#﹠﹠ ﹔ WHEN HE STARED INTO THE ABYSS IT LOOKED BACK AT HIM— FOR IN THAT DARKNESS SHE LAIN ⁽ ʰᵉᵏᵃᵗᵉ / ʰᶦˢ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ⋅ ⁾

[soulsforsales]

Jason Todd head canons

Because I love that man<3

Jason always sleeps on the side of the bed closest to the door because if danger ever arrives, he wants it to find him first.

He reads to you. A lot. Sometimes it's sweet, mostly it's to annoy you when you don't give him attention. (He would read something like, "And thus she disappeared into the dark abyss to find her lover", aloud just to add, "but my lover won't shut down their laptop for me." Insert a pout.)

He says the most romantic things at the most random moments. (You could be sitting across the room, reading, while he sits at the table cleaning his guns. He would stop, look up, and go, "I don't think my life truly began until I met you." Then go back to cleaning like nothing happened. )

He offers to buy you anything you even look at for too long. (You two could be on an evening walk, and while he shuffles for something in his pockets, he realizes you've been staring at someone's pet dog for a long while with a smile, and he just goes, "Do we want it?" Simple. Plain. You stare, "I am sure that's someone's pet, Jay." He smirks, "I could arrange something." You roll your eyes, laugh, "Shut up.")

When he says, "I'll do anything for you," he means it. And not just the big things. Not just "I would die for you," "I would live for you," "I would build a house from scratch for you." No, even the small ones. (Because the first time you ate a chocolate-dipped waffle, you looked like you'd just tasted heaven and won't stop gushing about how delicious it was. The next morning? Jason is learning how to cook the exact same thing from a YouTube video at 6 in the morning. And when you ask him "why," he shrugs nonchalantly and goes, "I just like to see you happy.")

Jason's utterly, loveably clueless of how devastatingly handsome he is. The most normal things he does are so attractive and turn you on, and he has absolutely no idea. (He hangs around the house shirtless with damp hair like it's no big deal while you're just dying inside. You could be climbing this man like a tree, and he still won't get it. You could be on top of him - so fucking gone - and he's like, "You really think I'm hot?" You're in disbelief. "Jason, I want to sit on your face." He blushes, blushes, "...Oh. Wow. Okay.")

Also, this reminds me. He blushes. Like, a lot more than anyone would expect from the seemingly cold, terrifying Red Hood. (He blushes when you compliment him. He blushes when you call him your boyfriend/husband/partner. He blushes when you talk proudly of him to your friends or his family. He blushes when you kiss him, give him coffee, remember his favorite books or things, or treat him with decent human kindness. He blushes the most when you call him pet names (Jay, Jaybird, baby, babe, pretty boy, honey), anything other than "Jason," and he's got pink ears and flushed cheeks. Just overall shy and loves you too much for his own good.)

This is it for now because I fear if I keep writing, I'll never stop.

Enjoy!! I love y'all<3

[solxamber]

Lease and Let Die || Lilia Vanrouge

You needed a roommate. You got Lilia Vanrouge. He’s upside down on your ceiling, burns every meal, might be immortal—and weirdly? He’s perfect.

You’ve hit rock bottom. Not the dramatic, movie kind—no, this is the quiet, pathetic kind where your roommate runs off to “find themselves” in a polycule commune and leaves you with the full rent and a fridge that smells like betrayal.

Running on three hours of sleep, gas station muffins, and a caffeine tolerance that borders on war crime, you post the most honest roommate ad you can manage:

“Please, just pay rent on time and don’t leave knives in the sink. Or summoning circles. I’m tired.”

Five minutes later, your phone pings.

“I’ve never missed rent, my knives are ceremonial, and I haven’t summoned a proper demon in decades. When do I move in? —L.V.”

You blink at your phone. You reread the message. You decide it’s probably fine.

Twenty-four hours later, Lilia Vanrouge shows up at your door.

He’s wearing a leather jacket, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, and a smile like he knows exactly how you’re going to die—and thinks it’s kind of cute.

“You must be my new roommate!” he chirps, setting down a suitcase that audibly hums.

You nod slowly, brain buffering. “Are you... bringing more stuff?”

“Oh, no,” he says, cheerfully. “Just this. And the coffin.”

“The what—”

But he’s already inside, complimenting your curtains and asking where the nearest leyline convergence is.

You stare blankly. Somewhere in the apartment, the Wi-Fi cuts out.

You have no idea what the hell you just signed up for.

But at least he promised that he does his own dishes.

It started off sweet. Really, it did.

You had late evening classes three times a week and by the time you trudged across campus toward home, the only light came from flickering streetlamps and your phone screen at 3% battery.

One night, as you packed your things into your bag, Lilia appeared beside you like a helpful poltergeist.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said cheerfully, slinging your bag over his shoulder before you could argue.

Your first reaction? Touched. Emotional. Betrayed by your own sentimentality. Because nobody had ever said anything that nice to you on this hell-washed campus. Not your professors, not your classmates, not even your overpriced coffee machine, which had begun growling whenever you approached.

You looked at him with stars in your eyes and said, “That’s… really kind. Thank you.”

He shrugged, the picture of casual coolness, if casual coolness was wearing a floor-length black cloak and bat earrings. “The darkness listens better when I’m near.”

And that was when the stars in your eyes shriveled and died.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, the what?”

“The darkness,” he said, like this was self-explanatory. “It whispers sometimes. And when I’m around, it’s polite about it.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Reopened it. “And… that’s supposed to be comforting?”

“It means I’ll hear if anything wants to drag you into an abyss. I can bargain with those.” He beamed at you. “Some of them owe me favors.”

You stared at the sidewalk as you walked. You were no longer sure if this was a sweet gesture or a prelude to demonic possession.

At one point, a crow landed on a lamppost and screamed. Lilia tilted his head and murmured something in a language you didn’t know, and the crow just nodded and flew away.

You weren’t sure if you should feel safer.

“Lilia,” you said cautiously, “do I need to be worried?”

He laughed, delighted. “Oh, no! You’re not a threat to the veil between realms. Not yet.”

You did not like the word yet. Not one bit.

Still… you made it home. Your front door was mysteriously unlocked (Lilia claimed the house “let him in”), the kitchen light had fixed itself, and your dying plant had perked up. So maybe walking home with your roommate wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

You just had to make peace with the fact that the shadows sometimes waved at him.

And that he waved back.

You were dying. There was no other way to describe it.

The dining table was a battlefield: open textbooks stacked like defensive walls, notes scattered like fallen soldiers, and a graveyard of empty mugs bearing silent witness to your descent into academic hell. Your eye twitched. The caffeine was doing nothing. You were 84% sure your soul had left your body three hours ago. The only thing keeping your bones upright was spite.

“I swear to every cruel god out there,” you muttered, “if I don’t pass this exam, I’m just gonna lay down in the student union and let the crushing weight of debt take me.”

From the couch—where he had been laying upside down like an actual bat for the past twenty minutes—Lilia made a thoughtful noise.

“Do you require reinforcements? A siege beast, perhaps? I have a minor distraction spell that summons a screaming goat—”

“I need silence,” you hissed, snapping your highlighter in half with the ferocity of a person pushed beyond reason.

“Oh,” he said, far too delighted. “Say no more.”

He snapped his fingers.

There was a pop and then—nothing. Utter, blissful, terrifying silence. You blinked. The world was muffled in a sparkling purple haze. It was like someone had wrapped your brain in a pillow and told all your problems to go wait outside.

You got two pages of notes done before the smell hit you.

Burnt.

Burning.

Popcorn?

You looked up just in time to see a column of smoke trailing lazily from the kitchen.

You screamed. You didn’t hear it.

Lilia waved at you cheerfully from inside the fire alarm’s muted chaos.

You were too tired to cry and too caffeinated to blink. The popcorn was ruined, the fire alarm had only just stopped shrieking, and Lilia was poking at the charred remains in the microwave like it was a curious new species.

"I thought I had it set to two minutes," he said cheerfully, as if the kitchen wasn’t filled with smoke and the smell of scorched sadness.

“You set it to twenty,” you croaked, pointing accusingly at the still-blinking numbers. “Twenty minutes, Lilia.”

“Ah. So that’s what the little zeroes were for.” He turned around, beaming like a deranged warlock. “Good news is—I know just the thing to cheer you up.”

“No,” you said immediately. “Lilia, no.”

But it was already too late. He clapped his hands once, a ripple of eldritch magic shimmered through the air, and with a flash of light and a small puff of brimstone, something appeared.

Stanley, the goat.

He stood in the middle of your scorched kitchen. Just… stood there. He had little beady eyes, unimpressed with this plane of existence. A single bell jingled around his neck like it was mocking you personally.

And then he screamed.

It was the sound of every due date you’d missed, every essay you’d written at 3 a.m., every existential panic you’d had at the grocery store over the rising price of cheese. It was a scream that echoed through your soul and possibly opened a portal to another realm for a second.

Stanley screamed again. Lilia clapped, delighted.

“He’s motivated troops into battle before,” he said proudly. “And one time, a wedding.”

You stared at the ceiling. “I am going to be arrested. They’re going to cite you as the reason and the judge will nod solemnly because they’ll get it.”

Stanley climbed onto the counter and knocked over your last mug of coffee.

Lilia looked at you with the serene calm of someone who has caused kingdoms to fall. “Would you like me to summon Stanley’s cousin? Her name is Beatrice.”

You sank to the floor. “I just wanted popcorn.”

Stanley screamed.

It starts innocently. A Tuesday. You’re behind on three assignments, your laundry smells like something died in it (possibly your GPA), and Lilia is humming in the kitchen while making (very burnt) eggs in a suspiciously perfect spiral. Nothing unusual.

Until you open your history textbook.

You're scanning for bullet points—just enough to fake engagement during tomorrow’s class—and then you see it.

The name.

Lilia Vanrouge. Underlined. Bolded. In a war tactics section titled "Unconventional Victory: The Northern Siege and the General Who Outsmarted Death."

There’s even a sketched portrait. It’s him. Smirking like he knows something you don’t. Which is probably true.

You sit there for a moment, staring at the page, then at the kitchen doorway. Then back at the page.

Then you scream.

Lilia pokes his head in. “What’s wrong? Ghost in the textbook?”

“You’re in the textbook!” you shout, holding it up like it might exorcise him.

He blinks at it, tilts his head. “Oh. That one. I told them not to use that portrait, it’s terribly outdated. My cheekbones are much sharper now.”

“YOU’RE A WAR GENERAL.”

He grins. “Was. Ages ago. The title’s more of a... dusty old accessory now.”

You pace. “I’ve been yelling at you about buying sugary cereal for weeks.”

“You called me a ‘coward of capitalism.’” He sounds fond. “It was very compelling.”

“I made you split a bag of off-brand marshmallows with me because I couldn’t afford dinner.”

He beams. “It was charming! Very wartime spirit of you.”

You throw yourself face-first into your pillow and scream until the pillow gives up.

“I didn’t think you’d care for old titles.”

“I care that you’re in a textbook!”

He sits beside you, offering the plate. “I also invented this egg spiral. There’s a footnote about it in Chapter Seven.”

You consider the egg. You consider your life.

And then you accept the plate. Because apparently you’re living with a retired war general who hoards cereal and hums lullabies in ancient dialects.

And somehow, this still isn’t the weirdest week you’ve had.

You don’t ask him seriously at first. It’s a joke—half a groan, half a petty fantasy as you drag yourself home from another night class, your arms sore from carrying too many books and your pride bruised from yet another “spirited” discussion with your favorite nemesis: Professor Drywall Brain.

“I swear to the gods, Lilia,” you mutter as you slam the door behind you, “if that man says ‘technically that isn’t historically accurate’ one more time, I’m going to scream in four different languages. Loudly. In his office. While holding a tambourine.”

Lilia, sprawled upside-down on the couch in his usual dramatic corpse pose, peeks open one eye. “Want me to come with you next time?”

You laugh. “God, imagine. You in class with me. You’d eat him alive.”

But the next time your professor interrupts you for the third time in one sentence to cite a source he co-wrote with his own ego, something in you snaps.

Lilia shows up twenty minutes early the next class.

He’s wearing:

• A sparkly lavender Hello Kitty hoodie.

• Black platform boots that make him almost legally too powerful.

• A “#1 Gamer Granddad” hat, slightly crooked.

• A notebook. A very serious notebook. Labeled in bold marker: “HUMAN RITUALS (vol. I)”

You blink. “...This isn’t what I meant when I said ‘scare him.’”

“Too much?” he asks innocently, spinning the hat backwards like this is a very niche sitcom. “I can lose the boots.”

“No. Keep them. I want them burned into his memory.”

He does sit in on class. The professor, clearly confused but trying to be professional, asks who he is.

Lilia doesn’t answer with his name. He just smiles and says, “Observer of mortal wisdom,” and opens his notebook like he’s ready to witness a natural disaster.

Every time the professor says something snide or borderline wrong, Lilia makes a show of scribbling a note with an expression of mild horror. At one point he even raises a hand—a single gloved finger, dainty as sin—and asks if “contradicting published data is part of the mortal learning experience.”

By the end of the class, your professor looks like he’s aged six years.

On the walk home, Lilia loops his arm through yours and hums. “That was very educational. I should attend more.”

“Please don’t,” you whisper, though you’re also grinning. “You’re going to get me expelled.”

“Not if I become the dean first,” he says cheerfully.

You don’t know if he’s joking. You don’t ask.

You just feel very safe walking home that night.

The day your professor emailed your grade, you were still deep in the throes of post-group-project resentment. You hadn’t slept. Your eye had developed a twitch. You’d seen God briefly while editing the final slide deck at 3AM and He told you to log off. You didn’t.

You were still thinking about it. Sitting on the kitchen floor in socks that did not match, eating cold instant ramen with a fork because all the chopsticks had mysteriously disappeared (you suspect Lilia), and rereading your group’s submission like it was a cursed tome. Because somehow, somehow, it was… good?

Like disturbingly good.

It started normal. Blah blah, feudal kingdoms, blah blah, agricultural collapse—but halfway through, it got weirdly intense. The writing shifted from standard student filler to vivid descriptions of battlefield strategy and personal loss. There were diary entries from a dying soldier. Quotes like:

“The horses screamed louder than the men.”

Who wrote that?

You didn’t write that.

Your groupmates definitely didn’t write that—one of them tried to cite Wikipedia by just linking it in the footnotes and calling it a day.

And then you saw it. On the last page, listed under "Additional Resources":

• Blood-Soaked Memoirs, Vol. II

• War and Tea: Reflections of a Veteran General

• Me (I Was There), by L.V.

You stared at the screen.

Then you turned slowly—so slowly—to face the upside-down body perched on your living room ceiling like a decorative gargoyle.

“Lilia,” you said, voice trembling, “did you write my paper?”

He flipped mid-air and landed soundlessly, mug of tea in hand, wearing his fuzzy bat slippers and a shirt that said Don’t Talk To Me Until I’ve Had My Potion.

“Of course I did,” he said cheerfully. “I couldn’t just let you hand in that disaster your groupmates conjured. I’d seen more structure in a battlefield charge made by drunk goblins.”

You blinked. “You used actual war stories.”

“Well, I was there."

“YOU CITED YOURSELF.”

“And they say self-reflection is dead.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to get expelled for plagiarism from a guy who fought in the Demon Rebellion of 1043.”

He patted your head. “Nonsense. I am the primary source.”

You screamed. The fire alarm went off again. Lilia casually waved away the smoke from your scorched popcorn and floated back to the ceiling.

You got an A+.

You never looked your professor in the eyes again.

The ramen’s cold. You’re sitting on the linoleum like you’ve lost all connection to chairs and dignity. Your laptop screen glows ominously from the counter, blinking with the cheerful menace of “Project Scores Available Now!” and you, a coward, have chosen denial.

It’s not dramatic. It’s survival.

You twirl a limp noodle around your fork and sigh like a Victorian widow. “If I fail this class, I’m going to live in a bog.”

From above, something shifts. A soft creak. You don’t even flinch anymore.

Lilia is upside down on your kitchen ceiling, arms crossed like a sleeping bat, hair dangling like he styled it specifically for zero gravity. His eyes are glowing just slightly in the dim light of the fridge. His entire posture says: I live here. Get used to it.

“You’ll be fine,” he says in that lilting tone of someone who has definitely hexed a registrar before.

You stare at him and jab your fork in his general direction. “Are you here to flirt with me or drink my blood?”

A beat.

“Yes,” he says, all teeth.

You shovel another bite of ramen into your mouth because honestly? Sounds great either way.

He drifts down from the ceiling a moment later, floating like an unsettling balloon and landing in a crouch beside you.

“You know,” he murmurs, peering into your bowl, “when I was in training, we had to fight actual hydras for credit. These grades mean nothing.”

“Yeah, well,” you grumble, “I’m fighting for my life against microwave deadlines and soul-crushing group projects.”

Lilia hums thoughtfully. “Still might be harder than the hydras.”

You blink at him. “...Really?”

“No,” he says sweetly. “But I am proud of you.”

And somehow, the noodles taste a little better after that.

It’s late. The kind of late where everything is quiet, the hum of the fridge is loud, and the streetlights cast long, sleepy shadows through the kitchen window. You’re both where you usually end up—on the floor, cross-legged, surrounded by mismatched mugs and half-eaten snacks, your laptop forgotten somewhere under a throw blanket.

You don’t know why you ask it. Maybe it’s the way he brewed your favorite tea without you asking. Maybe it’s the way he always waits until your shoulders slump before he starts playing that dumb, soothing lo-fi playlist. Maybe it’s just… him.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you ask.

Lilia doesn’t answer right away. He tilts his head, as if tasting the weight of your question in the air. His expression softens—not his usual mischievous grin or teasing smirk, but something quieter. Something old.

“Because,” he says, voice low, “I once led a thousand men into war for less than a kind word.”

He looks at you then, and it feels like the air stills.

“And you give them to me freely.”

“I was never quite friend. Never quite equal. Not really.”

His voice doesn’t change, but your heart lurches anyway.

“But you—” He finally glances down at you, eyes glowing faint in the dark kitchen light. “You argue with me about cereal. You yell at me to do the dishes. You make me playlists.”

He grins, crooked and fond. “You treat me like a person.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Not even a joke. Not even a deflection.

