flew through the first uncharted portal, punching the barrier between worlds and bursting into a new universe where he would record and report back to the Far Frozen after five years of living among the natives.

Turns out, flinging himself at the barrier of reality took a lot of power, so when he got to the other side, he promptly passed out. He found himself inside a large tube, contaminating the water with his ectoplasm, and when he woke, it was to a bold man standing outside his box with greed in his eyes.

Danny used the ghostly wail out of instinct. Which may have been overkill since the man offered him frozen ectoplasm after almost passing out again for using what little he had acquired during his nap.

Maybe one day he'll see him again and say thanks. For now, Danny had a new world to explore. )

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Lex Luther's Youngest #dimension travel #Danny is confused for Kryptonian #Yes his portal open inside the test tube for another failed clone #Lex is going to dad him #If he can catch him

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

there was no place in nature we could meet ; suguru geto

synopsis; it’s never fun to run into an ex. especially when the ex in question is your unfairly handsome high school sweetheart — who also just so happens to be a wanted mass murderer.

word count; 3.3k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst, exes to [redacted], lots of longing, geto is kind of a cunt but also disgustingly charming, reader is understandably upset, biblical imagery (i just think he’s so serpent coded), curse user geto is his own warning tbh

a/n; i wanted this to be a drabble so bad but it ended up just a little too long for me to get away w it so … :’3 yeah. i hate suguru geto (said w affection)

the moon is out.

in the shadows of the street corner you find yourself in, seated comfortably on the sidewalk, it’s a welcome distraction. something to look at, in the midst of your loneliness; the evanescent glow of the moon, illuminating your solitude.

a solitude soon to be broken. shattered into pieces, battered and bruised beyond recognition, jagged shards littering the asphalt. digging into the soles of your shoes.

”hey.”

for a second, you think you must be dreaming.

the figure obscuring the light of the lamp post in front of you is familiar. too familiar, a little too dear for your liking. as you grasp your shitty cup ramen, seeking the warmth seeping through the polystyrene, all you can do is stare. blinking dumbly, drowsily.

geto looks something like a bad omen.

sharp facial features, even sharper eyes. so dark they almost shift from an amber-tainted cedar into an obsidian black — two abysses, staring into your soul, beckoning you closer. they were always enchanting, but now you think they look almost hypnotizing. not at all in a good way. dark hair frames his face, cascading down his back, longer than you remember it being. and he’s wearing robes.

still has those fucked up bangs, though. of all the things to keep.

the gears of your mind turn, endlessly, untangling the mess of thoughts inside your brain. ensuring you that no, you are not hallucinating, and no, you didn’t fall into a deep slumber somewhere between the moment you exited the convenience store and sat down by one of tokyo’s empty street corners. this is real. a reality you can’t comprehend, can’t even begin to process.

what stands in front of you is a ghost. but ghosts don’t exist, can’t be seen, can’t touch the living.

(so how is he able to haunt you like this?)

what eventually jolts you out of your silent stupor is not the questioning tilt of his head, nor the suffocating sensation of your heart crawling up your throat, but the feeling of soft fur against your leg. the stray cat you met further down the street meows at you, sweetly, trying to get your attention. you think she must be asking for more grilled fish.

so, completely ignoring the apparition in front of you, you turn to reach for the little plastic bag you bought as a midnight snack — digging out a bit of fish for the kitty to enjoy. she seems happy, settling down by your feet. purring softly.

geto watches, eerily silent. 

(maybe he’s upset that you’re ruining his dramatic entrance. you hope so.)

finally, you have no choice but to look at him. a lump forms in the back of your throat, clogging up a little more for every second spent falling into the trap he’s laid out for you, trailing over his moonlit features with your tired gaze.

mouth full of noodles, staring holes into his attire, you narrow your eyes. suddenly disgruntled.

his lips quirk up. ”something the matter?” he asks, and you can’t even begin to describe how much you hate his voice. how devastatingly deep it is, during the late hours of the night. even deeper than it was back in high school. 

slurping up the soggy noodles, you lean back a little, licking some broth off your lips. finally meeting those abyssal eyes. 

”… i was gonna say those robes look like shit on you,” you exhale, weary, ”but you actually kinda pull them off. that’s…” 

a beat. you struggle to find the right word. 

”annoying.”

geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, and you find a hint of familiar amusement in the vague crinkle of his eyes. barely visible crows’ feet. then he’s moving — plopping down right beside you, robes fluttering with the breeze.

”thanks,” he hums. crossing his legs.

the silence that festers around you is odd. not quite suffocating, nor especially fragile. definitely not comforting. it’s familiar, yet different, and it hurts a bit more than it should. but you choose to look at him, out of the corner of your eye, and he looks right back at you. still smiling. 

when your eyes settle on the particular cloth wrapped around his torso, you just barely manage to bite back a taunting chuckle.

”a gojo-kesa, huh?” you grin, and geto doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t miss the meaningful glint in your eyes, either. almost satirical. ”you miss him that much?”

”just a coincidence,” is all he answers. smiling, but you think it looks a little stiff.

your grin widens, for a second, before settling back down. a sad transition. you let it go. 

”whatever you say, geto.”

at that, he visibly reacts. barely noticeable, but it’s there — a twitch of his lithe fingers, an unknown something that flickers through the scope of his iris. when he looks at you, a neutral smile is playing at his lips. 

”ah. i take it we’re not on first name basis anymore, then?” he asks, jovial. hiding a tinge of something mildly displeased.

a shrug. you pick at what’s left of your ramen with your chopsticks, a little too nauseous to enjoy it. ”call me whatever you want. i just don’t see suguru when i look at you, y’know?” leaning forward, you begin to pet the kitty by your feet. ”he was sweeter.”

geto smiles. almost a grin, but not quite there. a chuckle spills out from his lips, and something about it irritates you. ”was he?”

”yeah,” you nod. without hesitation. a summer-stained memory blooms behind your eyelids, but you try not to look at it. all you catch is a glimpse of cherry blossoms. ”you just seem bitter.” 

the grin that finds its way onto your lips is self-deprecating. a shadow falls over your face. ”guess we’re similar in that way, huh?”

a hum buzzes in his throat. he casts a meaningful glance towards your hand, scratching behind the cat’s ear. ”oh, i don’t know about that,” he drawls, smile growing. ”.. you seem just as sweet as always.”

to your grave annoyance, you can’t control the way your face changes at his words. a twitch of your lips gives away your discontentment, and something sour settles on the tip of your tongue.

(your blood begins to boil, beneath your skin.)

geto sighs, suddenly, filling the tense silence surrounding you. a little theatrical. ”ah, but that’s a shame.” he turns to you, soft pout playing at his lips. ”i was hoping i could hear you call me suguru again…”

”— i was hoping you’d come back.”

a beat.

(somewhere outside your vision, a crow takes flight into the night sky. swallowed by the darkness, melting into the sea of black. no longer perceivable, by you or the world.)

”but you never did,” the polystyrene of the plastic cup crinkles beneath your fingers. your eyes look dull. ”so what the fuck do you want, exactly?”

…

”i heard.” geto rests his jaw on the heel of his palm, gazing at you with those piercing eyes. like he’s trying to see inside your brain. ”.. about your decision.”

”ah,” a grin splits across the curve of your lips, showing off the white of your teeth. ”of course. that’s what this is about, huh?”

with groggy movements, you throw away your nearly-empty cup of noodles, haphazardly aiming towards a trash can across the street. it bounces off the steel cover, landing on the ground with a soft thud. leftover broth spilling out across the pavement.

(geto doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, lips twitching upwards as one of his curses goes to pick it up. you furrow your brows in embarrassed annoyance.)

a moment passes, and something in you knows that he’s waiting. it’s like you can practically sense it, like it’s etched into your bones. the same way you always knew exactly when he would begin to get impatient during your nightly convenience store runs in high school, after you had spent about five minutes struggling to decide what kind of chips you wanted. 

