Love/Hate (Lemon GarouxReader 🍋)

Criminal Record

Eventually, he seems to be in pretty good nick and you're pushing him out the door, sending him home, as he tries his hardest to resist. But you're going to check on Ryo and still have some studying planned so you can't have him hanging around, distracting you with that 'charm' of his. That big, hard...charm... Ok! Ok! Stop! Concentrate!
"I'm discharging you," you say and thrust the remnants of his shirt, still warm from the dryer, at his bandaged chest.
"Eh..." Garou looks at you, completely dismayed. "But I'm still injured!" he points to his face, the scar now a thick, white, harmless jag.
You roll your eyes a little. "Your health insurance has run out. My nursing duties are over."
"Will I at least get a home visit?" he grumbles, slipping the torn t-shirt over his head.
"What? You need a sponge bath too?" you raise your eyebrow.
"You never know!" he grins.
"Go home," you push him out the door and close it in his face before he can protest any further, and before your resolve completely breaks down.
Damn. He thought he could weasel his way back in. He kicks at the wall and slouches off down the hallway, hands in pockets, when he suddenly hears the door swing open again, turning around at lightning speed, full of hope.
You stick your head through the doorway.
"Let me know if you need anything," you say, going a little red. "I..." you look away, somewhat embarrassed. "Just, look after yourself." You conclude before slamming the door shut again. The injuries he sustained are still fresh in your mind and it makes you feel awful just thinking about it. Even if he seems like he doesn't give two little fucks about it, you can't help but feel bad for him.
You glance out your kitchen window and watch him get smaller and smaller in the distance, hoping he's going straight home and staying out of trouble.
He knows it. He feels it. Whips around and looks straight at your window, your face little and far away but clearly watching him. He gives you that wicked grin and you leap away as if hit by an electric shock, cursing him, turning even redder than before.
He's way too carefree! It almost makes you just about fume.
But that grin falls as he continues walking, disappearing from your view completely in the heat of the August evening. The situation weighs heavy on him. That display of devil-may-care nonchalance was really for your benefit, to protect you from any and all worries and concerns.
Royal Ripper's words about finding his 'friends' run through his mind. If they keep coming after him, he'll have to distance himself from you, maybe even leave again. The thought of it makes his anger well up, a furious, vicious anger, masking the pain that the possibility of leaving again brings up inside him. After all, anger is easier to deal with. Anger is more productive.
How fucking dare they interfere with this perfect little thing he's got going? How dare they threaten you? How dare they threaten your mutually beneficial arrangement?! How fucking dare they threaten his happine-
He stops in his tracks, stands stock still on the sidewalk, the evening quickly falling around him.
That word.
It's taken him by surprise.
How long has it been since he'd thought about it? Used that word? He turns it over in his head. Tries it on for size. It feels almost foreign.
He was sure he was happy when he was on his monstrous path, gleefully beating the hell out of heroes and anyone else who deserved it. Just him, his brute strength, his martial arts prowess, his burning desire to set the world right...That was happiness.
Wasn't it...?
So if that was true happiness, what is this?
He can't deny that when he's around you he feels good, lighter somehow. Like you pull him out of some darkness, out into a warm and inviting space, and to his infinite surprise, he doesn't even mind.
Is that happiness?
No, it can't be. Because he knows he won't be happy until he's followed through with his plan. And all he has to do is wait until April 1st.
But if this isn't happiness, what is it?
The thought perplexes him all the way home.

Early the next morning you push his front door open, quiet as a little mouse, and tiptoe inside.
Despite your efforts, Garou's ears have pricked up before you even touched the door handle, so attuned to your soft footsteps, even down the hall.
You slowly open his bedroom door and peek inside to find him still lounging around in bed, unbandaged, sheets up to his waist.
He props himself up on his forearm, his wolfish eyes positively aglow as you stand in the doorway in your shortest, tightest little dress, one hip seductively lifted, your hand resting on the doorframe above your head as you gaze right at him, biting your lip.
Someone pinch him quick. Please, for the love of God, don't let this be a dream. You look much too appetising right now.
"Am I at the right address? I'm here to take your temperature, sir," you cock your head coquettishly before letting go of the doorway and sauntering up to his bed, pulling the covers back, knowing exactly what you'll find. And yet, even after all these times, it still never fails to disappoint.
"Right on time," he beams at you as you hitch your dress up and straddle him. "I think I'm running a fever."
You put your hand to his forehead.
"Oh my," you feign concerned shock. "You're burning up. Are you experiencing any pain?"
"Yeah," he nods gravely. "Terrible, terrible pain."
"Where does it hurt?" you ask, pulling your dress even further up, revealing a very pantyless pretty pussy as you sit right down on his awaiting erection.
"Well," he says, glancing down his muscular body, "I think you found it. What talent."
"Here?" you ask innocently, gliding yourself up and down his cock, your pussy already dewy with slippery wetness.
"Right there," he gives you a groan of confirmation.
"Let's see if I can help you with that, sir," you say, bracing your hands against his hard chest and lifting yourself up, letting just the tip of his cock enter you, teasing him a little here with small enticing movements before slowly settling back down, letting him fill you up fully, completely, pressing against you. You can't help but close your eyes in satisfaction.
"My life is in your hands," he says, his breathing very audible now.
"I'll keep that in mind," you sigh in return.
Is this happiness? He struggles with the concept for a few moments before his thoughts completely fade out and he loses himself to your rhythm as you start to ride him deeply, slowly, his head falling blissfully back onto the pillow as his hands eagerly encircle your swaying hips, neither of you able to think in coherent words anymore.
In this moment, there is no imminent threat. In this early morning moment you can fully focus on simply enjoying each other, nothing else mattering.