You blink too fast. You pretend it’s dust in your eye. You laugh like it’s a silly thing to say, like your throat isn’t tight and your chest isn’t aching in that strange, warm way he always brings.

He doesn’t call you out on it. He just passes you a cookie shaped like a bat and starts humming a song you don’t know but wish you did.

You think you’re in trouble.

You also think you don’t mind.

You burst through the front door like you’ve been launched from a cannon, nearly trip on your own shoes, and absolutely yeet your bag across the living room.

Lilia, as always, is committing war crimes in the kitchen. The smoke alarm gave up trying weeks ago. Today’s offense appears to be something that was probably lasagna and is now definitely a smoldering, unidentifiable cube.

He turns, oven mitts on both hands, looking entirely unbothered. “Oh? What’s got you bouncing around like a forest sprite on sugar?”

You can’t speak. You’re too giddy, too high on disbelief and the distinct buzz of miracle. You just hold up your phone, the grades page glowing like divine scripture.

“I PASSED!” you shout, already halfway into a hop.

He blinks. “All of them?”

You nod, borderline feral. “All of them. Even Philosophy, which I wrote the final paper on the wrong philosopher. The wrong century, even!”

Lilia sets down the scorched tray. “Ah. So the blessings worked.”

You freeze. Narrow your eyes. “What blessings?”

He smiles innocently. “Who’s to say? Perhaps the stars aligned. Perhaps the registrar owes me a favor. Perhaps I made a quiet appeal to an ancient power.”

“You hexed my finals.”

“I charmed your finals.”

You don’t care. You really, really don’t care. The stress is finally gone. Your body is light, your soul is free, and for the first time since this bizarre roommate-summoning-covenant began, you feel at ease.

So you cross the room in a few strides, grin so wide it nearly splits your face, and kiss him.

It’s impulsive. Honest. Stupid. Exactly right.

He hums, surprised but pleased, and kisses you back—tasting faintly of burned tomato sauce and centuries of mischief.

You pull away breathless, blinking. “I mean—uh—thank you?”

He chuckles, touching your cheek with one (still oven-mitted) hand. “You’re welcome, dearest.”

The lasagna is absolutely inedible, but you eat it anyway.

With him, even burnt food tastes like victory.

The kitchen floor is cold, the overhead light is buzzing ominously, and there’s a suspiciously damp dish towel under your back, but you’re too tired to care. Finals are over. The semester’s been crushed beneath your heel like a can of off-brand energy drink. Lilia’s lying beside you, arms folded behind his head, legs kicked up like he’s cloud-gazing instead of staring at the slightly water-stained ceiling.

There’s a half-eaten sleeve of cookies on your chest. You’re not sure who put it there. You’ve been eating them slowly, like a grazing animal trying to forget it exists.

You sigh. He sighs louder, out of sheer competition. You elbow him, he laughs. The fridge hums like it’s sharing in the moment.

Then, because it feels right—or at least stupid in the exact right way—you turn your head and say, “Hey, Lilia. Wanna get married?”

There’s a beat. Maybe two.

“Yup,” he says, cheerful as anything. “Let’s do it. Right now? I can carve the rings. I’ve got bone.”

You blink.

He smiles.

You blink again. “I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

Silence.

“Wait—bone?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “What, you think I don’t have crafting materials?”

You stare at him. He stares right back, unblinking, until you crack up so hard the cookie sleeve falls off your chest and crumbles into sad little crumbs on the tile.

“Gods, you’re insane,” you wheeze, wiping your eyes.

He grins, fangs showing. “Only for you, spouse.”

You cover your face, but you're smiling like an idiot. Because even if he's joking—and you're not entirely sure he is—there’s a warmth in your chest that doesn’t feel like just cookie crumbs and post-finals exhaustion.

You’re doomed. You’re in love. And apparently, you’re engaged now.

Masterlist

"someone save me from this university" - me as i wrote this. (also was written very very high on caffeine and stress so i'm sorry for the extreme chaos)

[tiredmamaissy]

Sung Jinwoo forcing me to take all his cock? Yes, just yes.

MDNI! 🔞 warnings: nsfw, smut, jinwoo being a bully bc it’s been so long since he’s been inside, first persons pov

“Don’t push me away.”

Jinwoo’s gruff voice thrums in my ear. I push harder against his abs, I can’t take anymore of him inside me.

“Can’t.” I gasp, and I feel my eyes prick with heated tears. “B-Been too long, Jin.”

It’s only been a month since we’ve seen each other, work has him gone for long periods. But this feels like the time he took my virginity all over again.

“You can take it, baby.”

Eyes of greed pierce into me as he towers over me, completely boxing me in with his thick arms. I have nowhere to run. My legs fight to close and my thighs shake when he wrenches them apart. I whimper and look down at his cock buried inside me. Fuck, I feel so full. How is he only half way inside me? I start shaking my head when I feel him push into me, and my hand turns into a fist against his tough exterior.

“You’re going to take it, sweetheart.” His hand raises and his two fingers pinch my chin, tilting my head upwards so our eyes meet. His eyes glow a vibrant teal and I find it hard to hold his gaze. It’s too intimidating. “And I want to see your face when you do.”

Oh…god. My nipples tingle and harden into peaks on my chest and I feel him put his weight on me. Oh god. Oh god. I fight the urge to glance down but I can’t help it. I look down to see his cock bullying its way even deeper inside my pussy and I squeal and squirm. His grip tightens on my jaw and tilts my head back up.

“Look at me.”

Whatever light was in his eyes is long gone now, replaced by a darkness I’ve never seen before. My clit swells and pops out of its hood, throbbing and pulsing with need. Oh god, it’s sinking even deeper now. The urge to look again rides me, but I force myself to stare into this new abyss of darkness.

“That’s it. Eyes on me, sweetheart. Don’t look away.”

I let out a lengthy whine and my nose burns when my tears overflow onto my cheeks. Jinwoo smirks, using his strength to shove his pelvis closer to mine. He’s enjoying this, watching intently as my face screws and my eyes weep. I jolt back when I feel him press into my cervix, and my hand reflexively pushes even harder against him.

“Jin…Jinwoo.” My voice trembles and my brows furrow into a kiss. “Wait, wait.”

“Good girl, good girl.” He whispers quickly. His jaw tightens as he pushes against the newfound resistance, and he stares deeply into my eyes as he does it.

Then I feel it. I feel his heavy, swollen balls press into me, and his pelvis grinds against my clit. His top lip twitches and his gaze flicks down.

“Oh, fuck.” He growls, breathless. “See that?” His hand guides my face down, making me look at how my pussy has taken every single inch of him. “Look at that, baby. Beautiful.” He lets go of my jaw and places his palm against the little bulge just under my navel. “I’m all the way up here.”

I look in awe, there’s so much pressure that it feels like I could burst. I’ve never taken him this deep before. I can actually see him inside me. Oh god. I look back up at him, frantic. He grins and settles himself under me, throwing my legs around his waist.

“It’s okay, darling. You’re okay.” He huffs as he leans back, blatantly admiring the bulge he’s made. “You can take it.”

[superhoeva]

𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐱 – 𝐜. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | okay lovelies. i remember doing this 2478912 years ago for another character i was once in love with in another life and the idea popped back into my head late last night. this is not the only one i'll be doing because i'm down very badly for so many fictional fucking people lol. next up... pope cody? eneeways, thank you to the beauties @ovaryacted and @stellamarielu for beta-ing this for me last minutes. another thanks to @ozarkthedog for speaking the words "charlie reid" and "pussy spanking" into the universe, as i was too much of a coward too until i saw her delicious blurb (go check it out 🫵🏾)!! please heed the warning(s) on this one guys, all of them listed below <3

warning(s): some dark content, language, smut, female pronouns used, safe word (mentioned), spanking/pussy spanking, rough sex, unprotected sex (p in v), possessiveness, dirty talk, bodiily fluids, oral sex (f +m receiving), facefucking/throat fucking, breath play (mentioned), mean!charlie (at times), dark(ish)!charlie, sex toys (mentioned), degradation, public sex, exhibitionism, crying, desk sex, charlie calls the reader names: “slut” + “whore” + “cum rag”, creampies (mention), charlie’s version of aftercare; w/c is 1.8k

✩ To start off, this guy’s a growler. It wouldn’t make sense to deny it, not with how often his vocal cords tighten and razor out the rough sound. It’s usually in the form of your name or a curse, Charlie strains to keep his eyes from rolling at how wet you feel wrapped around his cock. You just take his cock so god damn perfectly… stretched out all pretty and taking every inch he stuffs inside you.

He can’t help the way the noises seep from the back of his throat. Raw and feral Charlie sounds, fucking you the same way with an untamed pace and hands grabbing you with such a heat, you wouldn’t be surprised if his palms were to sear a scar in the shape of his grip. Forever marking you with a him-shaped grope and a pussy full of his seed.

✩ Charlie also never fails to remind you that you are his. He’s a possessive person, remarkably so when it comes to you. No one else makes him feel the way you do–light-headed and running hot and damn near drunk–and makes most of the other things throughout the world insignificant. Not much else is good enough for you except him, and he doesn’t want much to do with anything except you. ‘You’re mine. All fuckin’ mine, baby, you got that?’ he mumbles while he’s buried inside you, exhales mixing with yours. Partially for you, mostly for himself, Charlie builds himself up around the mantra. Wholly convinced of the fact and you belong to him and ensures that it stays hidden from the many evils of the world that you and all of your sweet have him wrapped tight around your finger.

✩ Two words: pussy spanking. Charlie might be a little obsessed with it but no more than he’s obsessed with you. How you whine and jerk when the flat of his fingers pat a sharp smack against your center. He always makes sure to follow it with slow, sopping kisses against the stinging skin, lapping his tongue around your to soothe away the ache before spanking you again, pupils tinting black a soul-sucking abyss at the way you clench around nothing. Crying as you stare back at him, your slit oozes out a slick of warm arousal. “Blubber all you want, doll. Pussy’s leaking out more tears than those eyes and you haven’t even thought about saying ‘red’ yet, have you?” A sick grin splits Charlie’s lips when you arch and shake your head. That’s my girl.

✩ Another one of his addictions is fucking your throat. You’ve got the most gorgeous lips and he’ll never get enough of how they looked stretched wide at the base of his cock while you choke at the way his tip nudges your throat. Charlie likes it messy. He likes you teary-eyed and drooling, and gagging all over him while he holds your face with two hands and a belly full of grunts. The man had to train you up to it but now you’re completely in tune to how he wants you–a complete and utter mess for him to unsoil once it’s over.

After he’s held your nose and busted a load down your throat, he’ll pull out and gather all the spit from your chin and face on his fingers, sliding them into your mouth for you to finish. Sometimes Charlie can’t help himself, forcing his thick digits back until they’re sliding at the back of your tongue, another wet gag jerking your body as he gazes at you, biting at his lip to stifle his groan. Mmhm the man hums, cock twitching with fast-returning life and a rush of heat… all for you.

✩ One of Charlie’s hands is usually what acts as a dampener for the moans you release when he’s fucking you in public. It’s sublime, the way you spill out his name through choked gasps and thick pants. So much so that Charlie purposefully sees how loud he can get you. Whether it’s behind the locked door and closed shades of his office or in the backseat of his cruiser, he makes sure his cock brushes at the angle he’s certain will tear the most gruttal sounds from you possible.

You try so, so hard to keep them in, keep them hidden. You want to feel good, you wanna fall apart in places where that isn’t allowed but don’t wany anyone to know just how willing you are to let him make that happen. It’s a dichotomy that only drives Charlie to extensive, piercing strokes that yank an uproar of wails that he is just barely able to engulf with his cupped palm. “You don’t get to take my cock and not scream for me, baby. That just ain’t happenin’. Let em go or I’ll pull the fuck out, drive you home, and tie you to that vibe you think you’ve managed to hide from me…”

✩ You’ve come to expect it regularly these days–the sound of your panties snapping in half or being ripped to make room for the fat of his cock to stick through and fuck you like he so badly desires. Charlie��s forearms and biceps bulge as he tears the fabric with little to no regard, barely flicking his eyes from the sight of your pussy that’s finally revealed by his ravaging of your hole. Ignoring your gasps, Charlie just smirks while rubbing a palm along your ass and squeezing.

Your underwear, they just… they just always manage to get in the way. He doesn’t even know why you bother with them most of the time, as he has zero patience when it comes to watching you slip them off and fold them all pretty before putting them to the side. If he’s feeling nice, sometimes Charlie will just slide them over to gain access to you. Other days, all he’ll do is tear them and strike a smack to one of your cheeks with a growl. Hush. You already know he’s gonna buy you more.

✩ Charlie is a verbal lover in the sense that he makes you say what’s feeling good… what you want him to do. Speak it into existence for him, and he’ll give you the entire world. Has it been a bitch of a day and you need his cock in your mouth so you can stop thinking? Say it. Your hole is achy and dripping and empty without his fingers packed inside you? Say it. You want him to fuck you into the matress until you forget your name and only know his? Say that shit.

S’not hard, baby, and you look so pretty doing it. Charlie knew your true self the moment he met you. He could sense just how much you not only wanted but needed someone like him–only him–to ruin you the way you want. Smelled it from a mile away. But he’s only gonna give it to you if you tell him, no matter how cute you are when you act like you can’t speak.

✩ When he’s done fucking you, the two of you aren’t really done. Not until you suck your spend off his cock and he kisses you until you can’t breathe. Charlie will usually let you work on your own, a hand on the back of your head guiding you more gently than usual. He stares you down, eyes following every swirl of your tongue across the head and veins, and you lick all the way down to his balls before letting them pop out with a sleepy smile. He’s pulling you up to him right after, hands palming your ass as he slips his tongue inside your mouth, mumbling something like that’s how he likes his girl. All cock drunk and sweet for him.

✩ Charlie grinds his cock deep inside you while you’re atop his desk at least once a week, sometimes three. It’ll have been after you bring him lunch with the prettiest smile or bring something he’d purposefully left behind. He’ll spend a few minutes listening to how your day has been so far–only half-way listening to the words you’re rambling because you’re just so damn distracting. Looking at him like that. Smiling at him like that. Just asking for trouble, so he gives it to you.

It’s noisy but Charlie doesn’t care. Pens rattle and the screen of his computer shakes, yet the thought of them falling is secondary to the way you’re creaming the length  of his dick. “Didn’t even ask ‘f you were good for me today… should I even be fuckin’ you like this? You done anything to earn me givin’ it to you this good? Hm?”  You try to answer but a loud groan slips out instead. Your chest is pressed into the desk and you’re holding the wood for dear life.

Charlie���s hands fist at the hem of your shirt, bunching it up to hold and force you back onto him until he can’t push any further. So full and tispy his cock is making you, head pulsing as it crams its way inside your hole. “You’ll take it either way won’t you? So greedy. Happy to take all my cum and walk out with it dripping down your thighs, aren’t you? My pretty girl… my slut…”

✩ “Look at you, takin’ it all… pussy stuffed all full’a my cock. You like that, doll? Hm? ‘Course you do. Love it when I fuck you stupid. ‘Til you’re drooling for it like a good little whore. You gonna be a proper hole and keep taking it? Lemme fill you up, flip you over, fill you up again? Or maybe I’ll paint this face. Turn you into the prettiest cum rag anyone’ll ever see…”

In other words: degradation.

✩ (BONUS) Charlie knows he goes hard. Hell, everything about the man is 99% right angles of either glacial frost or blazing heat… until he’s with his girl. The usual impenetrable nonchalant demeanor is pierced by you easily  as he wipes you down with a towel, placing long kisses to your thighs in between each soft rub. His hands are the opposite of the hard spanks you received before… now, they caress you and squeeze gently, voice low and rumbling as he blinks through his own haze to praise you and wipe away the tears. “No more’a this now, okay? Did real good for me. Real good, ‘m very proud, baby. Now we’re gonna go pee, then you’re gonna drink and eat somethin–hey. No, no sleeping ‘til you eat a little and get some water down, alright? Pee, water, eat, then I’ll call your work so you sleep the next two days ‘f you really want…”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[filthygalli]

All He Ever Wanted

OneShot: Fem! Reader x Gwi Ma

Main Masterlist

LBH Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI! +18, Possesive! Gwi Ma, Creampie, P n V, fingering, choking, praise kink, manipulation, Dom x Sub dynamic, Gwi Ma in a human form, mention of mental illness, blood, size kink if you squint, squirting, pet names, nipple play, licking, shower sex, pure filth tbh.

Word Count: 2648

Author’s Note: This was so fun to write, i have seen tons of Gwi Ma related art on X and they’re all so beautiful! Btw credits to @/morphoiogist on and @/Artist_artibear for this masterpiece! Go support the artists! 🧑‍🎨

You’ve been married to Gwi Ma for over 10 years, you know his secrets, that he’s a demon king who thrives on the souls of humans to be free from the demon world into the human world, your world.

You were in huge debt when you met him, scared that you might not make it a day, you have no money, barely getting enough food, but then you started to hear these voices inside your head, you thought you’re just being paranoid because of stress and lack of food in your body, but you weren’t. One night, you were looking at yourself in the mirror, eyes full of dark circles, lips chapped from dehydration, you sighed to yourself as you sobbed uncontrollably, wishing for it all to end. Then you heard a voice, a warm and powerful voice, “Aren’t you tired from all of the suffering?” It echoed through your head as your eyes widened as you looked behind your back, no one was there, “Who– who’s in there–?” Your voice is trembling in fear, the voice speaks again, “Someone who might end your suffering,” you looked around—eyes widened, “I- show yourself!” You yelled as your voice echoed through your small apartment, “If that’s what you want, little one.” The mysterious man spoke again and then a sound of deep chuckle filled your head as a glowing flame appears in front of you, suddenly your heart skipped a beat—you couldn’t move, it felt like you were frozen, eyes widened as your pupils dilated as if you were staring into the abyss, “Happy now?” A tall man towered your figure, he slowly walked towards you—as if he’s walking to his prey, his eyes glowing, purple marks inked in his skin, “Who- who are you..?” You managed to speak, he didn’t answer, you hit the cold wall behind you as he continued to walk slowly towards you—closing the gap between you as he pressed his body to yours, he grabbed your chin between his digits, his nails sharp, it graze your skin like a needle, you hissed, “I’m someone who can help you,” he confessed, eyes never leaving yours, “someone who can get you out from all of the sufferings,” he continued as he traced his fingers on your cheeks as you dared not to look at him, “You’re safe with me, I’ll make sure of it, little one.” He added as he leaned down to place his lips on your jaw, “I’ll make you mine,” he muttered against your skin as he pressed his lips against it, “Mine to worship.” He muttered, licking your skin all the way up to your cheeks, you hissed, heart racing, “Please–“ you begged as a tear rolled down on your cheeks, the man chuckled as he tasted your tear, the sound of his chuckles sends shivers down your spine, you felt like you couldn’t breathe, “Mine to protect.” He muttered as he leaned back up, eyes never leaving yours, “Look at me, Y/n.” He growled as he clamped a hand on your throat, a force that was enough to catch your attention back to him, “Pl-Please—“ you choked a gasp, “Look at me when i talk to you.” He muttered, eyes still glowing orange, You were holding his hand, to let go of you—your eyes are getting blurry, you’re about to pass out when he lets go of your throat.