”what can i say,” you lean back, palms against the rough concrete. breathing in the midnight air. ”you inspired me.”

geto tilts his head. smiling. always, always smiling. he smiled at you the day before he massacred that village, too. ”oh?”

with a deep breath, cool air courses through your body. burning your lungs. ”i realized being a sorcerer is completely fucking meaningless,” you exhale through your nose. ”and that trying to change that fact is even more meaningless.” 

a wicked, rueful grin rests on your lips. ”so i left.”

geto doesn’t say anything, so you continue. voice dripping with venom.

”i’m a civilian now,” you purr, mocking. a sardonic coo cast his way. ”does that bother you? feel like killing me?”

…

his smile looks a little off, now. tilted in a direction you don’t want to recognize. you don’t care to examine it further, don’t care to figure out if it might look just a little bit sad, because that’d only hurt more.

so you look away.

a click of his tongue. then he speaks, with that honeyed voice, raspy and husky. almost a groan. ”well, i can’t say i approve.”

he’s looking at you. sharp eyes digging into your skin, dissecting you, a million words he expects you to grasp from that look alone.

”you’re better than them,” he states, and you try not to squirm when his eyes trail over your features. ”worlds better.” his voice sounds almost motherly, a twisted concern that makes you cower a little. like he’s scolding you. a crease between his brows.

”i don’t like the thought of you surrounded by these animals.”

a huff pushes past your lips, but it sounds shakier than you’d like it to. you hope he just chalks it up to the chill of the air. then again, when has he ever made anything easy for you?

”what, you got a problem with cats now?” you reach for the little furball licking grilled fish off the concrete, picking it up. cradling it close. ”gonna go on a cat-killing spree?”

an amused exhale. geto narrows his eyes. ”funny,” he hums, but his eyes say you know what i mean.

it takes you a moment to regain control over your breathing. there’s still something tense in your shoulders, and your heart still feels a little like it might jump out of your throat and crawl into his lap. the stray cat slips from your grasp, moving towards geto, curiously sniffing at his robes. he looks at it with no ill intent, and it puts you at ease.

”well, i appreciate the concern, buddy,” you pat his back, trying not to flinch at the contact. trying to appear relaxed. ”but frankly, i don’t give a shit. i actually like my job, unlike literally every single sorcerer on planet earth.”

geto stills.

”.. buddy?” he echoes, ignoring every other bitter word you just graced him with. for some reason, he actually seems visibly bothered. ”i’m buddy now?”

you click your tongue. muttering, tiredly. a little exasperated. ”.. what else would you be?”

and then he smiles, again. only this time, it looks oddly genuine. the same as you remember, framed by cherry blossoms and the fizzle of youth.

his movements are smooth. like he’s completely unguarded, like this situation doesn’t bother him in the slightest. elegant, in the way he leans back, palms on the concrete to support his weight. keeping eye contact with you, all the while.

when he speaks, his voice has a sweet tinge to it. nostalgic, maybe. wistful. if you hear a touch of longing, you choose to ignore it.

”i seem to recall you calling me baby quite a lot,” he hums, and you stiffen. gritting your teeth. eyes darkening, but he continues. ”what else was there? angel, i think… it was sweet.”

then he’s leaning forward. scratching the cat under its chin, gently. ”ironic, though.”

an inhale. then, an exhale. they’re a little shaky, a little meek, but at least they make the lump in your throat feel less like it’s blocking your windpipe. air fills your lungs, but it tastes like nothing at all. 

something like sorrow simmers in your eyes. or maybe more like fatigue. god, you really want to cry.

(you wonder if he gets some sickening satisfaction out of seeing you like this, out of breaking you. maybe it just makes him feel rotten. you don’t know what you’d prefer.)

”suguru,” you murmur, at last. voice dripping with exhaustion. defeated, the sigh that flows from your lips. ”why did you come here?”

…

”join me.”

the words spill out into the open air, slicing the silence in half. heavy. a request, not a question. against your better judgement, you turn your head to meet his gaze.

”we could use you,” he says, and there’s hope in those keen eyes. he maintains his distance, but for some reason you still feel like prey being sized up by a predator. like he’s weighing your value.

a chuckle slips from your lips, but there’s no humour to it. ”use me…” you echo, a tired murmur under your breath. ”you're just straight up admitting it, huh? kinda refreshing.”

”that’s not what i meant.”

he inches closer. slowly, as if trying not to scare you. reaching out, to brush through your bangs, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. tangling them between your locks, inserting himself into your space. testing the waters. 

you don’t look at him, completely still. barely breathing. like a wounded animal.

”i want you there,” he says, and it comes out almost as a whisper. ”with us.”

unable to resist the temptation, you indulge in a single brief glance his way. his eyes look warm, and his lips look soft as they part.

”with me.” 

there’s a devotion to his voice when he continues, one he’s always had. one you thought you’d always be able to trust. ”i’ll create a world where you can be happy,” he vows. ”i swear it.”

a moment passes.

(you swallow thickly. it takes everything you have not to burst into tears. when you remember how he brushed you off, back then, it gets a little easier. when you remember all the skipped meals.)

”.. like you give a damn.”

geto smiles. you loathe how soft it looks, how similar it is to the one suguru always had. when you used to eat your ramen too quickly and started choking on it, and he brought a palm to your upper back, patting it gently. he’d chuckle, and tell you to slow down, and the softness of his smile would almost be enough to distract you from the amusement in his eyes. 

”my love.”

you flinch. breath drawing back at the base of your throat, heart screeching to a halt, and some part of you emerges; the shy, sweet kid you used to be. hanging on to his every world. like he was your sun, your guiding light. back when that purr of my love had you blushing furiously, not choking back a string of curses.

it’s sudden, and you can’t react the way you want to. you want to kill him for calling you that. for thinking he has any right to call you his, anymore.

but that sweet, naive, innocent little kid still exists. even if you want to pretend otherwise. it’s there, somewhere, that part of you — peeking out from behind the curtain. and it stops you from saying anything that might hurt him.

(it’s so hard to hate him when he calls you that.)

if geto notices your inner turmoil — he must — then he doesn’t mention it. you don’t say anything, but you hope the amused, harsh exhale you partake in is signal enough for him to cut it off. now.

yet he continues. there’s love in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. if he’s trying not to hurt you he’s doing an awful job.

”… i never stopped thinking of you,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it. ”not once. i left for you, not just for myself.”

and, despite every part of your being resisting it, a sweetness settles on your tongue. so sweet it’s sickening; the thought that maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe he really has been thinking of you. maybe you’re more to him than just a means to meet an end, or a memory yet to be buried.

geto looks at the moon. bathed in moonlight, he looks a little like a god. like something reverent. his voice is honeyed. low, like a secret.

”this world doesn't deserve you.”

silence.

a subtle anger trickles through your veins, a kind of fury, subdued, carefully tucked away. sparking to life inside the depths of your eyes when you look at him. bitter, given everything. but your voice still comes out sounding something like a plea.

”and you think you do?”

another smile. this time, it looks a little sad. remorseful, maybe. ”… let me prove myself.”

his touch burns. the pads of his fingers against your cold skin, cupping your cheek. slithering down to grasp your hand. and you’re pliant, unable to react. just sitting with that aching hollow feeling in your chest.