Your body collapsed on the floor, choking and gasping for air, he looked down at you smirking to himself, “You should be thankful, little one.” He scoffed, you glared up at him, eyes filled with tears, “Fuck you.” You spat on him, he grinned darkly, “As you wish.”

You moaned like your life depends on it as you ride the man who told you that you will be saved from all of your sufferings, Gwi Ma, as he said. His nails dug deep on the flesh of your hips as you cried out his name, “That’s it little one, such a good girl.” He praised you as you bounced on his cock, You were fully naked, your body displayed beautifully in front of him, his eyes trailed on your breast as it bounced perfectly, your skin, your soft skin that glows under the moonlight, he leaned down to suck one of your nipple, “Don’t you dare stop.” He muttered before biting your nipple as you gasp, he flicked his tongue as he looks up at you, his eyes glowing, you did as you told as your hips grind against his, the tip of his cock never fails to hit the spot inside you—it made you see stars, it made you shake uncontrollably, his hand found your throat as he leaned back up, watching you ride him, “Be a good girl and cum for me little one, make me proud.” He praised you as his lips crashed into yours, you gasp as you feel yourself getting closer, it feels so wrong but yet it feels good, his cock filled your velvety walls completely, “Gwi Ma..” you moaned in between kisses as Gwi Ma slid his tongue inside your mouth—exploring the depths of it, he moaned as your tongues danced on each others mouth, he thrusted his hips up to meet yours, “Say my name.” He moaned, “Say my fucking name when you cum, i want you to moan my name.” He begged, his cock twitching uncontrollably inside you, “Gwi Ma, Gwi Ma—!” You cried out as he hold on to your hips to fuck you completely, his thrust were rough, rough enough to make your eyes roll from the back of your head, “Gonna cum, Gwi Ma– please–!” You begged as his nails dug deeper on your hips, you wince in pain—his long sharp nails was now coated of your blood, “Fuck, Y/n, Little one–“ his thrust is now getting sloppy, “Want me to fill this pussy up, hmm?” He growled as he roughly cupped your chin against his hand, while the other was still digging on your hips, “Please–“ You cried out, “Please, what little one?” He mocked, “Fill me up, i- i need you, please!” He chuckled deeply, he groaned as one final thrust he painted your walls white with his seed, spilling every last drop he could give to you, he moans your name in repeat like a fervent prayer, while you—you were a shaking mess on top of him, you squirted around his member as your pussy walls clenched around him, he groaned, “That’s it little one, give me everything you have, that’s it—such a good girl.”

After that night, he promised that he would come back for you, and he did. You’ve been married to Gwi Ma for over 10 years, he left his life behind as a demon king as he vowed to you that he will never go back there since he already have you, his life, his woman, his to worship. He told you everything that you needed to know, how did he become a demon king, how old is he—which, by the way, shocked you the most, he's over thousands of years old. When he said that, you choked from the water that you were drinking. You can see that Gwi Ma loved you, he trusted you and you trusted him too. He gave you everything that you could ever ask for, hell—he will give you the whole universe if you ask him to, he will burn everyone who looks into your way, you’re his, only his.

——

Gwi Ma kissed you softly as the two of you lay comfortably in your shared bed, his hands trailing down on your stomach, “Hmm, Gwi Ma,” you whimpered, “Yes, little one?” He murmured against your lips, “I have to shower,” you confessed, “Later.” Gwi Mwa whispered against your lips, “I have to, I'll be quick.” You promised, as Gwi Ma nodded—a slight pout displayed on his lips as you chuckled playfully, how can a demon king be this clingy to his woman? You gave him one final kiss as you disappeared and went in the shower.

The warm water touched your bare skin, it made you calm and content, you took a deep breath as you savor the moment under the warm water, closing your eyes as you run your hand on your damp hair.

You were showering when Gwi Ma stepped in without a word, A warm water ran down your spine as Gwi Ma pressed his bare chest on your back, you jumped a little, “I told you i’ll be quick.” You muttered, his lips already trailing on your shoulder blades. ”I know,” his fingers already trailing down on your stomach, “I couldn’t wait, I missed you.” He confessed as he sucked your skin gently, earning a whimper from your lips, you felt him smile on your skin, his fingers found your clit as he circles middle finger on it, you pressed your lips together, “Wanna hear your sounds, little one, let me hear them.” He commanded, voice soft and gentle, “Let me hear how much I'm gonna ruin you.” His voice was now dark as his eyes glowed, you opened your mouth, letting your whimpers let out as Gwi Ma praised you in return, “There we go, such a good girl.” He teased your entrance with his digits, “Please, Gwi Ma–“ you begged for his touch, “Tell me what you want, little one.” He asked, his eyes focused on you, pupils dilated—“I need you, Gwi Ma, please, I want you,” you begged as he chuckled, “I love it when you say my name like that, so eager for me.” He said as he slowly inserted his finger, his middle finger, it filled you completely, He grabbed you on your nape as he swung you around to face him, hitting the cold ceramic walls behind you, you opened your mouth to moan but his lips crashed into yours, owning your moans like it’s his, he swallowed all of your gasp and whimpers as his finger curled up inside your tight walls, not long after—he inserts an another finger, groaning in his mouth as his tongue tangled to yours, your hands found his damp hair, Gwi Ma’s erection stood proudly, you can feel it rubbing on your stomach, tip angry red as it beaded with pre cum, “Cum for me, little one.” He said pulling away on your lips just enough for him to speak, “Soak my fingers with your juices.” He commanded, “Now.” With that, you let yourself completely go as you came around his digits, your body quivering as your walls clenched around his digits uncontrollably, “such a good girl for me.”

You did as you told as you let the fingers of Gwi Ma satisfy you as you let go and became a shaking mess against him, you quivered and moaned his name like it’s the only thing you could say.

“You’re not getting any sleep tonight, just so you know, little one.” He pressed a kiss on your temple, fingers still curling slowly inside of you, massaging the bundle of nerves inside of you, “So good for me,” he breathed out, “You always have,” he kissed you again, more gentle and calculated, “Ever since the day i laid my eyes on you,” he kissed his way down on your jaw to your throat, “I knew i have to have you. All by myself.” He growled as his mouth captured your hardened nipple—while the other pinched between his fingers, he flicked his tongue on your nipple—eyes never leaving yours—you moaned at his action, your hands grabbed his hair, “Gwi Ma, please…” you plead as you felt Gwi Ma smirked on your skin before his mouth left your nipple, “Tell me what you need, little one, i need your words.” He murmured, “I need you, all of you.” You replied, voice shaking as the warm water splashed the both of you.

Gwi Ma wasted no time as he ordered your to wrap your legs around his waist, pressing up your body against the cold ceramic wall of the bathroom, he aligned his length on your entrance, your slick juices coated his bulbous tip, “I’m going to ruin you, and you’re going to thank me for it.” He growled as he roughly forced himself inside of you, you choked a moan as Gwi Ma breathes heavily, “Still so tight around me,” he murmured against your lips as you wrapped your hands around his neck—while his hand wrapped tightly around your throat, He moved his hips with such precision, it was gentle and soft, you moaned beautifully as the tip of his cock hits your spot senselessly, “Faster–!” You begged, nails digging deep on his broad shoulders, he bit your neck as you groaned, pain turning slowly into a burning lust. “Ask nicely, little one.” He commanded, as his tongue flicked on your sweet spot on your neck, you whine as Gwi Ma halted his hips, waiting for your please, “Faster, Please, Fuck me faster.” You begged, your eyes turned up to him, eyes looked so innocent. “Good girl.” He praised you, “Hold on to me.” He breathed out as he held on to your hips, nails digging deep—as the past mark of his sharp nails still ghosted against your skin, a reminder who you belong to.

He rammed his hips against your core, earning a moan after moan from your lips, “Fuck, sweetheart, I can’t get enough of you–“ he growled, “Gwi Ma–“ you whispered his name like a fervent prayer, “That’s it. Say. My name.” Each word is equal to each deep thrust into your core, you cried out as if you couldn’t take the pleasure anymore, “Don’t stop, Please, Don’t stop.” You whine as Gwi Ma chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving your gaze, “I’m not planning to, little one.” He said as your body shook against him, cumming around his length, “That’s it baby,” he praised you, his hips slowed its pace, letting you catch a breath, “Can you give me another one? Hmm?“ he asked as he kissed your forehead with such care, “I- I can’t, it’s too much, i feel sore–“ you begged as you felt his cock twitch in response inside of you, “You will give me another, I know you can.” He encouraged you, caressing the flesh on your hips, cock twitching inside of you as you cock warm him. “If you can’t, I’ll make sure you will.” He whispered darkly in your ear as he rammed his cock inside of you again, he looked down to see his cock splitting you open, a bulge shown in your belly, “Gwi Ma!” You moaned as he chuckled, “Shh, I'm right here little one, where I need to be,” he murmured as he pressed his other hand on your stomach, putting pressure on the bulge appearing in your stomach, “Inside you.” He growled, He didn’t stop fucking you as he pulled out an another orgasm out of you as your eyes hit the back of your head, making you moan his name louder than before, “Want my cum inside you, little one? Want me to fill you up?” He wrapped his hands on your throat, “Answer me!” He growled, eyes glowing orange, “Yes–!” You begged, eyes filled with tears as Gwi Ma looked at you with a lustful gaze, “That’s my Good girl.” He said as he thrusted his hips a few times before filling you up with thick spurts of cum, he groaned, growled, and moaned your name as if it’s the only thing he needed to do, you came around his cock, clenching your walls around his cock.

He stayed there inside of you, as if he belongs to be in there, inside your velvety walls where he feels warmth.

“You’re all I ever wanted, Y/n.” He panted as he ghosted his lips against yours.

Taglist: (if i mistakenly tagged you i’m sorry💔)

@mxriesss @thedreamingreaper @kimeungun114 @christmascoles @shynotded @xxmilkteaxx-blog @maah-sama @sylviavf

[oopsiedaisydeer]

after hours

...is intimacy built during sex? or lost in it?

angst, smut, oral (m!receiving), handjob, palming, teasing, friends to who knows, unrequited love, fwbs?, lots of anxious overthinking, sorta unhappy ending

word count - 4k

In the after hours, she often lies wondering whether things will ever change between her and Matt.

She’s lying next to him now, head rested on his arm just above his elbow. A movie’s playing on the television in his room, the sounds of the character’s voices creating a quiet distant hum in the space around them.

She picked the movie tonight, their weekly routine of watching something together interrupted only by Matt’s casual scrolling through various social media apps. Her eyes flick between his screen and the big one, struggling to pay attention beyond the flutter of her own heartbeat, the butterflies in her stomach.

Not to mention Matt, how her body is so gently laid next to his, none of her touching him except for the place where her head lays. She can sense the steady movement of his chest, almost feel the breath travelling from his nostrils, the warmth of his body, so close yet so far from her own.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to move closer.

But she can’t.

They’ve drawn lines between them, unwritten, irreparable lines of friendship. Nothing more. Nothing beyond the confines of that.

She’d be lying too if she said she didn’t want more. Ache for it, under his careful stare, friendly gestures, patient heart. Her heart skipped a beat whenever he was near, a stupid girly crush that seemed to overtake all her senses, lending her delusions in the wake of Matt’s kindness. She knew that’s all it was, friendship built on his strength, charm, a casanova compared to her meek and unwaveringly smitten demeanour. 

Matt shifted his arm beneath her then, causing her head to hit the mattress. His face shot down at her then, muttering a soft noise of concern as if startled by letting her fall so abruptly, even if it caused her no harm.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, looking back to his phone as if to avoid what happened, blue eyes illuminated by the screen, yet shadowed still by his dark circles.

“Hey!” she smiles, mock-offended as she propped herself up on a pillow. “Careful with the back of my head.”

His head jerked back down toward her. “Shit—sorry. Reflex.”

She gave him a look. “Your reflex is to launch me into the abyss?”

Matt grinned, guilty. “To be fair, you’re heavier than you look.”

“Wow. Rude.” She elbowed him, not hard, but just enough.

“Just saying,” he said, eyes back on his phone. “I’m delicate,” he adds in a sing-song tone of voice.

He moves away from her then on the bed, and her eyes still watch him, even as she moves away too, always mirroring Matt’s behaviour, especially after hours.

As she does, she knocks her knee against his hip, knocking herself off-balance in the process, unintentionally putting more pressure on Matt’s crotch. He groans when she does, bringing a hand to her arm to steadily push her back onto the mattress beside him.

Her face ignited. “Oh my God, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I mean, if you were trying to end me, there are gentler ways.”

“I’m so sorry, Matt,” she said, trying to scramble back to her spot, completely mortified.

He gently caught her arm, easing her down beside him again. “You good?”

She hesitates, before nodding. “Yeah, I’ll get over it.”

He laughed, still scrolling with one hand. “You’re lucky I’m too emotionally repressed to process physical pain.”

She groaned, burying her face in the blanket. “Please stop talking.”

“You kneed me in the balls, I need some sort of retribution. Even if it’s just embarrassing you,” Matt teased.

She didn’t answer—just let out a muffled noise into the blanket.

She continues muttering apologies, feeling her whole face and upper torso flush after the unanticipated bodily contact. She doesn’t look at Matt again, can’t bring herself to, and the awkward atmosphere becomes enhanced by his supposed nonchalance — scrolling on his phone again as if nothing had happened.

As the movie continues, the mortification she feels fades, but only till she hears a subtle groan from Matt. She glances over, only to catch him pushing down slightly down on a spot near his jeans. She snaps her eyes back quickly, embarrassed by what she thinks she saw. Matt looks over at her then, smirking slightly.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” Matt says calmly, “It’s not because of you.”

“What then?” she asks, voice small.

Matt grins at her then, “Not important.”

She leaves it be, even though her skin feels prickly all over and she really doesn’t want to just leave it be. But she does. She lets the movie finish playing, and she does her very best to ignore the fact that Matt Sturniolo, her friend that she has a stupid fat crush on, is lying beside her, hard. 

When the credits do start to roll, she pauses for a moment, working up the courage to say something.

“Hey, um, I’ll sleep on the couch,” she manages to tell him, trying to appear earnest.

Matt glances at her, smirking slightly. “Why?”

“I don’t want it to be weird.”

Matt’s smirk fades into a gentle smile. “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

The little fight she had within dims when she hears him call her that, and so she lays down properly then, trying to get comfortable. Matt does too, and he faces her so that she has to tilt her face away to avoid making eye contact with him.

When she does, her eyes drift to just below his waist again. She can see it, just the briefest outline of him, pushing against his sweatpants. She can’t help but think about it then, what it would be like to touch him, make him feel good, maybe experience it in kind. A loving touch. A sexual favour. Even if it was after hours, even if that was all it ever was, she’d do it. For Matt, she would.

“You got a staring problem?”

She flicks her eyes back up to Matt’s face, who’s staring at her already, smirking slightly. She blushes, not sure what to say.

Matt pokes her again, smiling softly now, “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“Can’t help it,” she admits, blushing further, “I’m always nervous around you.”

“Yeah?” Matt questions, reaching out to trace her wrist lightly. “I like that.”

More softly, she asks tentatively, “Are you still hard?”

“Mhm,” Matt says, cocky tone ever present, “Doesn’t seem to want to go down.”

She nods, biting her lip as she contemplates her response.

“Do you wanna watch something else? Might distract you,” she offers.

He glances back at her, nodding slowly. She reaches for the remote, putting on the first recommendation that appears after what they had just watched. The minutes go by like this, her trying not to think about his dick, Matt lying there, fully paying attention to the movie unlike earlier.

She doesn’t know why she says it. Maybe it’s because she can’t stop thinking about it, about him. 

“Can I help?” she asks suddenly, tone relatively calm for how fast her heart is beating.

Matt looks over at her, hoodie pulled low over his face. She can’t gauge his reaction to her offer, even though she desperately searches for it in his eyes, the same way she’s been desperately searching for any semblance of requitedness for the way she feels towards him all these years. He seems to be doing the same, studying her face for something—whether it’s genuineness, lust, innocence, kindness, or submission he’s searching for, she doesn’t quite know.

Several minutes seem to pass like this, staring at one another but not quite making eye contact, the sounds of the movie filling the gaps between each of their stunted breaths.

“Yes,” Matt says finally, practically breathing the word. It seems more of an echoed question than an answer, but regardless, she takes it for what it is. A yes. An opening. A favour.

She sits up slightly, eyes trailing down his body as she does. Bringing her hands to his waist, she feels him tense, and her eyes shoot back up to his face. Matt nods in response to her worried gaze, biting his lip slightly as he places a hand on her arm.

The heat of his palm radiates through her clothes, and she feels him guide her arm to continue, wordlessly. She sucks on the left corner of her lip, and brings her left hand to palm him slightly through his sweats, using the other hand to teasingly play with his waistband. She continues like this until she really feels him, a hard bulge pushing against his pants and into her hand. It scares her slightly, the feeling of him like this, but she continues her light motions regardless, in helpless resolve.

“You don’t have to be such a tease, sweetheart,” Matt rasps, and in her sickened state, she almost imagines that she hears the sound of his voice as taut with longing, and not simple desperation for release.