”i wasn’t worthy, back then,” he hums, bringing your hand to his lips. ”but now…”

a kiss to your knuckle. featherlight. reverent. you try not to shiver, but when he says your name, dragging each syllable out, like they belong on his tongue —

a chill runs down your spine.

when he speaks, you feel his warm breath on your skin. it’s dizzying. ”i’m not the same suguru you once knew,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. and devotion, frighteningly sincere. ”unlike him — i’ll never let you go.”

what a twisted desire. he wants to take you with him, drag you down to hell. the suguru you knew wouldn’t put you through that. but maybe you’re even more twisted, for wishing he had; for wishing he had taken you with him, ten years ago, instead of leaving without a single goodbye.

geto’s voice is soft. coaxing, like he's handling a frightened mouse. join me, he whispers, and you think of eve. when you look at his mouth you think you see serpents’ teeth behind his lips.

(you're almost sure he notices it. and you're almost sure his smile widens, lips curling up, as if preparing to open his maw and swallow you whole.)

a sickening sense of resignation roots itself somewhere in your gut. 

you pull your hand away, and he lets you. the loss of warmth hits you like a freight train, but you aren’t sure you could think clearly with his skin on yours. when you part your lips to speak, only air comes out, just barely forming a sentence. like there are no more words to say. like the world stopped spinning around you both a lifetime ago.

”i don't love you.”

…

for just a second, his smile falters. 

”.. no?” he hums, and you wish it didn’t hurt so bad to see him hurt. his eyes carry a kind of patience, something gentle. ”it’s fine… these things take time.”

a bitter chuckle. ”like you’d know anything about waiting,” you spit, and it comes out sounding venomous. a phantom ache sprouts in the spot where his lips touched your skin.

geto closes his eyes.

”.. you don't need to love me,” he says, finally. kind. you hate that he still sounds so kind. so understanding, like nothing you do could be wrong in his eyes. ”as long as you're beside me, that's enough.” 

he turns to look at you, and his smile looks very real, for a moment. impossibly fond. ”i have two daughters. i’ve told them about you,” he smiles. ”my family… you’d like them. i know they’d like you.”

dark clouds cover the moon, suddenly, and a shadow falls across you both. illuminated only by the streetlight. in the distance, you hear a car whooshing by.

”don’t stay at the bottom,” he beckons, and your name slips from his lips again. soft, his tongue bending around the vowels. coaxing. stirring your heartstrings like a puppeteer.

then he’s standing up, dusting off his robes, large hands smoothing down the fabric. turning around, towering over you; obscuring everything else. all you see is him, under the glow of the lamp post. a halo of artificial light.

”come. let me show you the world we can create.”

he gives you a sweet smile, two abysses gazing at you. the promise of something, something twisted. something new. forbidden. you think of red skin, yellow flesh. the bite of sin.

and for a second, you see it. the world. a world where laughter comes from the bottom of your gut, and the trees are always ripe for picking, red apples hanging from the branches like glowing rubies. 

paradise.

geto stretches a hand out towards you. fingers unfurling, one by one, like a blooming camellia. close, right there in front of you, so close that you’re tempted to take his hand in yours, let him carry you away. burn everything else to the ground. 

(you think of the serpent. you think of god.

only one of them banished eve.)

”so,” he smiles. ”what do you say?”

#i just think curse user geto is soooo …… #hes so. hes just so #he has this undeniable softness and hes genuinely a very sincere man. but he just comes across as extremely insincere #n kinda.. suffocating? like just one look from him to you makes u wanna hide. even though hes so coaxing and gentle and eager to care for u #he just has that ’doomed by the narrative’ swagger yknow? the ’distinct air of tragedy’ charm #anyways im completely obsessed and i fear i would fold instantly rip to all non sorcerers #title taken from ’half-light’ by frank bidart btw read it its so good . very stsg coded #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #geto angst #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

[fallingdownhell]

Omg pls a part two for Kaeya and Diluc forgetting your birthday it’s so good I LOVE ANGST <3

Alrighty, fine. Since so many more people asked for a part 2, here it is.But I can't promise that everything goes fine..

Characters Included: Diluc; Kaeya

Content: gender neutral reader; hurt/comfort; angst; hurt/no comfort; one is gonna be forgiven, the other one not

Word count: 1,9k words

Please enjoy reading!

Diluc

Gods, he was so exhausted.

He wished for nothing more than to just walk over to his bedroom and fall asleep on the bed, but he couldn't. He had some important matters he still had to attend to before he could go do that.

He was currently hunched over his desk, scanning over some documents that needed his attention. It was late at night, yet there was still light shining from under the door, as well as footsteps coming from the mansion.

Diluc paid that no mind however, trying to focus back on his work. However, when he heard a pair of footsteps walk up the staircase, he put his pen down, listening to them.

He was fairly sure that it was you, so he listened to it, hoping that you would come inside to check on him. He knew he shouldn't have lashed out at you like that earlier and he wanted to apologize to you for it.

However, the person outside kept walking, past the door to his office and instead went into the next room, which was the bedroom that belonged to the both of you.

At first, he didn't think too much of it, maybe you were just really tired and going to bed now. But, as he continued to listen, it got more and more strange to him. Your footsteps hadn't quietet down at all. You were apparently still walking around the room, he could hear the opening and closing of drawers and closets.

He had half a mind to walk over there and ask you what you're doing in the middle of the night. Then again, he wasn't really any better and he really had to finish this, but when suddenly a second pair of footsteps climbed up the stairs, his attention was taken to them.

A few seconds latter, soft knocking was heard on the wodden door, followed by Adelinde's voice asking to enter the study. Diluc allowed her inside but turned his attention finally back to his work.

He noticed her approaching the table and putting a plate down in front of him. He glanced at it, laying his eyes upon a nice looking piece of cake.

"Did you bake that, Adelinde? It looks delicious. I'll eat it once I'm done here."

He was about to dismiss her, but the fact that she hadn't said a word made him look at her with his full attention now.

"Master Diluc.. do you really not remember?"

"Remember what, Adelinde? You'll have to be more specific than that."

She looked at him for a few more seconds, it almost seemed to him like her eyes were boring into his very soul. Then, she turned around and approached the door again. She stepped out into the hallway, moving to close the door but before she did so, she said one last thing to him.

"Today was their birthday."

Then Adelinde closed the door, leaving Diluc in the room all by himself.

Hearing those words put him into a shock. No.. this couldn't be..

He...forgot?

Suddenly, thousands of times and situations played in his head where you tried to grab his attention and he had dismissed you every single time.. how long had he been treating you like this?

Then, a loud sound rang from the bedroom next door, and Diluc suddenly got ahold of himself again.

He immediately shot up and ran outside, bursting through the door to your shared room, startling you in the process. But the sight before him made his heart clench like never before.

The sight of you, stuffing some of your clothes and other belongings into a bag, your eyes red and swollen, probably from crying.

"D-Diluc? What are you... why are you here?"

You asked him, but he didn't answer. Instead, he walked over to you, steps quick, and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly.

"D-diluc? What-!"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, (Name)."

Suddenly understanding what this was about, you relaxed a bit, but didn't do anything else. You didn't reciprocate the hug, either, and no words left your lips..

"I'm so sorry.. for everything. I didn't even realize how badly I was treating you." He fell on his knees in front of you, taking your hands into his, holding them tightly.

"Please, believe when I say that this was never my intention. I love you very dearly, (Name). I know I didn't show it for some time, but I do. Nothing can ever change how I feel about you. So please... don't leave.."

By the end of it, his voice sounded broken, silent cries leaving him as tears streamed down his face. You looked down on him, seeing him all broken down in front of you, and you feel your resolve begin to waver.

Maybe.. maybe you could try again with him..

But then you remembered the last few months, how he pushed you away every single time you tried to adress something with him... how he pushed you away on your own birhtday...

Gently, you pull your hands out of his grip. Diluc immediately understood what this gesture meant, yet he wasn't willing to accept this.

"(Name), please-!"

"No, Diluc. I can't anymore. Who's to tell me that you won't go back to treating me like this after a few weeks again? I tried it. I tried to deal with it and I tried to talk to you, but you never wanted to. You always shut me down. Well, I hope you're happy because I am done. I can't keep feeling like I'm worth nothing to you.