But it’s still the first time she’s heard him like this. Touched him like this. Heard him call her that ridiculous pet name like that.

And so yes, in these after hours, she does have to. Be such a tease, make him feel good, really good, and then she’ll wake up in the morning and maybe not regret it so much. The movements of her hands on his dick.

And so she does.

Still palming him with her left hand, she concentrates on what she thinks must be the tip of Matt’s cock. She knows she’s right when she hears the sharp intake of breath from him, and is grateful for the years she’s spent studying him, observing something as miniscule as the way he breathes, for the sake of this very moment.

She slips her right hand under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips trailing down till she’s met with the base of him. Working it slowly in her hands, she feels Matt squirm slightly below her, grunting low in his throat.

She continues these movements, crouched beside him on the bed. Neither of them are paying attention to the film anymore, and Matt’s gaze is heavy on her, yet she doesn’t dare look. Scared she’ll lose her nerve, which is already steadily unravelling from her grasp, just like the man beneath her.

Deciding she has to do something to fix this steadily appearing problem, she stops her movements, to which Matt responds with another grunt. She withdraws her hands, and pulls his sweats and boxers down. Matt’s cock slaps heavy and flushed against his abdomen, the mushroom tip glistening already. Somehow her throat dries and her mouth waters at the sight of it, but still, she can’t look at him. Can’t have him like this and look him in the eye.

She approaches him, swinging her leg over his stomach so that she’s facing away from him, properly now. Matt is seemingly shocked by her movements, because he lets out a soft “woah” from his mouth, and she feels both his arms raise beside her, eventually settling on her just above her waist, fingertips curling around the bottom of her ribcage. His hands are respectful, even now, then, it seems.

Glancing back at him, she notices the somehow smug yet surprised look on his face. 

“Is this okay?” she tentatively asks, searching his face but still avoiding his stare.

He takes a while to respond but then nods, murmuring a soft “‘Course”, which her ears barely pick up. So she slides down his body till her knees hit the mattress on either side of him, and her face in front of where his dick still lays, twitching.

She picks it up, running her hands along the underside like she’s seen girls do in porn sometimes. She adjusts her hold around the base of his dick as to jerk him off, teasing the tip with the fingertips of her free hand. Feeling his abdomen clench below her tells her that she must be doing something right. She flicks her eyes up to the film while doing this, mindlessly continuing her movements in the hopes that she’s delivering him at least some pleasure.

“Really know how to edge a man, don’t ya?” Matt groans as she runs her thumb over his most sensitive spot for the umpteenth time. 

In response, she smiles, despite knowing he can’t see her. Bowing her head, she places her mouth lightly around the tip of his dick, not moving. There’s a sharp intake of breath from Matt when she does this, and it turns into a groan as she puckers her lips, sucking slightly.

The sour salty taste of his pre-cum overwhelms her senses as she continues to run her mouth up and down, setting a slow place. Matching her own rhythm, she twists her other hands along the base of his dick, running her nails lightly along it occasionally, which causes him to buck his hips under her grip.

“Sweetheart,” Matt moans the name then, “please, can I touch you? Need to�� need to hold onto something.”

It’s almost hard to believe it’s his voice calling out to her like this, and yet still, she mutters a “mhm”, lips still perched in a kiss-shape around the top of his cock. The sound pulses around the flushed tip, and he lets out another moan, one that sounds too real to her ears so she has to pretend it’s fake. She flicks her eyes back up to the film, sucking harder now as she feels Matt adjust her legs, pulling her back by her mid-thigh.

It makes her back arch, ass up in the air now. She tries not to think about what Matt’s view must be of her now, what angle he’s seeing her from, whether this will be forever etched into his mind or not. That gets harder to ignore though, when she feels his hands trail along her stomach, onto her waist, and it sends sparks of electricity through her. His hands caressing her, like this, she can almost believe it’s romantic.

But it’s after hours. And Matt’s hands aren’t holding her, aren’t caressing her waist lovingly. No. No, they’re not. No, they’re trailing down her body till he finds her hips, and his hold isn’t loving, it hurts. Not physically, but the way he’s grabbing at her skin, kneading it gently in his grip doesn’t make her want to moan, but cry.

She’s determined to ignore it though, concentrating on making him finish, sucking harder, speeding up the rhythm of her hand, all while she maintains her gaze up at the screen, taking in none of the plot, but at least the images do something to quench the ache in her. She feels a singular tear roll dramatically down her face, landing near Matt’s pelvic bone.

Matt’s hands move from her hips to her ass then, palms smoothing over her sleep shorts as his stifled groans get louder and more strained. She almost wishes she had a spare hand to grab the remote, turn up the volume of the movie and drown him out. How did she get here? she thinks. It’s almost like all the love she feels for him has turned sour.

He runs his hands along the seam of shorts, bunching it to expose her more to him, and she feels him kneading each cheek in circles, almost in time with her own movements, but not quite. As he does this, she takes one hand reluctantly to where his balls sit, palming them gently as to tease him more, hopefully bringing him closer to the edge. 

This seems to work, because as she keeps her eyes locked on a climatic scene of the movie, she too feels Matt reach his climax. His hips jerk upwards slightly, unintentionally feeding more of his cock into her mouth. She runs her tongue along what’s inside her, and she feels his balls grow tight as he begins to pump long ropes of cum into her mouth.

A long, loud moan escapes Matt’s throat and he runs his hands needily along the curve of her ass, muttering, for the second time tonight, an apology to her. His cock falls from her lips, softening, and Matt’s release pools in her uncertain mouth, thickening. Realising that the sensation is only getting more unpleasant, she swallows the load, gulping it down. The movie plays on, and she feels Matt continue to play with her, thumb edging close to where he has bunched the fabric, just barely covering her throbbing pussy.

She lays the rest of her body down, trying to get comfortable as Matt attempts to tease her in return. Low, and far away, she thinks she can hear him ushering her praises, which she’s sure are soft and sweet.

“Loved your mouth, sweetheart.” Can you love a body part of another?

“Made me feel so good, you’re so good to me.” Is this what goodness is to you?

“So proud of you.” Are you proud of me only after hours?

“Thank you, thank you.” What is gratitude but a cheap form of payment?

“Can I make you feel good too?” Is this the payment? Or another benefit for you?

Shaking her head sleepily, Matt withdraws his hands understandingly from the spot where her ass meets her core, instead rubbing soothing circles on the area. She feels uncomfortable, laying in this way still, but too exhausted to move yet. They watch the rest of the movie in tension-filled silence, Matt’s movements growing steadily slower, lighter, more respectful.

Whilst the final scene plays, she sits up, and his hands fall. She gets off his lap, and not quite knowing what to do with her hands, she tries to avoid touching the sheets, touching him, herself, laying them awkwardly in her lap, balling them up into fists as she lies back down beside him.

When the credits start to roll, it’s Matt who searches for the remote in the blankets, which are bunched and messed up from his movements before, most likely. Turning the television off and plunging the room into darkness, he turns towards her.

She’s already facing away from him, wanting so desperately to be silent, to unwind, to rewind. And then she feels his arm slip around her waist, tugging her close to him so that she’s flush with his chest. It’s comforting, in a way, and she lets herself be cocooned by his familiar warmth that has never been so close before. The press of his elbow where her waist is, hand splayed across her stomach, it’s sweet. 

In another life, or maybe a couple of hours ago in this one, she would have loved this closeness, to be spooned by Matt, feel his heartbeat echo so closely to her own. But the moment is empty, she feels empty, tugged away from him emotionally by what she’s done with her hands.

Still, she lets herself enjoy the comfort.

Pretend her eyes aren’t stinging.

That her mouth doesn’t still hold the taste of him.

Moments pass in this embrace, and finally, she asks, “Can I turn around?”

Her voice is small, quiet, and the question innocent. It’s the first thing she’s said in a couple of hours, and whilst so much has changed, her voice still trembles the same around him.

“Wha– yeah, of course, sweetheart,” his voice is warm, if touched with confusion. It seems he’s always confused lately.

Yet another reminder, if only more bitter than sweet, that Matt is just a man.

His arm loosens around her, and quickly she turns around, eyes threatening to spill over as she presses her face into his chest.

Both of Matt’s arms come around her then, instinctively, it seems, rubbing slow circles of comfort on her back while his other hand cradles her head. The comfort it brings her is heavenly, delusionally so, and she inhales the warm scent clinging to his hoodie to distract her from the way her senses are filled with him, the other him. The one now forever associated with after hours, and beyond. The one she made come. Saw naked. Touched in ways she never even dreamed to hope would occur with him. Her Matt. The one now forever tinged with too much and too little.

Perhaps, if she loses herself enough in this moment, she’ll forget, she thinks.

But it doesn’t last.

The shame of prior moments echo into every touch, of his fingers, his sleeve, the fabric against her face, the way their knees knock together in this intimate yet desperate embrace.

And so she tells him, “I wish I didn’t do that.”

“What?” Matt asks, the first drop of his careful responses, his controlled facade, all night. His arms move to her shoulders, pushing her back slightly so that he can look at her. When he does, she glances up, noticing how taken aback he appears.

“I just regret it,” she says.

“Why?” 

He asks her the question quickly again, tone tender and worried, concern etched into his features. One of his hands comes up to her face, brushing hair away from it so gently it hurts. Matt continues while she watches him, staring dumbly like she’s just a girl with an innocent crush.

“I enjoyed it. You made me feel good,” he tells her, thumb caressing her cheekbone affectionately.

She nods, and feeling tears fill her eyes again, bows her head, pressing it back towards him. Matt thinks he feels wetness on his chest then, but he’s not sure, and is hesitant to move her in this state. Instead, his hands find their way to her hair again, tangling his fingers through the strands and pulling her close in an awkward, confused, attempt at comfort.

Mumbling into his chest, just loud enough for Matt to hear her, she tells him, “I want to make you feel good.”

Matt doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just continues the movements of his hands, slowly feeling her trembling form become steady in his hold.

The thing about after hours is that time seems to lose its grip on you, and so, to both of them, it feels like hours are indeed spent this way, Matt hugging her close in an apology for an offence neither of them quite understand.

Eventually, he asks her, “How about I take you to dinner?”

Matt loosens his arms around her, no longer cradling her in an infant-like hold. He wants to see her face, capture her reaction, see her eyes as they flicker and dance in the dark. She moves her head away from his chest, uncurling enough to direct her eyes up at him, sniffling slightly.

“Tomorrow night. Just us,” Matt tells her, trying to smile slightly as he speaks, but the gesture just feels sad.

She’s silent for a moment.

“I’d like that,” she replies, simply. Eyelashes long as she gazes up at him, wide-eyed, and Matt can’t tell if the look is due to betrayal or devotion.

He nods, and wraps one arm around her in finality, discussion decidedly over before it really begun.

Their minds drift off simultaneously, sleep a sort of reprieve after hours. 

Her heart is tinged with regret, hopelessness and hurt. Questions loop and rewrite themselves in her head, questions about his intentions, her own desires, rushed timing, unspoken feelings. Questions she doesn’t know how to ask, or to tell, or even if she wants an answer.

Matt falls asleep thinking of his hands on her, thumb brushing so close to what he wanted to give her, a gift after all her relentless kindness. But after all, it’s after hours. And pleasure is so far from what she wants, it seems.

I wish I…

I regret…

And the words circle over eachother just like hands on a clock, until the after hours are all drawn up.

In their wake, they are left to draw their own conclusions. 

He’s only doing this because I gave him head.

I want more but I’ve rushed it and ruined things, now things are lost forever.

I don’t want to ask for more anyhow.

Don’t know how to tell him how I feel.

Don’t know if I even want to.

I should’ve gone down on her.

Should’ve kissed her.

Done anything.

I never open my mouth enough, and now all I am is a dick to her. Literally.

Not like she wants it anyway.

In the after hours, Matt now often lies wondering whether things have changed irreparably between her and him.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws ꨄ

a/n: i've had this idea for a longgg time but just didn't write it sdbjbfdsjb :> but im very very proud of this and ik the style is quite poetic but i really really wanted to write some good smut/angst so i hope that kinda worked? idk. also i know i kinda set it up for a part two but i dont really have any solid ideas for it yet sooo pls pls feel free to lmk if u do!!

thank u so much for reading!!! likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated 💌

[boypied]

the taste of him

[an old friend] eugene allerton x male reader

summary: you haven't seen each other since you were both teenagers, but then you ran into each other while in a bar. you both forgot how badly you lusted for one another back in the day and how desperate you both were to get the taste of each other back after all these years.

wc: 1.2k

notes: MDNI, FDNI, oral sex (r!giving), swearing, cum swallowing, nipple play.

The ding of the bell is something you haven't heard in such a long time. It's been years since you came back here, which is strange considering you and your friend group used to come here every day. You've lost touch with the majority of them now, but you don't mind at all cause at least they're all happy with what they're doing and aren't being held back by some sort of nostalgia that has pulled you back here. Your eyes scatter around the room, hoping to see someone from your past yet no luck, and you feel that pit in your stomach grow larger and larger until you hear the bell that rings when the door opens and then someone call out your name, you slowly turn around and Eugene's gorgeous face becomes clearer and clearer. Your eyes wander across his face, admiring him and his chiselled jawline, "E-Eugene?" You mumble out in a low tone as a small smile creeps up on your face. "Long time, no see." Eugene says in his low voice and the accent that you love so much. You both stare at each other for a moment with a dark hungrt behind his eyes before Eugene finally speaks again. "Let me buy you a drink." He says as he flashes you a smile, causing your cheeks to flush a lustful shade of red. You walk across the bar and take a seat at a table in the corner of the room. You sit there waiting for Eugene to come over with your double drinks that you're dying for.

You take the beer bottle from his grasp, and you take a sip, letting it linger on your tongue for a moment before swallowing the bitter taste. The silence at your table was comforting, even though you weren't speaking Eugene, and you both felt safe in each other's company. The conversation began flowing, and once it started, it didn't stop. It was like a can of worms had been opened up, yours and Eugene's laughter echoed throughout the bar. You were both so lost in each other that you hadn't even noticed that the sun had set and majority of the people in the bar had left other than the alcoholics who practically live here, "wow." You mumble out as you look around, and Eugene just chuckles. "So, do you want to come back to my place... or hotel, I should say." He chuckles out nervously as he fixes his mistake, "Yeah... let's carry this conversation on." You mumble out once more but this time the look on your face was different, almost like you knew that this conversation wasn't going to continue and Eugene inviting you back to his place was a clear invitation to some sort of sex and let's just say you aren't complaining. Eugene pushes his hotel key into the lock, and he turns it to hear the click, and then he pushes the door open, revealing the dark abyss of his hotel room until it is lit up by the light once he flip the switch. You walk inside following his lead, and you gently push the door shut, making sure to hear the click so that you know it had automatically locked, "So, what do you wanna-" you begin talking until you are cut off by Eugene's hands cupping your soft cheeks in a gentle way and pressing his lips against yours, your eyes flutter shut and you accept it while his tongue slips into your mouth.

"M-Mhm!" You whimper out in pleasure as you feel his hands run across your clothed body as he slowly but seductively pulls your clothes off, revealing your body to him. You both don't break the kiss your tongues intertwined with each other as your hands swiftly begin to unbutton his classy shirt that was clinging to his muscular body. Eugene pulls out, creating a string of spit from your lips to his. Your face is all flushed from the feeling of his tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth. You and Eugene stare at each other for a moment, admiring each other's bare bodies until they lock eyes and begin to slowly unbutton their trousers, pulling them down, revealing each other's underwear that perfectly cups their bulges. "Eugene...woah." You mumble out, but he just chuckles as he grips the hem of his boxer briefs and slowly pulls them down revealing his lengthy semi-hard cock causing you to let out a sharp gasp. Your eyes flicker up and down between his growing cock and his piercing eyes, Eugene sits down on the end of the bed laying down on it as his hard cock springs up and you crawl over to him sitting down on your knees between his legs running your hands up and down his thighs. You lean forward and lick a wet strip up his large heavy balls that are so full of cum, "been a while?" You grunt out as you take his balls into your mouth.

Eugene's eyes flutter back, and his toes curl as your tongue flicks back and forth against his balls. "It's been m-months." He whimpers out, feeling his balls get sucked on feeling your warm cheeks close in. You pull away from his balls with a pop sound causing you to chuckle slightly, "fuck.." You groan out and lean up on your knees and take his pre-cum soaked tip into your mouth tracing your tongue along his slit tasting all his pre-cum, "f-fuck!" Eugene whimpers out feeling his cock enter your warm mouth being coated in your spit. You take more and more of him into your warm your eyes fluttering back every time his tip hits the back of your throat causing a sultry moan to be let out from you, creating vibrations giving Eugene ultimate pleasure. Your hands travel up his perfect body and one hand grips his pec, ever so slightly pinching his nipple causing his body to jolt and his cock to twitch in your mouth "M-MHM!" Eugene groans out, his fingers running through your hair gripping onto it and using your mouth as a fleshlight. Eugene's cock begins to slide in and out of your mouth at a faster pace once he has control of you.