Thank you, for all the time I had with you, but it's over now."

You gave him one last, mournful look, then grabbed your bag and walked past him.

He let you... there was nothing else he could do..

He listened to you walking down the stairs, listened to the heavy front door open, and then.. It feel closed again.

And just like that.. you were out of his life..

He lost you and this time, he had noone else to blame but himself and his own stupid decisions..

He broke down again, crying so hard like he hadn't done in years. If only he wouldn't have been so stupid..

Kaeya

Tired and still angry from the events that had happened yesterday, Kaeya was sitting in his office again, stationed at the Knights of Favonius headquarters.

He was looking through files and documents he didn't get to finish yesterday because he suddenly had the workload of four other people pushed onto him.

He was still angrily mumbling to himself when a knock on the door resonated within his office. He didn't bother giving an answer, yet the other person took that as permission to enter, pushing the door open to reveal Lisa to the stressed out Kavalry captain.

"Kaeya, there you are! We were missing you at (Name's) party yesterday. Why weren't you there?"

Oh, now that pissed him off even more. He put his utensiles down, trying to control his emotions and actions. He looked at Lisa, smiling at her, yet it was obvious how faked and forced it was.

"Well, I think the bigger question here is, why were you at a party during work hours in the first place. I wouldn't mind you going, but why convince everyone else along, leaving all of the work for me alone to handle?"

"..Why wouldn't I go to the party I, myself, organized?", she questioned, looking at him confused. Like she was trying to figure something out.

"You were organizing that atrocious thing? Well, in that case that begs even more questions. Again, why pull everyone else along except me? Also, why plan it in my and (name's) shared house, of all places?"

She didn't answer immediately like the times before. Instead, she was still looking at Kaeya, until a few seconds later, her entire face lit up in realization.

"Oh, you idiot..", she mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Excuse me? I do think it's not-!"

"Kaeya, you idiot! You really forgot?"

"...Forgot what?", he asked, now being confused himself. Why was she reacting this way?

"You really did... it was their birthday yesterday! That's what the party was for! Also, wasn't this whole thing your idea in the first place?"

At her words, his eyes widened in shock, realization hitting him now as well. He did.. He forgot your birthday.

Immediately after that, he thought back to yesterday.. the words he spat in your mouth.. the way your eyes teared up in front of him.. and he just ignored it, walked away like the entire world just revolved around him alone..

He took one look at Lisa, who was just nodding at him. He did so as well, grabbing his coat and then he started running.

Kaeya ran out the headquarters through the streets of Mondstadt, only having one destination in mind. He never slowed down, not even for a second to catch his breath. Only when he was finally standing in front of his own door did he do so as he was trying to fish the keys out of his pocket.

He unlocked the door and immediately entered.

"(Name)?", he shouted as soon as he closed the door behind him. He listened for a few seconds, but... nothing. No answer, no sounds.

He panicked a bit as he began to search the place. The house was still a mess from yesterday, but he didn't care for that right now.

Kaeya searched through every room, shouting your name to try and grab your attention.

The panic began to settle a bit as he opened the bedroom door, seeing you still asleep on the bed.

He approached you, finding you clutching his own pillow close to you, like you have been searching for some comfort. Your eyes were all red and swollen up, because of your crying.

'The crying that you, yourself, caused..', he thought, feeling sorry for what he had said to you.

He went on his knees on the floor, next to the bed. He inspected your, now peaceful looking face, for a few more seconds.

"(Name), wake up, please.", he said gently, stroking some stray hair out of your face.

You began shifting in your sleep and soon enough, you opened your eyes.

Seeing Kaeya, you remember his hurtful words from yesterday night right away, so you were trying to create some space between the both of you.

"No, no!", he exclaimed, getting up from his knees and putting his arms around you, hugging you close to him.

"I am so sorry about yesterday, (name). I don't know how it could have possibly slipped my mind, but it did. Words can't describe how awful I feel about the things I said, but please know that I meant none of them.

I love you, and I'll do anything for you. You have every right to be angry with me and never forgive me for what I said and did, but.. please.."

After he finished, you stayed silent, not knowing how to respond to this. Then, you felt something wet against your shoulder. First it was only one time, then it got more and more and you knew that Kaeya was crying against your shoulder right now.

You then, finally, hugged him back.

He was so relieved that you did this, hoping that this meant one step into the right direction.

Maybe.. someday in the future, you can forgive Kaeya for this...

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios #genshin x reader scenarios #genshin impact x reader scenarios #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc ragnvindr #diluc scenarios #diluc angst #diluc x reader angst #kaeya x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader angst #kaeya angst

[fshaechans]

bf! haechan x fem reader

tags: smut, nsfw

wc: 840

warnings: mean dom! haechan, sub! reader, jealousy, manhandling, possessiveness, breeding kink (?), overstimulation, creampie, unprotected sex, hickeys/marking (slightly/once), thigh riding, slightly choking… (lmk if i missed something)

•not proofread

•dni/dnr if it makes you uncomfy.

•reposting!!!!

-“Do you think I didn't see the way he looked at you? I bet you enjoyed getting attention from him”- haechan says as soon as the two of you get home after a long day with his friends.

-"What are you talking about? Mark? love, of course not, we were just talking”

-“I saw you laughing at his unfunny jokes, he touching you “accidentally”

-“Hyuck, forget about it, it was no big deal”

-“Can't help but get a little angry when i see him look and touch you like that”

Haechan takes you by the wrist, taking you to the bedroom, throwing you on the bed and locking the door.

-"What are you doing?" you ask, but already knowing where all this is going to end, you might not admit it, but you love when haechan shows his jealous side, because almost every time it ends up with him fucking you without pity and after that, ends up with cuddling in bed and lots of kisses.

-“I want you to come sit here on my lap, wearing just your bra and panties, do you hear me? “- He speaks as he positions himself at the head of the bed fully dressed.

You just obey, taking off your shirt and shorts, leaving only the pieces he asked for and finally sitting on his lap.

-“Good girl, I know you love to rub yourself on my dick like a whore, don't you?-Haechan says holding your waist tightly, while you do the friction with back and forth movements.

You let out a groan, his words are turning you on even more.

-“Hyuck, I need to feel you”

-"Seriously? what you need to feel, tell me loud and clear”

-“You”- you say low hiding in his neck, he picks you up grabbing your neck making you look at him.

-"Look at me, didn't you hear when i said to say it loud and clear?"- he holds your waist again, but this time pressing you so you can feel how hard he is under the jeans he's wearing.

-“And you think you deserve my dick inside you?”

You don't respond since your mind is so consumed with the sensation and can’t process anything, until you feel a slap on your ass, which snaps you out of that trance and makes you arch your back.

-“You better fucking answer me y/n” - he slaps your ass again, this time harder.

-“Hyuck, you know i'm yours, only yours, please fill me up-“

-“Say it again”- he demand.

-“I'm yours”

-“That's right,nobody is allowed to touch you like this except for me.”

He puts his fingers inside your panties, running his fingers through your opening and massaging your clit.

-“Looks like i don’t have to be inside you to make you cum, you are so wet for me. I'm gonna fuck you so good you forget all about that bastard.”

He lifts you up for a moment to get you off his lap so he can unzip his pants and show off his hard cock.

-“Hmm, you are so big hyuck, oh my g-” you moan mid-sentence as you sit slowly on his cock, scratching your pussy out.

-“You can take it. Hands behind your back.”

Haechan gives you some strong thrusts while with one hand he plays with your right breast and puts the left one in his mouth, making circular movements with his tongue around your nipple.

-“Keep your eyes on me, see how I fuck you, only I can fuck you so well, he could never make you feel like this”

-“Haechan”- you moan loudly, looking like you're already close to reaching your climax, the thrusts getting deeper and faster, his words make you more and more aroused.

-“Louder. Let me hear you.” haechan speaks close to your ear, going down to your neck, kissing and leaving a slight hickey on your sensitive area.

-“F- haechan i'm so fucking close-“

-“Don’t hold back, cum for me, show me how much i make you feel good”

Your breathing starts to get a lot heavier than normal as you reach orgasm, but hyuck doesn't stop thrusting into you, which starts to overstimulate you.

-“Baby, too much!” you whimper from the overstimulation, making your thighs tremble and your body go weak, but hyuck catches you holding your waist.

After a few hard and deep thrusts, haechan comes inside you, making a mess and running some of his semen down your thighs, which he catches with his finger.

- "Open your mouth for me" you obey, cleaning and sucking his finger and tasting a little of his taste.

After both of you reach the limit, you fall over his body, which he hugs you, caressing your back and giving kisses on your face.

-“I love you so fucking much y/n. You're mine, and if i have to remind of that again, i will."

You nod and smile.

-“I love you, my sunshine”

-“Now let me take care of you, y/n”.

#haechan hard thoughts #nct hard hours #nct scenarios #haechan scenarios #haechan drabbles #nct drabbles #haechan oneshot #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #haechan fanfic #nct haechan smut #haechan imagines #haechan x reader #haechan smut #nct smut #nct fanfic #haechan fluff #nct fluff #haechan x y/n

[stellar-skyy]

hello!! could i order an iced honey and vanilla tea for aventurine?

“order up! i have a drink here for aventurine, an iced honey and vanilla tea!”

☆ — if you're craving a drink, make sure to stop by the teashop!

i. SUMMARY: sometimes, all you need is to feel loved. and, as his closest friend, he will make sure you know you are. ii. CWS & NOTES: reader is insecure. platonic aventurine x gn!reader. hurt/comfort & fluff. 0.8k words. iii. A/N: i was so excited to see someone rq the platonic version of this prompt! also. please know this is my first time writing aventurine and i haven't played most of the penacony questline (i have been spoiled for the entire thing though-) so if the characterization is off i am sorry.

“Why are you friends with me?”

It caught Aventurine off guard, truth be told. For a moment he could only blink, staring at them dumbly while the question fully registered in his head. After a few seconds of processing, he managed a single word: “What?”

“Why are you friends with me?” They repeated, a tinge of frustration coating their words. The question settled in his mind, but still, he was at a loss for words.

How could he possibly answer that, when the two of them had been acquainted for so long that his life and theirs seemed fully intertwined? The question only planted the seed for more to sprout in his mind as he pondered it; whys melting into hows and what ifs. He struggled to imagine a life where he’d never met them all those years ago, a life where he never found someone to dull his sharpened edges and fill some fraction of the emptiness he felt inside.

They were a match that fit too perfectly; two lonely people, who’d tasted a life without solitude and couldn’t quite bring themselves to leave it behind again.

Yet, their friendship was a double-edged sword, one seemed to cut Aventurine from both sides. It took every ounce of self-control in his body to stop himself from digging his claws in and clinging tightly enough to them to make sure they wouldn’t leave. Simultaneously, another part yearned to push them so far away that he would never be able break them like he did with every other bright thing in his life. The thought of being alone again felt suffocating, even if the back of his mind still whispered that it was only his deserved fate.

On good nights, when they were at the tables with him, he insisted they were seated right beside him—his “good luck charm,” as he put it. He chased every moment, the flash of a smile on their lips when the dice roll just right, a barely stifled laugh at his jokes. No victory could outshine the few moments of pure, untainted contentment he felt when they were by his side.

It was almost laughable that they were questioning why he’d chosen them, when he was the one who didn’t deserve someone half as incredible as they were. He should be asking why they had settled for someone cracked and missing as many pieces as he did, not the other way around.

“What about you?” He asked, in lieu of an answer. “Why are you friends with me?”

“I already asked you.” They protested. Aventurine, being the good friend he was, ignored them.

“You’ve known me long enough to be acutely aware of my flaws, and yet you still stick around. Why is that?”

“Uh…” They hesitated for a beat. “You’re not—”

“Don’t deny it. Just answer the question.”

“Well, I guess…” They draw out the first few words, thinking. Aventurine kept his face neutral, despite the pounding of his heart. “Flaws are just flaws, aren’t they? I don’t think you could find a single one here that’s without their fair share. You’re still a good person despite them, and I enjoy your company regardless.”

The back of his throat had grown dry. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to quell the wave of emotions that almost swept him off his feet, forcing them back into the furthest reaches of his mind to unpack later.

“See!” He said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Exactly my point, why would you be any different?”

“That’s not what I was saying.” They murmured, shaking their head.

“What is it then?”

“It’s just… I’m not that important, am I?” They asked, not meeting his eyes. “I mean—You have other friends, don’t you? And if you had the choice, I’m sure you’d rather hang out with them than me, wouldn’t you?”

“You want to make that a bet?” Aventurine raised an eyebrow. “Because, my dear friend, that is a gamble you will lose. For starters, who I find important isn’t up to you; it’s up to me. And me has decided you are an incredibly important friend that I value very deeply. You can stew in your self-pity as much as you want, but that won’t change how much I care about you.”

“You really mean that?” They asked, in an almost inaudible whisper.

“Of course. Can I?” He asked, opening his arms out. They looked up briefly, and gave him a small nod, so he pulled them forward against his chest. He hugged them tightly, as if they would vanish into nothing if he let go. Their hand clutched the back of his jacket, their cheek pressing against his shirt.

Neither of them were without their cracks, it seemed, but maybe that was why they had connected in the first place.

“I’m friends with you because I want to be friends with you,” Aventurine said softly. “You mean the world to me, and it kills me that you don’t realize it.”

He knew he was little more than a hollow shell, but with them, he almost felt whole. It was almost enough for him; he could only hope it would be enough for them too.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

#✒️ — writing #ty mhie for beta reading this! #[ interstellar teashop ☆ﾟ. ] #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #—stellaronhvnters. #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #platonic hsr x reader #platonic honkai star rail x reader #platonic aventurine x reader

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Let's Have a Baby 2.0

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied sexual content, MDNI Note: A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @peachesofteal for workshopping with me, per usual, and for being the best beta! Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

Simon Riley did not cry when his first daughter was born.

He didn’t know how to process his grief amid his love’s agony and emptiness. She spent days on end, curled into the plush rocker in the corner of the empty nursery or lying flat on her back, staring at the white ceiling. His guilt was no match for her shame – as she clutched the tiny hospital blanket to her chest, sobbing that she couldn’t name her. Couldn’t name the daughter that they didn’t get to bring home.

Her wails – I’m sorry I’m weak, Please don’t hate me, I'm fucking useless – echoed in Simon’s mind when he named that baby. He knew, in his heart, that Freyja loved her with her entire being, everything she had. He knew that, if she could, she would have picked the most beautiful name, better than anything he could have come up with on his own. So he named her after his wife, so his daughter would never leave his mind.

When Joan Vanadís was born, Simon stared at her for hours. He memorized every detail of her soft features, inhaled her scent, and poured over her deep brown eyes and button nose. His wife barely got to hold her in her first day of life. Sure, he had cried, as many fathers do in the delivery room. He was completely unsure of how it was possible that he helped create this beautiful, innocent little person.

But his son, oh his son, was an entirely different animal.