Your eyes water feeling his cock hit the back of your throat at a piston like pace, but you don't complain, you enjoy every moment as you listen to his sultry moans grow louder and louder as his cock's twitches become more frequent and his cock is now as hard as a rock. "Eu- mhm, Euge! Mhm." You try to call out to him, but the sound of your wet mouth is too loud to be heard over anything else. You continue tweaking his nipples causing his moans to increase and echo throughout his hotel room. He was so loud that even his neighbours could hear him and know exactly what was going on in this room. "N-Ngh! Y/N!" Eugene whimpers louder until his back arches, causing his hips to buck up into your mouth as he holds your head down keeping his cock buried in your throat as he shoots his load deep inside your throat as you feel it run down as you swallow every last drop. Eugene's head hit against the bed as he continues to sloppily buck his hips into your warm cum filled mouth. You climb up onto the bed and lay down next to him for a moment until you feel his arms wrap around you and pull your body closer to his embracing his warmth.

taglist ~ @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronasluvr @irlsamcarpenter @lucerothings1 @gaefaeyae @dqrkhold @sluttyhusband @sleep-0-deprived

[vrsin]

~The Embrace Beyond the Veil of Time~

Linked Universe x Reader

Story by @vrsin

Linked Universe by @linkeduniverse

Pervious

Fan Art : 1

~~~

✧ 1 ✧

You launch up from bed, throwing your blanket off and running to your bathroom. Slamming your knees against the hard ground you throw up in the toilet.

You cough until your lungs hurt, tears streaming down your face. Knuckles white from holding on to the bathtub and cabinet nearby. Your throat burns as you cough, slowly the coughing fit fades. Flushing the mess, you grab a prepared water bottle to your right. Drinking down the whole thing.

You knew this would happen, these nightmares have been getting more consistent. More detailed.

More real.

You sigh and lean back on the wall, your bathroom is pitch black and the floor cold to the touch. You feel as if your skin is infested with something crawling inside. You're uncomfortable beyond measure, waking up from a nightmare. Throwing up your guts, surrounded by pure darkness which reminds you of…

Your turn on the lights.

The nightmares have been a nuisance. It has been going on for a long while now, as least a couple of months.

Though this one was different from the rest, you actually saw the person the haunting voice belongs to.

In previous dreams you always heard him saying the same thing over and over. That small sly smirk on his face as if he won, as if he knew something you didn't. Knew that you were nothing compared to him, that you were wrong.

Once when you were on a red ship. Traveling to crashing waves with a small figure, you still remember his large smile.

Flying on a bright red bird throughout the clouds. Clinging onto the back of someone, his light brown hair blowing in the breeze.

At a little ranch the sun kissing your skin. A muscular man in the distance laughing as you were playing with kids.

A lush flower field. Surrounded by glowing floating dots, as the person beside you made light within his hands.

On a lonely island. Where you sat side by side a still figure on the sandy beach, him staring at the clouds.

Inside a smith’s workshop. Listening to the clanging of metal, watching someone hard at work.

A wasted battlefield of war. Zipping through the fighting of soldiers, looking at someone with a navy blue scarf.

Lastly, a hill in a lonely field with a singular tree. Sitting next to a young man playing a lovely tune with his instrument.

Each dream was blurry but as more and more dreams occurred the clearer it would become, but the haunting voice would stay the same repeating each word in every dream. Taunting you, belittling you, every single time.

Each time he would begin to speak is when the mysterious figure in your dreams would ask if you would always stay by their side, and your reply the same every time.

The events that followed never changed once: that awful grey being with the bloody red eyes, the dark place that consumes the land and that monster lurking in the water.

It always ends the same… that beast opening its mouth, you falling in… and…

You swallow, best not to think about for now.

Getting up from the cold floor you make it back to your bedroom looking at your phone. It's time to get ready anyways, your first class starts soon. Glancing outside your window, the clouds are starting to turn grey. WIth a quick flash of light it starts to pour down, just great. A storm, what a joke.

Finishing getting ready and picking up your backpack you look at your desktop where your Nintendo Switch is lying, you recently beat Breath of the Wild. Collecting all those korok seeds has been nothing but a pain, though exploring places you haven't been before in your first run has been fun…but

Your face scrunches up, now thinking about it. The trail you were taking in your dream was very similar to the path going to Hateno Village.

If you really thought about it. Each area in your nightmares including that person and that abyss, all of it seemed too familiar.

You sigh and swing your backpack over your shoulder, maybe you're just playing too many video games.

~~~

Students run as fast as they could to make it in the campus and avoid the down pour, you one of those students. Making it inside the campus and shaking off a bit of the water, you check to make sure the damage to your backpack isn't too severe. Satisfied with it’s state, you start to head to your first class of the day, history.

The class is dimmed down a bit as the lights in the back have yet to be replaced, just were you're sitting. Taking your seat and getting everything ready for today’s lecture you wait for it to begin, pen in hand.

“Right class, glad most didn't decide they were suddenly sick today and call out because of this weather!”

That got a few tired laughs from a few students in the front, a small smile making it to your face. Maybe you should have actually called sick, having gone through that mess this morning. Well, you're here now anyways.

“Right, so for today we will be going over World War I, the involvement of the United Sates, and The League of Nations. Now! To begin-”

Your head is starting to fall, harshly placing it in your opposite hand, the other desperately trying to write down the lecture. You feel exhaustion creeping up behind you like awaiting a jump scare in a horror movie.

Shit, you're falling asleep!

Involuntarily, you feel your eyelids start to droop. You try to will them to stay open, but you feel yourself losing.Your eyelids shut. The professor's voice in the background, nothing but a few murmurs.

“ …- World War I...”

You're in a battleground, dead bodies and blood cover the grass. Swords and shields scattered about in the mess of corpses. You step forward just to stop when hear a crunch, looking down you see you stepped on the mangled finger of a soldier.

“...Just how many…”

You look up from the dead, standing right in front of you is a blonde in armor. His back turned to you, dressed in green garps and wielding a lightly glowing sword, covered in blood.

“....How many that I trained beside…”

His head facing upwards to the now clearing sky. God rays begin to peek through, revealing the countless bodies scattered. The ocean of blood which covers the lush green field.

It goes on for miles…

His shoulders begin to shake, from fear, from grief, you dont know.

You noticed his navy blue scarf blowing in the wind, the bottom dripping blood.

“HOW MANY MORE WILL BETRAY ME IN THIS WAR!!”

Your eyes burst open, you're starting to sweat. A fever creeping from your neck spreading through your body. An intense weight is placed on your chest, you feel like your lungs will collapse.

“... -When American soldiers-...”

Your eyes shut once again.

You hear the sound a pacing feet, opening your eyes you see a man in green walking back and forth. Tugging at his light brown hair which looked rather painful. His white short cape with blue design following behind him.

“I have to be perfect…”

You're in a closed off area with a few trees, stone underneath your feet. The wind is blowing harshly as if you're high in the sky. There's something large just a few feets way.

“They rely on me as a knight.”

You don't like that large figure, it feels looming, powerful, ancient. You cant see the details, just the slight color of cold grey stone and the outline of pressed together hands in front of it’s chest. You trail your eyes analyzing it as you get closer to its face, just to freeze and your breath halting.

…Its staring at you

“WHY AM I ALWAYS LATE!!”

Your body jolts forward, fuck you can’t see well. You try to make a sound but your throat feels like someone is choking you. Trying to get someone’s attention you try to reach out, but your body is too heavy.

Your eyes drift close.

“...-The League of Nations organization-...”

Your cheek is pressed against a cold floor, fighting against gravity you lift your head to see you're in a cave. A small fire is burning in front of you. A person in a bright blue shirt with a navy cloak and the hood on is sitting on a log in front of you.

“A whole group of people…”

His knee is bouncing with his hands gripping the fabric of his thighs. You can see just a bit of his lower face to see him biting his lip. A shaky chuckle passing through his lips.

“All of them with a life goal to kill me…”

You gasp and fall back as he rushes up from his seat. Kicking the log out of the cave, the hood falling off his head.

Blonde hair in a half ponytail is revealed to you, only for him to pull off the ponytail and tug at his hair from the back, again, it looks like it really hurts.

“IM NOT EVEN THE SAME PERSON AS BEFORE!!”

The fire begins to burn bright in front of you, your breathing is coming out as short and wheezy. Your head falls as you try to regain your breath. You hear footsteps making their way towards you. Lifting your head with as much force as you can, you see the three of them. Though their faces are blurry, you see them stop just in front of you.

You squint and try to remember. You've seen them before. You know them.

Why can't you remember.

Why can't you see his face?

You feel it though, deep inside your soul and gut. A feeling of familiarity with the feeling of Deja vu, like you've seen them before in a dream or they’re hidden away in a distant memory. Someone that you spent so much time with, shared so much memories with, that even after so many years pass and you don't communicate. Once you rekindle that connection, it's like you've never left each other. That relationship that can surpass any time and distance

YOU KNOW THEM!

…A Captain.

…A Knight.

…A Champion.

Your wheezing has gotten worse. At this point, you're not even sure if you're breathing air in. You hear their steps as they get closer, right in front of your quivering body. The world is closing in, getting darker, but a hand reaches under your chin to move it up.

Suddenly it’s warm, its calm.

Your fever has gone down and you take a deep breath in, gasping as you finally get air in your lungs.

Someone is stroking your cheek, a hand pushing the hair behind your ear, and another rubbing your back.

Looking up you see them three are crouched down, smiling and comforting you.

“Breathe.”

The blonde with the navy scarf is wiping your tears, his voice a low rumble. His gloves are rough, but you dont mind the feeling of the texture.

“Breathe…”

He slams your face in the ground, it’s turned to water. The other two are gone. You gasp and fight back, you feel the water entering your lungs. The burning pain of water going through your nose. Your head is pulled back by your hair.

…It’s him

The hideous grey skin differing from the dark abyss you now find yourself in. His dark clothes splattered with the only hints of color bearing red, blood. Though that can't even compare to his eyes.

His unblinking bright scarlet eyes stare into your very soul. The brightest red that you have ever seen the glow lighting the dark abyss and murky water. His face this motionless mask, not even a twitch of a muscle. He brings up his hand with his rough large palm covering your nose and mouth.

“Breathe.”

You cant…

The water is rising. Drowning you and him in the dark, as the water consumes his very being, his hand still covering your nose and mouth. You try to fight him, to go back to the surface and breathe. But he's stronger.

He's always stronger.

You see a scaled body swimming behind him in the murky water. It's swimming around. Just out of your view, only allowing its black body to appear for a mere second. It's waiting.

The scarlet eyed man finally smiles.

“Breathe.”

Someone is desperately shaking your shoulders yelling for someone else to go and get help. You see your professor standing above you. Slowly, the worry on his face begins to fade away, you're on the floor.

“Breathe, breathe. You passed out.”

Your body is shaking as you're frantically taking in each and every breath as if the next will suddenly be cut off, drowning you again in that dark abyss where that monster is waiting for you. The class bells rings.

~~~

You make it home and set your backpack on the couch.

After visiting the class nurse, she had come to the conclusion that you had passed out due to the lack of oxygen. The most concerning thing, however, is when the nurse left, you suddenly had a coughing fit. Running to the bathroom, you kept coughing.

Until murky water started dripping from your mouth.

The same water that you were drowning in.

You have decided to skip the rest of the day and go home after that. Leaning against your kitchen counter, you decide to drink slowly a clean glass of water to help with the aching pain in your throat. The storm outside had only gotten worse after your… episode and you're currently dripping on your kitchen floor.

After finishing the glass slowly, you put it in your kitchen sink. You'll deal with it tomorrow. Going to the bathroom, you grab some towels. Preparing to take a shower. The moment you turn it on, watching the water drip.

You feel the water in your lungs.

You rushed over and turned it off. Falling backwards and back slamming against the wall. You look at the towels and decide to just dry off. No shower today.

Putting on the most comfortable pj's you own, you go to bed and bundle up. Smiling softly at the smell of freshly clean sheets and warm extra blankets. A great comfort after today's events.

Though a irritated sigh does escape your lips. First it was the nightmares, now it was this weird episode you had during class. Seeing those three figures that you know for a fact you either met or seen before.

Turning to the side. You see your desk, your Nintendo Switch laying just on top. You know those three outfits, you've seen those outfits. And that grey man with the dark clothes and scarlet red eyes, you know for a fact who he is. But it doesn't make any sense. He's from a game.

Nothing about this makes any sense. Why are suddenly video game characters from your favorite childhood game attacking you in dreams? In nightmares? Even still, he's not even in the latest game that you're playing.

The most that you have is a skin of him, Dark Link.

Nothing about this makes any sense, you thought they were just nightmares. Your subconscious playing tricks on you, twisting your favorite game into something horrendous.

But after today….

After the drowning. Feeling your lungs collapsing, water being forced through your nose and mouth as you hiccup. Feeling it entered through your throat, the burning in your nose. And coughing up that water later.

You've never had very vivid dreams before, nothing that's ever felt real. But this passes beyond just feeling that it was real.

You coughed up evidence that it happened.

You feel your eyes begin to sting and hiccups force out of your throat. A few tears dripped down your eyes. All the stress and worry of these nightmares that now don't seem to be just nightmares. The exhaustion getting to you.

You fall asleep crying.

~~~

It's calm, it's quiet.

It's peaceful, it's warm.

Just like him.

Laughter wakes you up, slowly opening your eyes, you're in a bright green field. Soft laughter makes you turn to the right, there's a kid. With bright messy blonde hair and a bright blue shirt a white design on it.

“Hey sleepyhead!”

You stare at him, you… can't see him well. His face is blurry. But his smile shines through the blurs. You smile back at him as he takes your hand to stand up.

“We got to start heading out.”

“Why?”

He caresses your hand. You feel his calluses on his palm. You shouldn't feel that in a dream should you?

“Time to head back!”

“Head… back?”

He says nothing, just smiles and takes your hand starting to walk on a trail made of gold. You look only at him, trying to make sense of him. Trying to remember his face, why can't you see his face?

Music starts to play at the very end of the path, it's cheerful melody making you want to dance. You hear people laughing, you hear children yelling in joy. He smiles and starts to rush.

He begins to run as you hold on tight to his hand. The music and laughter gets louder and more inviting, but he's only getting faster. Your hand is starting to be slipping through. You look down at your hands in worry, but you spot something on his hand.

Was that…is that the Triforce…

Your hand finally slips through.

“Slow down!”

You hurry after the running figure. The wind blowing through your hair. You hear his laugh, you always loved his laugh.

“Come on! It's this way!”

He's running faster, his laughter is echoing through the trees. Since when were you in a forest?

“Please! Slow down!”

He's going faster, you can barely see him, the light that follows him is dimming. It's getting dark. You lose sight of the gold path.

“Please! I can't!”

It's getting cold, the trees make no noise. The wind has stopped blowing.

You hear water.

You hear what's moving in the water.

You can't see him

You freeze, it's pitch black. You hear nothing but your panic breathing. You remember his name, why now?

“... Link…?”

No answer.

You look around and see nothing,

The rippling in the water is getting louder, it's getting closer, it's right behind you.

You look behind to see the back of the scaly creature barely protruding out of water. It's not moving, it's just waiting, taunting.

You don't dare to move, don't dare to make a sound. Wondering if your silent breathing is enough to alert the monster.

"... ️S̴̨̛͇̺͇͕̟̘͎̗͖̙͍̭̞͇̒͆̀͝.... Ḩ̶̳̣̮̻̪̜͍̹̭͓͍̳̼̈́̅́̄̍̀͐́̊̽͌̊̂͂͠͝͝.... I̸̡̛̳͌̉͋͐͒̍.... M̴̨̦͓̰̌͆̉̃̄͆͜ͅ.....?"

His voice! You hear him!

Although you can't see him you can clearly hear his soft voice, though it sounds…different. As if he's the same person but a different version. He's calling for you, but not by your name. Although the name that he's calling you seems so familiar, so comforting. You know that name.

“... Link…”

The beast under the waves begins to move. The slight whisper alerting it. It now knows it's not just the two of you alone, it knows you can hear him.

It begins to circle you, taunting. As it goes in and out of the water slowly getting closer.

“️S̴̨̛͇̺͇͕̟̘͎̗͖̙͍̭̞͇̒͆̀͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜..... I̸̡̛̳͌̉͋͐͒̍.m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠...... M̴̨̦͓̰̌͆̉̃̄͆͜ͅ... Ě̵̢̧̛̦̼̜̲͕͕͍̤̙͉͓́̅͒̽̍̐͋͜͝.. ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️....?"

His voice is getting clearer. It's getting closer and you look behind to see a slight faint golden light.

You pause and look at the patrolling beast under the water. It's waiting, wondering, daring you.

You have nowhere to go only to that warm golden light and to him. You now accepted the fact that this, this isn't a dream anymore. What can you do to run away from this monster? What choice do you have besides calling out to him?

You take a deep breath.

Close your eyes.

And scream

"LINK!!"

The monster under the waves charges up, grabs you with its jaws making sure not to puncture your delicate body and swallows you whole.

The shadow with piercing red eyes stares at the scene before him. A small chuckle leaving his lips as he slowly turns to the left of him, to a silent observer.

“They're still waiting. You failed, hero.”

~~~

Legend gasps awake launching from his bedroll; the others waking up around him. He runs to the nearby lake and proceeds to throw up the Champion's latest meal. The dark forest is silent as he coughs and shakes, the moon shining above witnessing the hero in his weakened state.

His throat burns as he coughs and cries. A comforting hand rubs his back and another helps to hold back his now faded pink hair. He finally stops and thanks Warrior for handing him over some water. He stands back up and takes a deep breath. Turning to the group of his fellow heroes.

Each of them stare in worry, Hyrule already with a healing potion in hand. The wind blows softly cooling down his heated cheeks.

Even after being forced to give up his latest meal by the group's designated chef, his eyes hold no discomfort nor does his body.

In fact, he appears more confident than ever. His eyes burned with determination.

“I know where they are now.”

Finally, after all these years, they finally have a clue on where to find you.

~~~

Next

Tags: @pinkittwice @luimagines @twilightpoison @cafecourage @phlying-squirrel @smartiepants217 @eyeless-kun @stardropz-oo @athanasia-day @silver-the-pendejo @krys0210 @justanotherweeb666 @lunadepan120699 @specter-solaire @honest0215 @internet-stuff @lunarobyn22

Fun fact! While reviewing this I had to write an essay for my history class about the League of Nations, which inspired the classroom scene. I hope you all enjoyed the first official chapter!! o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

[sylus-shivanika]

✿ The Silent Promise ✿⁠ 

Girl Dad Sylus | Emotional promise

Sylus was lying in bed when a sudden cry pierced the quiet night. His body jolted up instantly, as if the sound was something he could never bear to hear for long. He rushed to the crib beside him, where his newborn babygirl lay with her face scrunched up in distress.

Carefully, he scooped her into his arms and began rocking her.

“Shh… Daddy’s got you,” he whispered, his voice softer than a sigh.

She instinctively brought her tiny thumb to her mouth, and Sylus smiled, understanding that she must be hungry. Reluctantly, he set her back down in the crib and went to prepare her bottle. But the moment he stepped away, her cries returned, louder this time, desperate, as if she couldn’t stand to be apart from his arms even for a second.

When he returned, Sylus placed the bottle to her lips. She latched on immediately, drinking eagerly, and cooed in satisfaction. His chest loosened at the sound. Sitting back down, he held her close again, rocking her gently as she finished the bottle.

Once she was done, he set the bottle aside and gazed at her, his little doll, staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes. She flailed her tiny hands in playful motions, making him chuckle under his breath.

“Hmm… someone isn’t sleepy,” he murmured. “Should Daddy make you sleep?”

He began to hum, a low, soothing tune. She watched him intently, one finger between her lips, cooing happily as though the sound was her favorite comfort in the world. That was when Sylus realized, his daughter was addicted to his humming, to his voice. She was the first to adore his humming. Her constant coos felt like applause only meant for him.

His heart swelled. He smiled at the thought that she was his very first and most genuine audience.

Eventually, her tiny eyes fluttered shut, her coos fading into soft breaths. Sylus laid her back in the crib carefully. But just as he began to pull away, he felt it, her tiny fingers clutching around his index finger, holding him there.

The gesture nearly undid him.

Memories of the day she was born rushed back. He had been both terrified and overjoyed, terrified that she would look at him the way so many others had: with fear, with dread. What if his daughter, his most precious gift, recoiled at the sight of him?

But the moment he held her in the hospital, all those fears crumbled. She had nestled against him without hesitation, cooing softly, as though she knew she was right where she belonged. As if she had come into the world to prove to him that not everyone would fear him at first sight. She had been the first to show him unconditional trust.

And now, here she was again, holding onto his finger like an anchor, as if telling him she never wanted him to leave.

A fierce protectiveness surged through him. Sylus lifted her back into his arms, pressing her small body against his chest. To his shock, tears stung his eyes. He had never cried in front of anyone before. But now, with his daughter, the tears came freely.

“You have no idea how much your tiny gestures affect me,” he whispered, voice breaking as a tear slipped down his cheek. “You are everything I needed, my little angel. You’re the first one who never hated or feared me at first sight.”

As if in response, her small hand brushed his face, patting his cheek in clumsy baby movements. It felt like she was telling him, It’s okay, Daddy. You can cry. I cry too. Cry with me.

Sylus let out a shaky laugh, kissed her forehead gently, and looked down to see her fingers curl tightly around his once more. Every time she held onto him, it felt as though she was the one protecting him, pulling him back from the abyss, keeping him from sinking into the darkness that had haunted his whole life.

She was his tiny light. His salvation in the smallest form.

But with that comfort came fear. What if she ever faced the same darkness he did? What if she ever felt unloved, abandoned, broken the way he once was? The thought alone made him feel vulnerable in a way he had never known.

He hugged her tighter, trembling with the weight of it. Then, with a cracked voice, he whispered into her hair:

“I promise… I’ll never let you feel unloved, never abandoned like me. I’ll give you every ounce of love I never received. I’ll never let the darkness of my childhood touch you.”

He hooked his pinky around her tiny one.

A silent promise.

And in that moment, Sylus knew, this was the vow that would shape his entire life. His daughter wasn’t just his light. She was his reason to never fall back into the dark.

Divider cr: @kodaswrld

[zummmii]

Make A Wish

Summary: You stay up late, and Spencer comes to find you.

Pairing: Spencer x Fem!Reader, established relationship (no mention of yn)

Warnings: Sassy Spencer, mention of sleep deprivation, mention of case but not really, not proof read

wc: 960

You had always been invested in space. The thought that you weren’t the only living things out there. The thought that even if there was another living thing out there we’d never know because of light years separating our timelines.

If there was something out there, looking for a similar civilisation, they wouldn’t find people, they wouldn’t find you. They’d find the jurassic period, the ice age, the mosaic period.

And so in the dead of night you find yourself sat on the sofa closest to the window, a book in your hair as you stared up at the sky, clear and dark blue. Little twinkling stars starring back at you.

Your legs tucked under yourself as you sat perched on the couch, one of Spencer’s over sized shirts and panties. Nothing much but it was comfortable.

He was asleep, you didn’t want to wake him up, he’d just got home for a week long case. You missed Spencer, more than you thought you would.

You missed his voice, how soft he talks to you compared to everyone else. The soft brown eyes he gives you every time he looks at you, like you’re the most expensive piece of jewellery in the shop. You missed his gentle touch, the possessive but caring way he holds your waist at any possible chance.

It always worried you, when he left you didn’t know whether he’d come back safely and unharmed, or even come home at all. All these terrible people, horrible, cruel people- murderers, kidnappers, terrorists, he put them away with the BAU team, and as much as you are proud of him, you can’t help but worry.

The cool night time breeze drifted through the small crack in the window, blowing your hair gently out your face with minor hesitation, the little wispy strands that had fallen down from the hair tie dancing quietly. The stars twinkled through the dark blue sky, the moon not even half full glowing brightly in the middle of it.

You had the perfect view from Spencer’s apartment building. His window was right on the corner of the street, pointing exactly diagonally from the building across. There was nothing blocking your view from the endless abyss of space.

The apartment was silent, safe for the whistling wind outside. So quiet you could hear a pin drop from the top floor.

Foot steps, muffled and muted against the floor boards from socks approached from behind you, Spencer. He was supposed to be asleep, the case taking a toll on his sleep schedule. But still, you glance over your shoulder, your gaze landing on the curly hair Dr who was rubbing his eyes and blinding walking over.

His lips brushed against your ear as he moved to kiss the temple of your head. You only shudder, turning to catch his gaze with your own eyes.

Spencer’s brown eyes glistened in the dark light shining down on the two of you as he bends down to be closer, leaning over the sofa. “You’re supposed to be asleep.” He murmurs, his voice reminding you how much you missed him over the past week.

Your lips found his jaw. “I was.” You whisper softly against his skin.

Spencer stood up straight, a quiet groan leaving his lips as he stretched out his back. The sofa dipped beside you as he climbed over the back, claiming half the sofa as his own. “Was.” He repeats, rolling his eyes in feigned disappointment.

A small smile etched its way to your lips, you lean into his side, pulling a blanket up to cover your legs when the breeze got too cold. You don’t look at him, your gaze, again, glued to the dark sky. “Was.” You nod against his chest, repeating the word in the same tone. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

The glow of the moon shown down onto his face, defining his lips and jaw line into intricate beauty. Soft curls coiled messily over his forehead. “I was, but I woke up and couldn’t find you.” His excuse was lame but heart-warmingly sweet.

You lift your head from his chest, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns over the patterns of the shirt he wore. Your expression was purely unimpressed as he had given a lame extended version of your reason, just twisted into a different tale. “Was.” You roll your eyes, poking his cheek as a smug lazy grin makes its way to his face.

The sky shone brightly, a flash of light lighting up the room. The line disappeared just as quickly as it came. Spencer’s hand wrapped around your shoulder, moulding into the curve. “What did you wish for?” He asks after a few seconds of silence.

Staying quiet you stare up at the sky, your eyes looking for any other movement. “Can’t tell you that.” You break the silence.

“Well,” Spencer pulled you closer his arm slipping under your knees and the other under your shoulders. “I wished for you to come to bed.” He gave a flat smile standing up with you, your arm snapping out to wrap around his neck.

Spencer gave you a hurt look. “You don’t trust me?” He frowned, his lips curling upside down into a pout.

“You’d probably drop me on purpose.” You roll your eyes, and your point was proved when he jutted in the door way of his bedroom, his grip on you faltering.

But he caught you.

“I hate you.”

Spencer drops you onto his bed rolling over top of you to the other side. “Get off, you big child.” You hit his shoulder and he settles on the other side of the bed.

His arm curled around your hip and pulled you closer. “love you too.”

[starscream-is-my-wife]

A what if on fire in the sky where Skyfire never met the autobots a second time so he doesn't know he has options and sticks with the Decepticons for a couple more days

“Starscream got you good today, Skyfire.”

Skyfire was silent, looking off into the dark abyss of the ocean.

“I need to leave. He’s going to kill me, Thundercracker.”

Thundercracker snapped his head up, optics widening. “What?!” Who just confesses to a high ranking faction elite that they want to leave?! And out in the open too?! Luckily no one was there to hear Skyfires sudden declaration of defection.

“Megatron won’t let that happen, he’s spent way too much resources bringing you back! And where would you go?” Thundercracker felt strange, isn’t this the argument that he had in his processor time and time again, now with another bot?

“Anywhere is better then here. What if Megatron finally gets overthrown by Starscream? When he’s gone, he won’t hesitate to kill you too.”

Thundercracker felt a chill go up his spine, as if the coldness of space went through him, before continuing to weld.

“Everything I do, he finds some sort of way to push me, and when I refuse, it’s never an option, he wants me to break.” Skyfire ranted with gritted teeth, “I refuse.” Skyfire paused, remembering something and turned his attention on Thundercracker.

“Thundercracker, please leave with me! We can do so much more, BE so much more!” He pleaded, the proposal has been on his mind for a while, but Thundercracker didn’t look up.

“Can you stop moving? I won’t stop you from leaving, I won’t even tell the others anything. But this… this is my purpose”

Thundercracker felt Skyfires stare on him, “I’ve only known you for 4 days, but even then, I feel you don’t belong here, what can the Decepticons give you for you to stay?”

“And you can give me something more?! I’ve spent more time fighting in this war than you have been active!”

“Yes! I know I can! Something more than hauling around energon cubes, more than living in this damp ship! There’s a whole world to explore! I may have nothing right now but I promise, I can help you find a better purpose!” Skyfires optics shined bright with determination. Something Thundercracker hasn’t seen since the first day he’s been revived. And something else that seemed so familiar to him…

Ah. The day Megatron convinced him to join the Decepticons. Why he joined, why he stayed, was it all for a promise?

… What a fool he is, throwing everything away again for the same old, sweet words. But now he’s older and stronger, with a fresh face who is neither Autobot or Decepticon.

“Fine. You’ll probably need me to actually survive out there anyways, I can’t just let you die by yourself.”

[pome-seed]

I Won't Leave You ★ Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Doctor!Reader

Summary: You make the Winter Soldier hesitate to get the job done, shining a light on his biggest weakness. When his handlers decide to make an example out of you, the Soldat is pushed over the edge, and forced to act.

Word Count: 5.8k

Tags: Yearning, emotionally confused Bucky Barnes, protective Bucky Barnes, possessive Bucky Barnes, violence, gun violence, mention of blood, torture, mention of urine, gunshot wounds, angst, escapes.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Authors Note: Kind of a throw back to the Soldier's Keeper captivity days. A little messy, but this kind of AU always gets me out of my writing rut. Enjoy! If you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Masterlist

You hear the gurgling screams from several doors down. You hear it before you turn the corner. 

You hear the sobs, the begging, the pleading for mercy. 

You stagger down the cold corridor, medical bag in hand, fighting to keep yourself from plugging your ears. Ahead, several locks shift open, armed guards standing frozen on each side. One reaches for a button on the wall, and the door slides open.

You smell the blood before you see it.

A man sobs, shouting through his gag, further in the room. You’re pushed forward, into the dark abyss. You have to swallow the bile rising in your throat, the stench of iron and urine mixing with the shadow of death. 

The Soldat looms over a squirming man, locked into a metal chair. His dark hair shields his face, hiding his cold expression. He doesn’t see you at first, may not even know you’re there.

“Bastard clocked him in the head, he stopped responding for over a minute, said he couldn’t see anything.” The man behind you informed, nudging you forward again. 

The Soldat’s body stiffens, like an animal caught in the wild. When he finally turns, finally pins you to the floor with his intense gaze, his stomach sinks to his feet. Dread and shame boil together, concocting something sickening.

You don’t mean to look, but your eyes drift to the man strapped down. To the manic look in his eyes. To the blood wetting his skin. To the used tools sitting on a cold tray. 

“Okay.” You shift your bag, meaning to step forward, to do your job. But there’s blood on the floor. There’s blood everywhere. 

Leather creaks, and then his thick boots edge your vision. You look up and shiver beneath the weight of the Soldat’s stare. He carefully takes the bag from your hand, holding it for you. You feel something wet stain your fingers, where they brush his.

“What-What happened?” You ask him, shakily unclasping your kit. 

“My-”

Desperate screams cut through the Soldat’s words, making you jump. A gasp tears from your chest, something sick pooling in your gut. Your gaze snaps to the prisoner- he's watching you, sobbing, begging. 

You feel the guards against the wall observing your every move. You know there’s nothing you can do. You know you can’t save this man. You know you’re helpless.

But still, those eyes, those cries for help- they carve at your very soul.

The Soldat takes a slow step to the side, blocking your view of the man. 

“My vision spotted, my legs went weak.” His rough voice makes you flinch, calling your attention back to the task at hand. 

“Where did he hit you?” You gulp, pulling on gloves. Metal fingers point to the side of his head. He leans down for you as your fingers slide into his hair, gently feeling the tender spot. Your thumb grazes a healing scar, stitches still sewing the skin together. 

For the Soldat, Operations were often. You never really knew what they were all for. That was a secret, way beyond your level of importance. 

His last surgery was only a week ago- but with his rapid healing rate, he was up after only a day. You feel blood slick against the wound, caused from being hit in such a tender place. But the incision looks fine, swollen, but fine. 

You tilt his head back up by his chin as you grab your small flashlight.

You can barely focus beyond the screams. They never stop. They only get louder.

“Focus on my ear,” you whisper, shining the light into his eyes, watching his pupils dilate. His lashes flutter, but he obeys your instructions. 

You finish your quick exam and tuck away your supplies.

“You’re-” you clear your throat, your cheeks souring from the smell of the room. “You’re fine…I think you just need a little more rest, something more to eat. I think the pain to your incision shocked your system.”

You spare a glance at the blood staining the floor. “You should probably…finish up soon.”

A scoff makes you jump. “Alright, he’s useless anyways. Soldat, finish it.” The command makes you gag, a hand sliding over your mouth. Gloved hands yank you back, away from your charge. 

You stumble out of the figurative splash zone, your body stiff. 

The prisoner begins to sob harder, his wails scraping at your eardrums. 

Dread pools in your veins, spreading like poison. You have to look away. You have to close your eyes. But you just can’t, because that man is looking at you, desperate, thrashing in his seat. You expect to see his brains paint the wall, followed by the crack of a gunshot. 

But the sound never comes. 

Your stagnant gaze shifts to the Soldat, where tortured blue eyes bore into yours. The look there startles you, a cold shiver racing down your spine. The pain, the earnest doubt. His steel fingers stay balled up, hovering beside his holster. But unmoving.

The prisoner weeps, panic muffling his pleas for mercy.

“Soldat, finish it.” The handler snaps, his voice rough and irritated. 

But the man doesn’t move. He doesn’t waver. His gaze sticks to you, to the shake of your hands, to the horror on your face. 

He can’t do this.

He can’t let you see this.

The handler grumbles under his breath, then snatches your arm by the elbow. You trip on your own feet as he drags you towards the door, but your eyes stay locked with his. 

He reaches for his gun.

You blink back tears, turning away as you’re shoved into the hall. Your supplies slip from your fingers, clattering to the floor in a mess. 

A gunshot goes off before the doors can fully close. 

You yelp, your body shuddering as your hands slap around your ears. 

This was the dirty part of things, the part you never saw. This was death and torture and captivity. It was reality. It was the Soldat’s purpose, and in a way, yours too. It’s your job to care for him, to polish their tool, keep him ready. It’s your job to stay quiet, stick to the shadows, and remain unimportant enough to not bother harming.

But as the soldier's hands pull you down the hall, dragging you towards the lab, you feel you’ve made a mistake. 

You feel you did something wrong. Stepped out of line- right into the light. But this wasn’t you, this wasn’t your fault. It’s the Soldat’s- because he made a fatal mistake.

He showed them his weakness.

You.

He didn’t mean to do it- he didn’t even really notice it, until it was too late. The Soldat didn’t understand you, or your kindness- but he understood your position, he always will. He knows your fear, your trepidation, your practiced calm. He sees it when he looks at you. 

And maybe he sees a bit of himself in you, in that fear. Though, he’s long buried that feeling. He no longer feels that timid anxiety, that tearful dread. He just feels full. Heavy. Weighted by his duty, and the impossibility of escape.

He thought that would be all he ever felt, until they brought you to him, with orders to obey.

Until he saw that look, that pain.

He almost threw up the first time you touched him, the first time he felt the tremble of your fingers against his skin. Because he never wanted this- he never wanted to see the reality of his situation, forced upon someone else. Someone kind, someone untouched by cruelty, and watch them fall into the darkness. 

He just wanted to spare you. 

He just wanted to shield you from what nobody could shield him from.

But he failed, in that moment, in that pause. He knows it, as they drag him towards the lab, where you’re waiting. 

He knows he’s ruined everything, the moment those doors open, and you’re staring blankly at the electric chair, eyes red rimmed. “You can prep her,” a man says from behind him, smacking a rough hand against his shoulder.

The Soldat feels what’s left of his soul leave his body. He feels the ice cold prick of terror rip through his body. 

You turn to him, your gaze falling to the blood staining his leather suit. 

Self loathing spreads beneath his skin as you look at him.

“What’s-” you swallow, your voice pitching, “what’s happening?”

The Soldat is shoved forward again, into your space. You don’t flinch, you don’t move- your hands jerk up to catch him. The Soldat’s words die on his tongue.

You watch as a machine operator brushes past you, taking a seat at the control panel of the chair. The Soldat’s sharp intake of breath draws your attention back in- then you see that look again. 

That pained, guilty look. The kind of look that bore the weight of centuries. 

The Soldat swallows, staring down at you. “It’s a punishment.”

You blink back tears, your body wracked with tremors. “What-?”

“For me.” He whispers, his voice broken, rough and scarred. “Because I hesitated.” He tracks the tear that slips down your cheek, sticking to the curve of your jaw. “Because of you.”

You frown, your arms wrapping around yourself. “They’re punishing you for-” your breath hitches, your body stiffening, as if struck by electricity. You shake your head, staggering back a step- the soldat twitches, as if stifling the urge to steady you.

“They’re gonna hurt me, right?” You choke, your nails digging into your arms. 

He says nothing, his jaw fluttering as his teeth clench. He nods. 