Where Joanie came roaring into the world, Arthur Simon was quiet. Quiet like his father, but the spitting image of his mum, minus Simon’s curved nose (Poor thing, he thought). The gentle cry from such a delicate thing broke whatever terrified stupor he’d been in since learning that they were having a boy. The doctor placed the blue bundle on his wife’s chest, and he instantly broke down. The ‘big bad Ghost’ was a blubbering mess as their son’s small hand curled into her skin, his eyes closed, and his mouth curled into a frown. He hesitated, hand hovering over the boy until Freyja’s came and pressed his palm into the tiny body, much smaller than Joanie’s when she was born. The steady rhythm of Arthur’s little lungs working underneath his fingertips made something inside his chest snap and crumble into dust.

Whatever fear he had about having a son was gone. As he had promised their daughters, he again swore that he would be better. Better than his father. He promised he would raise Arthur the way he should have been.

In the months that followed, taking care of his son healed a piece of Simon Riley. A piece that needed the father he had fought so hard to be.

The newborn seemed to have that effect on people, particularly overgrown men.

Arthur’s godfathers and grandfather returned to England about three months after he was born. Johnny brought his partners by the second they stepped off the plane, not even offering time to dress down in civilian clothes.

König was the first in the house, carrying his and Roach’s duffels as Johnny snuck in a moment alone with their partner outside. Freyja appeared, almost making him jump out of his skin at her sudden appearance.

“Herrgott, Kapitän!” he cried, hand on his pounding heart. “You scared me.”

Freyja had Artie strapped to her chest, sucking happily on his pacifier as he stared up at her face. He was already a certifiable mama’s boy, always enamored with her and clinging to her at every waking moment (and then some). “Oh, thank god,” she sighed, unraveling the fabric from her waist and shoulders. “I need a nap.”

His eyes blew wide through the holes of his hood, and he quickly stepped back. “Nein, Freyja, ich will ihn erschrecken—”

“König, nimm deinen Patensohn.” She didn’t allow him any time to hesitate, pressing the baby against his chest. The Austrian immediately dropped the bags from his shoulders, wrapped one arm under the baby’s bum, and rested one large hand against his back.

“Freyja–!”

She was gone.

König desperately wanted to give him back. He couldn’t take the heartbreak of another kid, especially his own nephew, staring at him with pure terror, trying to get away to safety. But this child, a sweet thing, had easily and without hesitation reached for him when Freyja moved to hand him off. It was as if he already sensed that his mom would never hand him off to someone that didn’t have her full trust.

He had gotten used to Joan by that point, but she was almost a year old when he saw her last. And she was much bigger than the infant boy in his arms, done up in an (admittedly) adorable, light blue onesie, with stripes nearly resembling those of the Scotland flag (Soap most definitely bought it for that reason and that reason alone). What if he dropped him? What if he held him too tight? What if he moved and hit Arthur’s head on something? What if–

A small tug caught his attention, his mask shifting downward. König glanced down at the boy curiously pulling the thing toward his mouth, which he put a stop to. “Iss das nicht, welpe. Du weißt nicht, wo es war,” he whispered, using a finger to nudge Arthur’s fist away from his mouth.

They simply stared at each other, the man holding the baby’s gaze, surprised that the little one was tolerating it. Then in a shocking turn of events, Art jerked the fabric up and over his head, making cooing and gurgling sounds that resembled an attempt at a laugh. Both under the hood now, König froze for a moment, completely and utterly bewildered. No grown adult, let alone an infant, had ever warmed up to the giant so quickly, immediately. Artie made another noise, and beyond his control, tears started to flow freely down his paint-smudged cheeks, a huge smile lighting up their dark cavern.

As König sobbed and shook, he pressed his forehead against Arthur’s, trembling body clinging to his godson like a lifeline.

König didn’t know how long he stood there with gentle but clumsy hands palming his scars and features, reveling in the attention. He never wanted it to end. He didn’t fail to notice what felt like Ghost’s hand on his opposite shoulder, brief but definitely present; then, the familiar press of Johnny’s cheek between his shoulder blades and the imprint of his firm hands on his hips.

Yeah, you could say Arthur Simon had a gift for healing.

.

.

.

“Uh oh, Dada!”

Freyja chuckled at her husband’s exasperated expression, staring at the ceiling as the plastic cup bounced across the floor. Simon had spent the last ten minutes trying to slice up an orange for Joan, who, in that time, had thrown the loose cereal onto the floor, tossed her plastic fork across the room, and finally dumped the cup of water into his lap.

“Yeah, uh oh,” he sighed, bending to pick up the cup but not bothering with his now-soaked pants. “Lovie, I’m almost done. You have to be patient. We don’t throw things.”

“No!”

“Look, Joanie, here.” Simon broke a wedge off and held it out for her. Two little hands took the fruit, holding the rind as Joan gummed at the soft flesh. “Can you say, ‘Thank you, Daddy’?”

“No!”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Arthur rested quietly in his mother’s arms with his cheek pressed against her breast as he dozed after finishing a bottle. Some mothers would have found Arthur’s level of attachment overwhelming; he rarely wanted to be put down, oftentimes crying out for her even when handed off to Simon. Similar to how Joanie gravitated to her father, Artie clung to her, and Freyja took pride in that.

When she looked up from her son, she found Simon had stripped out of his soiled sweatpants and now sat in only black boxer briefs. It was an unusually lazy day due to the poor weather outside. Simon got the kids up and fed at the usual time but didn’t do much to dress them, opting for fresh onesies. Joan’s was a dark navy, while Art’s was cream with mini tan teddy bears.

Joanie finished the orange slice quickly and placed the rind on her plate. She balled one hand into a fist and slapped the top with an open palm in a jerky movement. “Dada, more.”

“That’s right, ‘more’,” he praised, mimicking the sign for her. “Good job asking. Here.”

He placed the rest of her snack on the tray, and she immediately started nibbling at one. Simon leaned forward with his forearm on his knee, getting to eye level with the girl. “I’d really like an orange. Could you share with Daddy, lovie?” he asked while offering a hand. They had quickly learned to keep her hands occupied and practice hand-eye coordination in constructive ways, rather than letting her get bored. That was when she tended to start throwing things, as demonstrated by Simon’s now discarded pants.

She seemed to consider it, before dropping the piece she had already half finished in his palm and grabbing another.

“I meant one that wasn’t half-eaten, but this’ll do. Thank you.” He met Freyja’s eyes, his cheeks tight with laughter as he finished the fruit. 

The rain thundered against the glass windows, filling the space behind Joanie’s giggles at the funny faces Simon made. Her clothed feet kicked the legs of her chair. It was there – in their kitchen on a rainy Tuesday afternoon – Freyja realized just how content she was with the life they had built together. Observing her husband as he wiped the sticky juices dribbling down their daughter’s chin and pushed her blonde curls back; her touch brushing their son’s warm, squishy cheek with her thumb.

She soaked in the atmosphere a moment longer before speaking. “Simon?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I think Artie’s my last.” Her voice was quiet, almost unsure. They’d never really discussed just how many kids they wanted. Against his initial fears, Simon was a natural; he was just as much in his element taking care of their kids as he was on the battlefield. She didn’t want to take that away if he wanted more, but she honestly couldn’t go through it again. Recovering from a c-section royally sucked, but giving birth naturally was not an option.

Simon’s brows pinched together as he swiveled away from Joanie, searching her face. He watched how her careful fingers stroked Arthur’s face, her other hand wrapped around the baby’s thigh to secure him to her. Her touch slid down to his chest, measuring his tiny heartbeat and steady breaths. He often did the same with both of their children; the gesture grounded him in their reality, and he figured it did the same for her. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll call for an appointment to get snipped.”

He said it as if he were talking about grabbing a takeaway on his way home from work, which gave Freyja a slight shock.

“Just like that?” she asked, turning in her chair to face him better. “Are you sure?”

“You’ve given me three beautiful babies,” Simon cooed, reaching to drag his large hands up and down her thighs. Freyja melted into his touch, legs spreading so his knee could slot between hers. “S’the least I can do. If you’re done, so am I. I had a feeling, anyway.”