“I’ll-” you furiously swipe tears from your cheek. “I’ll be better I’ll-” you gasp, staring desperately over the Soldat’s shoulder, at his handler. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I’ll-”

“It’s because of me,” the soldat whispers, his metal fist creaking as his knuckles clench. “Not you.” You stare up at the man, your arms wrapped around your body. “Because I hesitated, because of you.” He repeats. The words fall like cinder blocks at your feet. Weighted and cold. You shake your head, not understanding. “Because I didn’t want you to see it…”

You instinctively glance down at the blood sticking to his leather chest. To the stains on the tips of his boots. You remember the sound of the gun shot. 

“Because I care about you,” Tortured blue eyes spear right through you, heavy and uncontrolled. You can’t make sense of this- of what's happened, of what he’s saying, of what is about to occur. 

You can’t make sense of any of it. 

“You…?” Your words trail off, your throat closing up. You flinch at the sound of metal clashing behind you- of sharp tools being spread out across a tray. 

With only a few inches between your bodies, you swear you can hear the Soldat’s teeth clenching. He watches your expression, as if memorizing your features. He knows what's about to happen; what they’ll do. 

He watches you with this helpless look, like his body physically won’t let him help you. Like he knows there's nothing he can do to change this. 

The longer you look at him, the worse the feeling in your stomach gets. “The chair isn’t for you, is it?” You whisper, a cold feeling rippling down your spine. 

His throat bobs, emotion welling inside his body. Emotion he isn’t allowed to feel. Emotion that will ruin everything. 

Emotion he feels for you.

“The best way to punish you-” you pause, “is to punish me…”

“I’m so sorry…” he grits, his shoulders winding tighter.

If this were any other circumstance, you would think this may be the most he’s ever said to you. The longest conversation you’ve ever been allowed with him. Something about that makes this worse- like he’s trying to get in as many words as he can. Like he knows how badly this will end. 

The Soldat’s eyes snap away from you, directed over your shoulder. You can’t move, terror paralyzing your body. You don’t want to know what’s caught his attention, or what’s made the color drain from his face. But deep down, you already know. 

You shouldn’t be surprised this is happening. You shouldn’t be shocked- you should have prepared yourself. You knew the closer you grew to the Soldat, the closer you grew to danger. You knew that any bond forged between you would only bring you pain. 

And still, you knew the moment you set eyes on him that you wouldn’t be able to stop it.

A large hand wraps around your bicep, yanking you back a step. You gasp, caught off guard. Your feet slide beneath you as you try to pull back, but you’re far too weak, and far too outgunned. You refuse to look back as your gaze falls on the Soldat, who watches you with a pained look. 

“Oh god-” you choke, your shoulders drawing up to your ears as you tighten up. 

Those blue eyes stay locked on yours, unable to look away. You can imagine he wouldn’t be allowed to, even if he could. Part of the punishment was to see what happens to those he hesitates for. To see what happens to those who get in the way of the mission.

The man dragging you back shoves you into the cold leather seat. You blink through tears as you stare forward, your limbs being manoeuvred into their respective restraints. 

“I’ll do better-” You whisper, a mantra you’ve repeated over and over through your time with your captors. “I’ll be better…” you gasp, unable to catch your breath as the raw panic sets in. “I promise,” you sob, tears dripping from your sweaty skin. 

The Soldat watches you, metal plates shifting in his bionic arm. His hands tremble at his sides, clenched so tight they could shatter concrete. But his feet stay planted to the floor. His body stays frozen. That agonized stare pierces through you, carving beneath your flesh. 

He can’t watch this. 

But he has to. 

He flinches when a lock snaps shut around your throat, pinning you in place. He nearly looks away, but the domineering presence of his handler behind him keeps him in check. Reminds him of his job.

Watch.

Watch, and remember.

She doesn’t matter.

You don’t matter.

Anything, and everything, belongs to us. Protection. Safety. Her. You.

Watch.

And remember.

He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, a dark, cold feeling twisting beneath his skin.

Your voice scratches at the deepest corner of his soul, your helpless pleas for mercy, your ragged sobs, the fear catching in your throat. It all melts together, blending into one torturous moment. One he can’t escape.

“Please,” You sob, blinded by the way your lashes stick together with tears. Your chest burns for oxygen, but you just can’t seem to grasp it. Your lips crack, your tongue goes dry. A gloved hand grips your jaw bruisingly, prying your mouth open. 

A rubber bite guard is shoved between your teeth. 

You thrash helplessly, metal cuffs locking every joint in place. 

All you see is the Soldat. All you see are those blue eyes. The pain there, the agony you’ve always wished you could take from him. But sometimes, there are things too large to bear. Some slates are too bloody to wipe clean.

Your slate was once clean. 

Your life was once yours. 

You can barely remember those days now, so far removed and buried. Beneath years of pain and torture, months of imprisonment and conditioning.

The Soldat’s body physically locks up when he hears those switches flip, those dials turn. He flinches back as the machine shifts, something mechanical lowering over your head. 

You scream through a locked jaw, begging for mercy, for understanding, for a savior.

For anything.

Your vision spots, your head growing light as your chest staggers without oxygen. 

You can’t breathe. 

Your eyes lock with his. You can swear that even for a moment, you see his eyes gloss over. 

Another dial turns.

Electricity charges. 

Most people seem to believe that in a moment of true and utter panic, the world slows down. That your heart stops and time freezes. But that’s wrong, in every way. 

In what feels like the end of the world, time speeds up.

Like a flash of lightning, gone before you realize it ever happened. 

So when the Soldat watches your eyes squeeze shut, tears trailing down your flushed skin, your jaw screwed shut around rubber, he just moves. 

His body moves without thought, without fear, without reason. He just moves. 

His elbow connects with his handler's nose. The holster at the man’s side is empty, the gun sliding easily between the Soldat’s fingers. 

He squeezes the trigger as easily as breathing. 

You shriek, your body jolting in terrified anticipation.

But everything’s moving too fast for him to notice. 

He points the barrel at the man with his finger on the dial. The gunshot ricochets of concrete walls, the sound ringing in your ears. Something warm and wet splatters against your skin. It sticks to your cheek and drips from your eyelashes. You taste it on your lips.

Your eyes snap open in horror, but still, time doesn’t freeze.

The Soldat is moving, his body quick to dodge the oncoming rain of bullets. He empties his clip into the nearest soldier. You scream, your vision blurring with tears and shock. His black suit flashes in your periphery, and then his metal fist is slamming down on the controls of the chair. One by one, the locks around your body snap free. You don’t have time to process your freedom, because you’re being yanked out of your chair.

You shriek as a fist coils in your hair, dragging you up. A doctor, one of the many prepared to torture you to get a point across, holds you in front of him. But before he can even point his scalpel to your throat, a bullet slices between his eyes. 

He drops with a squelch, into a pool of another man's blood. You topple over, your shoes slipping in the slick substance. A sob catches in your throat, sticking there, blocking air from reaching your lungs. 

The Soldat drops his gun, his cold hands yanking you up by the elbows. 

The smell of blood stains the air, making bile rise in your throat.

When you finally stare up at the man, you can see the panic in his eyes. Pupils blown wide, lips parted on ragged pants. Calloused fingers press against your lips, forcing your mouth open. He discards the bite guard, then shakes you firmly. 

But the shock has already set in. 

You tremble, your legs giving out as you take in the bodies dropped around you. 

There’s so much blood. 

In all the time you’ve been here, captive and prisoner, you’ve never really seen what the Soldat can do. What he’s made for. 

You only ever see the aftermath, the scars and wounds and broken bionic arm. 

You’ve never really been privy to just how dangerous the man is. Just how bloody he’s willing to get. 

But this time, it isn’t for a mission. This time, it’s for you.

And everything’s changed.

The Soldat realizes immediately that you’re in shock. He also realizes just what he’s done. What he’s never done before; disobeyed. He huffs out gasp of dread, his gaze snaps to the door. 

Soldiers will be coming. And this time, he won’t be able to shield you from them- from himself, when they say those words. When he looks back at you, you’re staring wide eyed at your hands- stained with the blood you’ve wiped from your cheek. 

“More are coming,” he grunts, his own voice sounding far away to him. “I need you to listen to everything I say, do you understand?” You blink up at him, your lips parting helplessly. He shakes you firmly, “Do you understand?”

You nod, choking on a sob. 

He leans forward, his hands sliding to your waist. You feel weightless as he drags you over his shoulder, his metal arm locking around your hips like a chain. You grunt, his shoulder pressing hard to your lower stomach. 

He doesn’t take the time to explain as he continues moving, picking up fallen men’s weapons. Your fingers curl in his cold leather suit, your cheek pressed to his back. 

He’s moving again, around the lab- quick and focused. He swipes his hands over the counters, knocking over everything in his path. Medical supplies and testing equipment scatter to the floor. But he only needs one thing. 

Cotton Balls.

He snags as many as he can and shoves them deep into his ears, one, then two, deep enough to hurt. Deeper, until he can’t hear.

Until those words bounce off him like nothing.

You can’t see anything. You can’t hear. You can’t feel. All you smell is blood. 

All you know is fear. 

The doors slam open. The Soldat’s breath evens out beneath you. His hands steady. Fingers lock around his weapon. This isn’t the Soldat you know. This is the Winter Soldier. 

This is a man with nothing that will stand between him, and his mission: getting you out alive.

He moves with purpose, his boots dragging across polished concrete floors silently; a practiced art. Shotty lights flicker overhead, casting shadows beneath you. The Soldat moves through the hall like a ghost, quiet and waiting. He pauses around every corner, using the reflective pad of his metal palm to see if anyone is there waiting. 

A shot sparks off the curve of his steel thumb. He snaps his arm back, his jaw clenching.

Voices shout from every direction, commanding and shaken. The Soldat doesn’t hear it. He raises his gun and shoots out the lights, causing sparks and glass to rain down from above. 

You flinch as the man lowers you to the ground, your body slouching against the cold wall.  

Gunfire bounces off the walls, cacophonous explosions of smoke and light. You freeze up, terror burrowing deep in your bones. Your hands smack over your ears, a scared shriek ripping from your throat. 

The Soldat doesn’t glance back. One after another, he drops bodies- your throat closes up at the sight of him bludgeoning a man's skull into the cold concrete wall.

The man's body collapses in a heap, blood pooling beneath him. You stare in horror, your gaze caught on his dead eyes. 

You jolt numbly with every screaming gunshot, with every cry from the damned. 

And then it all goes quiet. You don’t have time to process it, as the Soldat circles his arm around your waist and hauls you up. You gasp, your stomach turning as he carries you with each step. 

“What’s-” you heave, staring at the bodies he easily steps over. Your voice vibrates against his touch. “What’s happening-? Where are we-”

“Stay quiet,” He shifts you over his shoulder, holding you steadily in place. He has to keep you close, he has to keep you up and moving. On your own you can barely stand, and you’re far too slow to keep up with him on normal terms. 

He needs you still, one with him, so he can move for the both of you. 

You don’t question him. 

Instead, you latch onto his body and squeeze your eyes shut. Loud speakers at the corners of the hall buzz to life, a monotone russian voice repeating a mantra loudly. You flinch, your hands smacking over your ears. 

The Soldat curses beneath you, his voice deep and panicked. He presses his ear against your hip at his side, his eyes squeezing shut. “Shit-” he pants. “Hold- I need you to hold your hand over my ear-” he grits. You don’t hesitate. Your right hand cups the ear not pressed to your hip, adding an extra barrier to his senses from the trigger words being shouted over the loudspeakers. 

You duck your head back down against his back as he kicks open door after door, clearing the rooms inside. You try not to take count of how many bodies drop. Of how many corpses you’ve walked over. If you do, you might throw up. 

The Soldat’s jaw screws shut as he focuses, his finger steady against the trigger. 

The next door he barrels through is one you’ve never been through before. You glance up to see large crates filled with cargo of all kinds lining the walls, filling the space. The catwalk to the large steel roller door is suspiciously clear. 

Empty.

The Soldat grits his teeth and creeps slowly along the wall, hidden behind large shipping containers. He can’t kill every person in this building, not with you at risk. So the only real way out is the helipad, right through that large door. 

And in the few minutes you two have been in that room, not a single soldier has stepped through the doors behind you. Meaning something is waiting for you in that room. Behind these crates. Guns and death. 

Your fingers press firmly into the side of the man's head, nerves making your touch a little rougher. 

He takes a careful step around the nearest container, his gun raised and pointed ahead. This isn’t right. It’s too quiet- you could hear a pin drop. He releases a slow breath, scanning the room with each step. 

The Soldat barely has time to turn his head before something heavy and hard is slamming into his back, sending you both barreling to the floor. You yelp, your head bouncing off the cold catwalk. He grunts beside you, rolling with a loud crash. On top of the Soldat, is a man with similar stature, an electric baton in hand. 

From the side lines, dozens of men rush out with guns raised. You cry out as a pale man drags you back by the ankle. “Get off!” You gasp, kicking at his bony hands.

You scramble away, your bruised knees skittering across the floor towards the Soldat. The super soldier is stuck writhing beneath the hands of several men, electric batons stuck in their hands. 

“Soldat-!” You choke out as a hand curls in your hair, dragging you back. You shriek, your scalp burning as you’re dragged up to stand. Wide blue eyes snap to you, a slur of Russian curses falling from his lips. 

A sharp gasp tears from your throat as you watch an electric charge be delivered to the man's neck. His body seizes up, his eyes rolling shut. “Stop-!” You scream, thrashing under the strong hold of the man behind you.

You reach back and snag your nails against the man's eyelids, digging your thumbs back. He hisses and throws you to the ground. You yelp, your shoulder popping awkwardly against the hard floor. While the pale man cradles his face in his hands, you scramble forward and yank the gun from his holster.

You close your eyes and squeeze the trigger. 

Blood splatters against your skin, sticking in clumps in your hair. You gasp, staring at your hands in shock. Boots pound to your left, a bullet sparks inches from your hip. You shuffle back, the gun in your hands raised. 

The closest man drops to a heap at your feet, without you having to fire another shot at all. Your head snaps to the left, where a panting Soldat stands above you, a stolen rifle loaded in his arms. He holds the trigger down, gunfire raining down on those ahead of you. 

His large boot nudges into your side as he gestures for you to move. You crawl shakily behind a large crate, the gun still clutched in your fingers. 

He drops down beside you, his chest heaving in ragged pants. “You need-” he gasps another shallow breath of air. 

You cut him off, your slick hand pressing to the curve of his throat. “Are you okay?” You blurt, your thumb ghosting over the electrical burn carved into his flesh. 

He swallows hard, reading your lips. The cotton shoved deep in his ears intensifies the ringing in his head. He pants, glancing around the corner every few seconds.

You only have a few moments. 

He looks back at you, at the gun in your hand, at the blood staining your hair. “I’ll clear a path, you need to make it to the helicopter.”

“What about you-?” You choke, your body shivering with eclectic adrenaline. 

“I’ll keep them distracted, they care about me, so you just have to be fast,” He glances back around the corner, his gun raised. “Move along the walls, shoot first. They won’t hesitate. Do you understand?”

You shake your head. “I can’t- I-I cant! How will you get out there?” Panic burrows heavily beneath your skin, seeping into your veins. You can’t fly a helicopter. You can’t make it without him. And you can’t leave him behind.

“Just do it, okay?” He insists, his eyes shining with terrified insistence. 

You grit your teeth and swallow back tears. “Okay- okay I’ll do it.”

He gives you one firm nod, then a slow once over- memorizing. He’s out numbered, out gunned, and totally screwed. But he has to try. He can’t let you die like this- not because of him.

“You meet me out there, I’m not leaving without you.” You grit.

He swallows, his fingers tightening around his rifle. “Go,” he whispers.

You push up and slip around the corner of the crate, towards the wall. Fear carries you with every step. You force yourself not to jolt when the sound of gunfire continues. You refuse to look back- already knowing what's behind you. 

The Soldat throwing himself into harm's way to pull attention away from you.

You crawl along the wall, behind the cover of the cargo containers. You just have to get to the door. You just have to make it out. You follow the wiring along the wall to the doors control panel, which you jimmy open at the expense of your fingers. 

It snaps open- but you have no idea which switches do what. So you flick over each one from left to right. A generator shutters, lights shut off, and metal creaks. A flicker of light pools along the catwalk as the giant metal door slowly raises.

Your attention snaps to the left, where several soldiers are now leveling their weapons at your head. Behind them, the Soldat opens fire.

“Go!” He shouts.

You drop to the floor and roll beneath the slow moving door. The bright afternoon sun burns against your neglected skin, blinding you for a moment. You groan and skitter forward, glancing back over your shoulder. 

Ahead, a sleek black helicopter lay in waiting. You bite your tongue and bolt for the closest door, your hand raised to cover your head. Bullets spark the ground beneath your feet, spurring you on. You yelp, your momentum driving you hard into the large vehicle.

Loud voices shout from behind you, Russian mixing with accented english.

You yank the door open and throw yourself inside. But the minute relief you feel is immediately cut short when you see the control panel.

“Holy shit…” You huff and drop your gun, your trembling hands hovering over the many buttons and lights. 

Your attention shifts to the tinted windows, where you see the Soldat launching a large container at a trio of soldiers. He drops and rolls as gunfire rains in his direction. He snags a gun from the floor and shoots off running. 

“Open the door!” He screams, firing behind him. You shove the helicopter door open and lean out of the way as the large man jumps into the machine. “Close it!” He shifts into the seat, his hands moving quickly to flip switches and turn dials. 

You yank the door closed and duck below the window, your heart pounding heavily in your chest. “Oh my god, go, go, please go!” You sob, smacking your hands over your ears.

You can feel the helicopter vibrate beneath you as the blades rumble to life. “Hold on,” Soldat grits, pulling back a thick lever. 

You roll back against the door as the vehicle hastily lifts from the platform. Bullets ping against the exterior, catching in the thick metal. You drag yourself into the right hand seat, where you yank straps over your body. 

Everything melts together as you take off. Your eyes roll shut, your throat bobbing nervously. Beside you, the Soldat is still, his fight or flight taking over to steady him. 

Metal fingers reach into his ears, plucking out wads of cotton. “Are you hurt?” He shouts over the roar of the machine. 

You shake your head. “No-” you glance out the window, watching as you climb higher and higher into the air. “Are you?” For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his furrowed gaze set on the control panel. Your gaze shifts to him. “Are you hurt?” You repeat, straightening. 