“A vasectomy just seems a bit extreme. Maybe we can just use condoms?”

He raised a brow at her with an upside-down grin, challenging her. “Do you wanna try that again, with feeling? Look me in the eye and tell me you’re never gonna let me cum in you, ever again?”

“...Birth control?”

“Remind me, how did we have our daughters?”

“I hate you.”

“But I’m right.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Still right, though.” Simon rose from the table and leaned over her, resting his weight on one hand next to her thigh. He slipped the other around the back of her neck and tilted her head up, stealing a long, slow kiss. He muttered, “I’ll go next week,” against her lips before resuming, tongue gently prodding her bottom lip.

Freyja broke away and glanced up at him through her lashes with a teasing look. “You sure you can last that long without sex?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz shipped out to replace the other half of the task force a few days later. They were only gone for two weeks, executing the final excursion to retrieve a stolen weapons cache. König, Roche, and Price had done most of the leg work but decided that the sergeants and lieutenant were better equipped for the situation at hand. 

Johnny’s demolition expertise certainly came in handy this time around.

Still, Simon was sore and aching for the comfort of holding his kids and wife after what felt like the longest two weeks of his life. It was their first time leaving both babies with the other parent since Arthur was born.

Unlike his last time returning from a mission, the house was quiet, which allowed him time to take his boots off at the door and shed his mask. König’s car was parked in their driveway, leading him to believe the operative was spending the night in their guest room. Whether Roach was there too, he didn’t know.

The hall light at the top of the stairs flicked on, and Freyja appeared in a silky nightgown, standing on the last step with a tired smile and messy hair.

Simon stopped at the bottom of the stairs and hummed while his eyes roamed her body with a dopey smile.

“Welcome back,” she whispered, locking her fingers behind his neck to tilt his head back, giving him access to slot their lips together. Freyja moaned quietly at the firm hands on her hips and thighs, gripping and digging into the soft flesh. “How’d it go?”

He shrugged and pressed another chaste kiss to her lips, humming against them. “No snags. Soap got to blow stuff up.” Simon’s mouth trailed down her jaw, throat, and chest, gentle and loving.

Her fingertips brushed a gash on his cheek. Most likely from shrapnel, if its depth and jagged edges were any indicators.

“M’fine, love.”

“Joanie’s out cold, but Artie’s awake if you wanna see him. I just finished feeding him.”

That woke him up a little bit. A soft breath of air tickled the wet spots on Freyja’s skin from his silent chuckle. Simon’s arms wrapped around her waist, and he nuzzled his face in her chest as he soaked in her presence. They’d gone more extended periods without seeing each other, but whether they were apart for a week or a few months, he still missed her like crazy.

“She doing better in her room?”

“Much. She’s having some nightmares but goes back down eventually. She’s having a good night.”

“Mmm, in that case, I won’t wake her. We can surprise her in the mornin’.”

When Freyja turned to lead him upstairs, he couldn’t help himself as his hand swung up and connected with her ass, a sharp CRACK! resonating through the air.

“Simon!”

“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. You left yourself wide open on that one,” he teased, his voice low to not wake their daughter or guests. As expected, Arthur’s quiet coos reached his ears the closer they got to their bedroom. Simon dropped his gear by their bedroom door and approached the bassinet on Freyja’s side of the bed. The little boy stared in his general direction, wiggling like a (precious) worm.

The man beamed down at him and carefully slid his hands under Artie’s back with his thumbs hooked under the infant’s arms, lifting him out of the crib. “Hi, beautiful boy,” he mumbled, pressing his pursed lips against his cheek, leaving multiple kisses in the same spot. He held his son back out for a moment, a confused expression on his face once he pulled away.

“Where’d it go?”

Freyja shifted to her knees on their bed and rested her chin on his shoulder, peering down at their son. “What?”

“The baby scrunch.”

“Huh. You’re right. I didn’t even notice.”

“I just…last time I held him, he still curled up. I missed it,” he said, a grown man literally pouting.

“I know…” She let her hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest. “I’m sorry, Si. I know it sucks. Being away comes with the job, and that means we miss things. We’ve been lucky so far with Joanie, honestly.”

Arthur had quieted down, sucking his pacifier as he studied Simon’s painted face and clinging to his shirt.

A knock at the doorframe caught their attention, and all three turned to the source. König rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bare feet padding across the carpet until he reached them. “Hello, Lieutenant. Did the operation bode well?”

“Yeah, everything was just as you said it – was…”

The baby had started to whine again and let go of his dad, reaching for his uncle with grabby hands. The man’s face flushed, but he didn’t make a move to take the baby. Once the shock wore off, Simon took the initiative to hand Art off, and König gladly received him.

He immediately settled again, laying his head back in the crook of König’s elbow, humming softly against his pacifier. “Hallo, welpe,” he said in a hushed tone, rocking his nephew gently.

“Well, that’s new,” Simon grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed to avoid awkwardly standing there. Simon wasn’t too annoyed, but he was somewhat sad. He had missed his babies dearly and looked forward to some serious attention. But his usually shy baby, who never wanted to be handed off to anyone besides his mother and occasionally Simon, was suddenly choosing their friend over him.

How much had he missed in such a short amount of time?

“I apologize, sir. I am as surprised as you are. He’s a good boy; I think we have been around so much the last two weeks…”

“König.”

“Ja?”

“Drop the sir. We’re not on base. I’m not mad.”

König blinked at him, confused. “It’s… Scheiße, wie sagt man ‘gebräuchlich’ auf Englisch? Ich weiß es nicht. It is normal to use sir where I’m from.”

Simon glared back. “And this is my house. You’ve done as my wife has said to gain my son’s affection. So now, you will do what I say to get back in my good graces after robbing me of my child. Are we clear?”

“I feel…bad. Please, take him back–”

He shook his head and stood again, scratching at the light stubble that had formed on his cheeks over the last few days. “And I’m telling you, no. It’s fine. I have to shower anyway.”

“Alles klar.”

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━ 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥.

──────────── 𝐰𝐜 — 1.9k 𝐜𝐰 — everyone is aged up / non-canon compliant ages bc i said so; rafe being an emotionally constipated, toxic douche-canoe 3000; an unhealthy dynamic; suggestive moments but not explicit; w*rd + substance mention, wheeze bein' a savage; and a potential cliffhanger? 𝐚/𝐧 — this is a lil nugget from a mini-series i have in the works :) lmk if you’d like to see more in the future! 💌 ────────────

main masterlist | MDNI

IF EVER THERE were a time when a human being might actually be capable of blowing steam from their ears, it would be this one.

Rafe Cameron has been pacing the length of the chapel's private lot since he dragged you out here who knows how long ago. Mumbling crudely configured sentences and half-baked schemes under his breath, he looks every bit the loose canon he's been branded as.

While not ideal, things could be worse—a lot worse. At the very least, he hasn't punched anything yet; concrete wall, tree trunk, or otherwise.

The "otherwise" in this situation (and most, to be frank) is JJ Maybank's pretty face.

Apparently, Rafe doesn't appreciate the way he's been touching you all afternoon.

"If that fuckin' pogue knows what's good for him, he—he'll keep his filthy hands off what's mine."

Strong words for someone who refuses to even attempt exclusivity, or make any sort of commitment whatsoever.

You gnaw on your cheek until copper stings your tongue.

JJ has to touch you, it's unavoidable.

Sarah, his younger sister and your lifelong best friend, has asked you to be her Maid of Honor and, to absolutely no one's surprise, John B, her fiancé, asked JJ Maybank to serve as his Best Man.

Sarah's older brother doesn't see it that way.

And why would he? That would involve rational thinking and a modicum of maturity—two things Rafe is allergic to.

In his perfect world, you would walk in the procession having left a him-sized gap, and, even then, he'd probably decide that wasn't enough. Knowing him, there would need to be an ocean between you two before Rafe was finally satisfied. And still, you know for certain he'd find something else to bitch about.

It's almost like he enjoys getting himself all worked up.

"Rafe, I'm not a pet or a toy to play tug-of-war with on the playground."

At your sudden burst of exasperation, the pacing comes to a screeching halt. And thank god for that; the repetition was starting to make you nauseous.

Just as firmly as his jaw, Rafe's fists clench at his sides.

"When did I say that you were?" he spews his venom at you, but his fervid attention remains fixed on the cracked pavement baking in the late afternoon rays. Rafe kicks a pebble into the side of a parked car, then continues, "—because I don't recall saying that. And you know how I feel about words being put into my mouth."

"No," you all but growl. "—but that's what you meant."

Your teeth ache from grinding them together. A migraine is forming at either temple, but you're already too exhausted by this conversation to massage it away before it takes root. You have your hands full with one headache right now, there's no room for another on your plate. But, like the eldest Cameron's emotional maelstrom, landfall is inevitable.

Rafe glares at you, but doesn't say anything to the contrary.

This begrudged acquiescence is the closest you ever come to Rafe admitting that you were right about something.

Or apologizing.

"Well, whatever you are, you're still mine. Something he doesn't respect and you seem to have forgotten—and I think we're overdue for a little reminder, sweetness."

He reaches for you, and you halfheartedly bat his hands away.

"Rafe, can we just... can we please do this some other time? I have to get back to—"

"—to your side piece from The Cut?"

"—to Sarah. Your sister. Y'know, the one who's getting married this weekend?" You cross your arms over your chest. Rafe rolls his eyes, clearly irritated you decided to cock-block his ogling. "—in case that bit of information got lost in your ego."

"Wow, you're really antsy to get back in there." His eyebrows jump, somehow unfettered by his audacity. The supplemental away from me is omitted, but deafening. "There's no need to be so defensive—if you have nothing to feel guilty for, that is."

You don't dignify his badgering with a response.

His tongue punches his cheek, and he looks away, as if depriving you of eye contact is a punishment in and of itself.

Rafe is trying to bait you into an actual fight so that he can exercise his big, bottled-up emotions without having to acknowledge their existence or their cause. There's too much left to do before the ceremony; you don't have time to spare for something as juvenile and pointless as feeding into his emotional scapegoat.

"If you're spreading 'em for Maybank, at least give me a head's up so I can get tested. It's common courtesy, sweetness."

Cold and debilitating, like a scorpion's venom, his accusation is devoid of the familiarity you've grown fond of. Under Rafe's prickly carapace of indifference, he is spiteful and chronically insecure.

This is what happens when you don't purge yourself of whatever is bothering you. Pent up, the negativity builds and builds day in and day out. The knot gets bigger, stronger, and harder to ignore the longer it's left undealt with. The conflict between inner turmoil and externalized chaos, often projected onto an underserving substitute, is harsh and bitter, persisting until there's nothing left to leverage. Denial is a dreadful opponent and an impenetrable armor.

You are the frog today, and you are more often than not. Perhaps there was a time when turns were frequently taken, but you can't remember.

In shooting to sting, he'll kill himself just the same. Yet, despite the assured detriment to your livelihood, you put your faith in rational deterrence and permit the arachnid to crawl onto your back.

A sense of duty is easily preyed upon, and a desire for benevolence can leave you blind to the true nature of things. Instinct, natural or nurtured, doesn't have to be a death sentence. Nor is it a prescription for life. Villainy, like goodness, is a choice.

The frog may not be able to sting or fight, but it can leap.

"Would you just shut up?"

You bring his mouth to yours before any more garbage can spill out.

He's keyed up on jealousy and, most likely, something else. Rafe's intent on pushing you away with tired cheap shots in a fit of anger. You've known him long enough to know that, in the absence of control, he does and says the exact opposite of what he feels.

He refuses to be vulnerable in any healthy way, instead preferring to throw double-edged rocks at your window from behind a wilting bush.

Words are incompatible with Rafe's trauma-soaked mind. He'll hear whatever it is you have to say—Hell, he might even believe it for a few minutes—but a life of too many broken promises and poorly disguised lies depreciated their value.

Action—that's what Rafe can grasp. For something to click and stick, it must be tangible. You kissed him to express your loyalty in the only way he understands.

And to make him shut up. Definitely that, too.

"I should've ignored Sarah when she said a spray bottle was a bad idea."

Your eyes are slow to open, but you jump away from Rafe anyway. As if you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar, or like you betrayed some great conspiracy. Like he burned you.

It may not have a label, but your charged relationship with the Cameron heir is an open secret on Kiladare. Still, you're not too keen on public displays of affection—if anything you subject each other to could even be considered gentle or loving.

Intimate, sure. An attachment, definitely. The jury's still out on the health of such a volatile symbiosis, but such an entanglement is a bitch to bury.

You've tried.

Rafe's jaw clenches, annoyed by the irksome interruption now more than any slight you've perpetrated. "Wheezie, can't you see we're in the middle of something?"

"Something I saw a little too much of," she retorts with an exaggerated gag.

You bite down on your cheeks to keep your laughter at bay. You're in no mood to poke the bear further than he's already stabbed himself.

"Run along, the adults are talking."

Again, Rafe reaches for you. This time, you step out of bounds.

She means well, but the youngest Cameron has a big mouth and a propensity for gossip. She's also a compulsive eavesdropper. Wheezie might butt in and stir the pot far less now than she did a few years ago, but when it comes to Rafe, all bets are off. They may be each other's preferred sibling, bonded by their inability to best Sarah in the rat race for their father's attention and approval, but in their household, it's everyone for themselves.

And she's had her eye on the special edition Animal Crossing Switch console for weeks; she'll throw you both under the bus without a thought. Especially, if it means not waiting 'till Christmas to have it in her tween-age hands.

You throw her a bone, and yourself a lifeline. "What's up, Wheeze?"

She gives her brother a final glare, then turns to face you fully. Her features are twisted with exasperation, an understandable feeling considering who her siblings are and the family she's had the misfortune of being born into.

"Sarah wants to practice the rings. Again. So, hurry up and finish sucking face, adults. We have more important things to do."

Wheezie stomps off before either you or Rafe can get a word in. For her, the conversation ran its course. No need to stick around.

"Can I ask something stupid?" Rafe asks once his sister is out of earshot.

His voice is a bit wobbly, and while you know he'll make you regret it later, but you just can't help yourself: "Don't you always?"

Rafe clears his throat, then rubs his jaw like it might grant him the right words.

"We only... y'know with each other, right? I-I mean, I just figured since you're stuck to me like fucking velcro you're in the same boat. I mean—talk about stage five clinger. And, don't get me wrong, I would've unstuck you, but this," Rafe gestures to what little space remains between you. "—is way more convenient than all the hoops and shit of getting with someone else."

You know what he's actually asking—you've been fluent in "Rafe" since the fourth grade. Just one of the many, many joys of your fathers' life-long bromance.

He wants you to spill your guts before he does. He wants certainty; a safety net of prior knowledge.

—Rafe wants power.

"Totally," you drawl, humoring him with half the effort you normally would. Rafe squirms under your knowing gaze. "All for convenience, babe."

"Are you mocking me?" 

"Don't I always?" you counter through a smirk that makes Rafe feel as though he's staring into a splintered funhouse mirror.

Rafe watches you slip back into the chapel, wishing that he said more... wishing he'd said less. He follows your figure down the hallway until the metal door shuts with a rancorous thud.

When he shuts his eyes—a lukewarm attempt to calm his racing heart in the relentless summer sun—all Rafe can think about is your parting wink.

And the God-awful churn of emotion it triggered.

──────────── 

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