“I’ll be fine,” he pants, glaring out the large windows. 

You sit up, dragging your eyes over him. Sweat beads along his scalp. Blood spatters his leather uniform, dripping over his chest and large arms. The holster of his belt sits empty. His pants stick to his thighs, his right leg soaked through with dark red blood. 

“Is that-” You gulp, staring down at the dark black material. 

“I’ll be fine.” He grits, his leg twitching. You unclip your seat and crawl behind it, searching the walls for a first aid kit. “Hey-”

“Fly the thing!” You shout over the noise, yanking down the loaded red pouch. You didn’t think anything could staunch the unbelievable joy you should be feeling right now- nothing except the possibility of the Soldat dying. 

While flying the vehicle standing between you and death.

You stagger back into your seat and drop the bag in your lap. “Don’t move!” You reach over and yank open his belt. He glances down at you, a frown pulling at his lips.

“I can’t feel it!” He tries. 

“That’s the adrenaline!” You shout, pulling his belt from his pants. You pull his legs open and quickly tie the belt around his upper thigh. You yank it tight, ripping a groan from his throat. He flinches, his body seizing up.

The helicopter jolts to the left, ringing alarms through the machine. You yelp, gripping onto the man for support. You grit your teeth and dig through the red bag. You find the closest roll of gauze and press it down hard on the wound. 

“Shit!” The Soldat grits, his fists curling tight around the controls. 

“Just-” you wince in sympathy. “Land as soon as you can!”

“It’s clear through,” he groans, his blood seeping between your fingers.

“You’re still bleeding!”

“First clearing I find, okay?” He responds.

You nod, dropping your head against the side of his seat. The first clearing, and you’ll touch the ground.

It finally hits you- hard- just what’s all gone down. So for the first time in years, you can finally say you’re free.

You’re out.

A/N: Messy and bloody and a little confusing/stupid. But I enjoyed writing this. I listened to the OG Winter Soldier theme song on repeat to get in the mood, and it was so intense...and anxiety inducing. But yeah, hope you enjoyed protective Winter Soldier breaking decades of mind control to protect you.

Taglist:

@a-world-with-pure-imagination @frog-fans-unite @1967barracuda @akkklys @cherryheairt @lonelyghosts-stuff @mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes @devilslittlehelper @miss-chuchu @dollface-xoxo @natalia42069 @thuul-box @local-crazy @justachillgirllui @pleasecallmeunhinged @cookies-and-music @fallen-w1ngs @unicornqueen05 @bloodmocha @sleepysongbirdsings @fadingcollectivenightmare @hosshihusshi @sharkylalala @overwintering-soldier @splooshdooshploosh @saucysasha2035 @vicmc624 @ordelixx @fadingcollectivenightmare @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @the-once-and-future-bitch @cherryandsugar @thefandomplace @nicolesholes

[corkinavoid]

Case File: Danny’s Call

This snippet vibes to Drunk by Tiscore

Danny sits on the edge of the balcony, legs dangling over the drop like the fall down is no scarier than a skipped step on a staircase. Gotham skyline stretches before him in jagged silhouettes and neon bruises, streetlights flickering like tired eyes. It’s late — way past 'should be asleep' and squarely in 'why are you still awake' territory — and deep into the kind of quiet that presses heavy on the chest.

He takes a deep breath, lungs filling with the faint smell of smog and distant promise of rain. A whole week of summer heat is coming to an end, it seems.

From inside the penthouse, muffled sounds drift through the glass doors: Cujo’s barking, excited and sharp, Dani’s laughter trailing after it. She's probably teasing him with something he’s not allowed to chew, or maybe they are both trying to chase Vlad’s cat for sport. Somewhere in the kitchen, Jazz is moving around quietly, teacups clinking — she always makes tea after stress.

The Fenton version of calm after a storm.

Danny’s phone glows pale blue in his hand, thumb hovering over the screen. He scrolls through the contact list without purpose, past names he knows too well — Jazz, Sam, Tucker, Val, Kwan and Star, even Vlad. All of them tangled in the same strange mess of half-truths and ghost stories that make up his life.

He hits 'Call' on one name that is not part of it before he can second-guess himself.

It rings — once, twice, over and over with no answer — then goes to voicemail. And Danny knows he should hang up, should just leave it alone and go on with his life — afterlife, ha — without thinking too hard about it, like he did dozens, hundreds of times before.

But instead, he exhales and starts talking.

"Hey, Caroline," he starts, voice tired but lips still stretching in a smile because that's a polite, nice thing to do, "it’s Danny. Sorry I’m calling so late but something happened and I- nothing urgent, nothing bad, everything is fine," he rushes to add, like trying to stop someone from hanging up. Which… she technically already has, kind of.

"Just… my friend was hurt. I fixed it, everything’s okay, he’s better now, but-" His voice catches slightly, and the pause stretches as Danny takes a moment to breathe and look up into the sky. It's empty — there are no stars in Gotham, just a dim, gray blanket of light pollution and a whole lot of dark corners.

Nothing to guide him through the blizzard.

"I don’t know why I’m calling, sorry," he admits with a soft, awkward laugh, running a hand through his hair. Leaning forward over the railing, he watches the glittering abyss of streets yawning beneath — it doesn't scare him, but it doesn't call to him either. There's no allure to jumping from high places when you can't really fall. "You can delete it. I guess I’m just… lost? My life is a mess, and everyone I know is already in this mess with me. And I think I need someone who’s not."

He pauses, frowning at himself, "Ugh, wait, no, I shouldn’t say that, it sounds like I’m about to unload my whole life story on you, but I won’t — didn't plan to, at least — I’m-"

Beep.

The message cuts off, a mechanical voice telling him it's too long in fake sympathy. Danny stares at the screen for a moment or two until it fades to black, sighs, then lets his head fall back as he closes his eyes.

This was stupid, why did he do that.

But then the phone rings in his hand a second later.

–○–

And they talked very awkwardly for, like, five minutes, both apologizing every ten seconds, because they are idiots in love with poor social skills.

Tim didn't pick up at first because he was busy questioning the surviving assassins. The experience of talking to Danny in Caroline’s voice, while dressed in Red Robin suit, with two knocked-out ninjas two feet away from him was maybe the single most surreal thing related to identity porn that he's been through. Vigilante kind of troubles, you know.

This is a part of Crime Scene Do Not Cross fic and happens after Chapter 4.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Sail Away

Summary: Another nightmare leaves Javi wide awake, forced to wrestle with the consequences of his past as he looks towards his future

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Heavyyyyy on the angst, PTSD, references to violence/death (from Narcos), panic attack and descriptions of past panic attacks, insomnia, feelings of guilt/shame, mentions of pregnancy/parenthood, comfort, still a happy (enough) ending, post DEA Javi, poor Javi just really needs a hug :(

A/N: We're tryin new things here people!! Fair warning- I feel like this is DRASTICALLY different from the way I normally write (content and style wise) but big sad time, pre-period hormones said it's time to cry 🤷🏼‍♀️ I think a lot about how post-DEA Javi handles thinking about his time in Colombia, and how hard it is for him to talk about, even with the people he knows care about him the most ☹️ I hope this doesn't beat you to death with metaphors, imagery and lack of beta'ing (I can still hear my AP lit teacher screaming SYMBOLISM into the abyss) Trying to emulate a lil @jolapeno on this one (ily my descriptive queen 👑)

It happened again. 

You instantly knew from the stark cold of his side of the bed, the empty void where his broad frame should be, his sheets twisted and tangled from where he had fought another round with sleep and lost. 

3rd night in a row, the 5th time this week. At this point, it was hard not to keep track. 

The cyclical pattern of restless nights, haunted by ghosts of his past that taunted and teased him, cruelly lurking the back of his mind, no matter how hard he begged or pleaded for them to disappear. 

Forcing himself to wrestle with his demons in the darkness couldn’t help but feel like insult to injury- the harsh blacks and blues that flooded the sky, drowning out the last glimmer of sunlight as it dipped below the horizon, perfectly mirroring the way his mind so devilishly seemed to paint his thoughts in shades of ebony and cerulean with erratic, angry brushstrokes over the warm yellows and oranges of his new life he had finally learned to embrace. 

It only seemed fair that he went to battle with the darkest musings of his mind under the night sky that so cruelly reflected his mood. 

You weren’t surprised the first time you found him hunched on the back steps of your porch, head buried in his hands, fingers twitching for a cigarette- the vice he’d sworn to give up after his final return home, a vow that moments like these had made him distinctly regret. You always wondered how despite the stark silence that surrounded him as he stared off into the dark abyss, you could still hear his thoughts screaming at you- crying out for attention, acknowledgement, anything to get someone else to understand what he was hiding inside of his mind that he was too scared to say out loud. 

His midnight disappearances came in waves, fading and reappearing like an unpredictable ocean tide that left you wondering when the cool and salty water would crash around your ankles next as you stood at the edge of the shore. 

For a while, the seas had been calm, Javi’s body nestled next to yours, his warmth comforting and covering you along with the messy piles of blankets and bedsheets that filled your mattress, the nights being nothing more than drifting to sleep in each other’s arms, haunted dreams harbored at bay. 

For the last 5 nights, the tides had shifted. A storm was raging. 

The first few nights you let him go- you’d watched him weather this kind of storm before, always insisting it was a journey he was supposed to go on alone, the type of trip you need to make without risking hurting the innocent passengers that were supposed to ride with you. 

But as the days came and went, golden rays of vibrant sun shifting to dark and lonely blackness, it felt like you were leaving him out in the abyss without even so much as a life vest, praying for a return you knew would never come unless someone weathered the storm to save him. 

“You’re up again.” 

It’s a neutral statement, enough to disarm him from the implications you’ve sent yourself on a rescue mission to find him while you settle next to his stoic frame sinking into the porch step. 

“And you shouldn’t be.” 

Not quite resistance, but certainly not acceptance to you let you come aboard with him. Not yet. 

“I was already up anyway. Someone has been a big fan of punching me in my gut at 2 A.M. Hard not to notice when I wake up and your side of the bed is empty for the 5th time this week.” 

Both your eyes shift down to the subtle swell of your stomach, barley poking out from under the worn t-shirt you’d stolen from his dresser drawer. You’d never really had a knack for thievery until the past few weeks, claiming that everything was too tight for your growing belly. Despite all his years intertwined with the law, Javi had never had a problem with pardoning you for your violation, happy to let you, his household thief, and your new partner in crime indulge in the habit if it brought you any sort of comfort in your constant uncomfortability of growing a new life inside you. 

“Already picking up on her dad’s shit sleeping habit.” He scoffs under his breath, a bitterness in his tone that he thinks he’s somehow managing to inflict years worth of poor choices on his future child, still months away from even making her arrival into the world. 

It hurts, watching the pain well in his eyes as he stares off at the stars, glistening in the distance like some sort of unreachable sanctuary, the savior of a temporary distraction. Right now, you wish he’d look at you the same way, but he knows you won’t let him wallow in the all consuming waves of his own self pity like the stars will. 

A silent journey to outer space is the easy way out. You aren’t. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You ask it like it’s a question, like he has a choice in the matter. He knows that you’ll be gentle with him- you have been since the moment you met him- but Christ, he also knows you’re nothing, if not persistent, too. 

He sighs, accepting his defeat as his gaze drops from the sky down to the ground, cautiously allowing you to climb aboard with him. 

It’s like trying to approach a wounded wild animal- move too fast and you’ll scare him away, leaving him to writhe in even more pain as he tries to flee from you. Move too slow and you leave him to bleed out, alone and afraid. 

“I’m fine.” It’s almost humorous how blatant of a lie it is, immediately putting himself on the defensive, like he has any ground to stand on with his claim. 

You say nothing, your silence enough to intrigue him as his eyes finally meet yours, the look on his face revealing the truth his words wouldn’t. You try your best to remain neutral, but Javi knows the sadness slowly slipping through your expression, the one you’re trying your best to hide because you’re not the one that’s hurting. Yet, there’s something about seeing you hurt because of him that’s enough to chip away at the wall he’s put up between you two, finally allowing you a crack just wide enough to let you see through to the other side. 

“I- I keep having the same dream. Every night, it’s the same.” He says “dream” like he’s letting himself drift off to sleep to all the pleasantries the world has to offer him, waking up to his midnight thoughts refreshed and renewed. Because his dreams aren’t just dreams, his dreams are the most terrifying nightmares the majority people wouldn’t even be capable of imagining, a violent parade of the worst memories his brain can muster.  

“What dream?” You ask, as carefully and cautiously as the way you shift yourself closer to him. 

“I- It’s- I just- Fuck-” 

It’s then you choose to gamble, wagering that he’s let you in enough, your next move won’t startle him, inching yourself closer as your right hand begins to intertwine with his left. He’s resistant at first, but as the familiar warmth of your body grazes across his skin, he begins to let you in, allowing your fingers to gently tangle, anchoring himself in your grasp. 

“It’s okay, Javi. I’m here. You can tell me.” 

It’s then the bets become less of a reckless gamble, squeezing him just a little tighter, stroking his skin with your thumb and feeling him squeeze back, taking your hand and finally letting you start to lift him out of the eye of the storm. 

He still needs the reassurance you won’t leave, that the man his nightmares make him won’t scare you away like they have so many others. An insecurity that distresses him enough to make him ache, despite your compassion. 

You’re not gonna scare me away, Javi.

The words still ring in the back of his head when he finds himself like this, remembering the first time you found him on the living room floor of your apartment at 3 A.M., skin tacky and covered in sweat, heart beating so fast he was convinced he was dying, terrified of his mind, and even more terrified you would leave him, letting you find him exposed, like some sort of disgusting, open wound. 

He’ll never understand why you showed him so much mercy. In no lifetime will he ever be able to thank you enough that you did. 

It still doesn’t make what comes next any easier. 

“I just stood there. I just let him- I just let him do it. He was just a fucking kid.” 

You can practically hear both your hearts break over the stark silence. Javi’s, because of all the things he’s done, this is the one he’ll never forgive himself for. Yours, for the same reason. 

“Javi…” 

“I didn’t even try to stop him. He was just a kid. We just- we just fucking left him there. What kind of person does that? I- I spent so long trying to convince myself, trying to- fuck- trying to justify it was okay. That casualties happen when you’re trying to catch a fuckin’ monster. But what if- what if none of it fucking mattered because I was the one who was really the monster.” 

It was flowing out of him now, a flash flood crashing through the rest of the brick wall he had built up to defend himself. You can feel him trying to pull his hand away, trying to keep you from getting swept away in the current with him, but it only makes you double down harder. 

“You’re not a monster, Javi. What happened back then, it- it did matter. I know it hurts, but it doesn't make you a monster.” 

It’s not his admittance of guilt that breaks him- it’s your forgiveness. 

He wonders how can stand him, let alone love him. How his past hasn’t left him tainted and useless, like some sort of lame animal with a limp that can’t be cured, its only options left to die or be sent out to pasture, too weak to venture back for help. That you were the only one who wanted to help fix the parts of himself that were the most broken and mangled. That you were the only one who gave him a chance to be healed instead of leaving him for dead. 

When his eyes meet your stomach is when the guilt begins to morph into terror. Because years ago, a mother, just like you, was nestled away in the haphazard rows of colorful buildings that lined the streets of Medellín, carrying her unborn son, dreaming about the life she would plan for him. 

Javi knows that nowhere in those plans did she account for the pain and heartbreak she would suffer as some asshole DEA agent watched her son’s body become one with the earth while he took a bullet to the brain.  

How was he supposed to live with himself when he got a chance to play God- that now, after letting a life disappear, he was allowed to have a hand in creating a new one? 

You watch the gears in his brain churn, yearning for an explanation to the unexplainable puzzle he’ll never be able to solve, even though he’s convinced he can. His brain works in logic and reasoning, only making the emotional torment of his past decisions more confusing for him. The same kind of logic that you’re not sure will ever allow him to forgive himself. 

“How am I supposed to be a dad? How are you ever gonna trust me? How am I supposed to keep her safe when I’ve done so many terrible fucking things?” Tears begin to flow down his cheeks, each word more ragged and shaky than the last until he can’t fight it any more. 

It feels like the entire weight of the world collapsing into your lap as he melts into you, so heavy that there’s nothing that you can do but wrap your arms around him at let him cry and soak the battered fabric of the his stolen t-shirt draped over your top, fisting at the frayed hems. 

He can’t pretend anymore, not after he’s shown you all the cards he’s had to lay out on the table. There’s no more facade, no more attempt at a stubborn masquerade to hide his hurt. He’s finally let you climb aboard his ship and take the wheel, trusting that you’ll guide him home to shore where he belongs. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

The way he repeats it, chanting it like a broken prayer, begging for your forgiveness makes you ache. You’ve forgiven him for the sins of his past long ago, yet he still feels the need to plead to you for redemption. You wish there was a way to take it from him, to let him unburden himself from the shame he’s carried for so long and carry it for him, even if just for a little while. To let him see what you see in him, to know that you love him for all of his past, and not just in spite of it. To let him know that the storm he has to weather is a storm you will never let him weather alone. But for now, three words are the best you can do. 

“I love you. I love you, Javi.” 

And you do. You mean it. With every bone in your body, with every fiber of your being, you mean it. And right now, he may not admit it, but he knows you do, too. Those three words are enough to let him see the shoreline approaching in the distance, to see the light of day beginning to peek its way through the cracks of the night sky, to carry him back home to you. 

He says it with his silence, the way his sobs start to slow, replaced with long inhales and exhales, his chest rising and falling against you. He says it with the way he holds you just a little tighter, hand splaying across the swell of your stomach, muttering a promise to himself just loud enough for you to hear. 

“I promise I’ll protect you. Both of you. If it’s the last thing I do.” 

“I know you will. I will, too. I promise.” 

The promise is the last gentle wave that pushes you back to the part of the beach where tides roll gently, forgetting the raging currents they once were in the middle of the ocean. A place where you can safely row your boat ashore without the fear of another dreadful thought creeping up on you and dragging you back out to face torment again. 

As you look out in front of you, the sky is no longer laden with heavy shades of black- a pastel sunrise is beginning to creep over the horizon, glistening like some sort of trophy for an underdog fistfight you’d managed to win, even if you’d come out the other side beaten and bruised. It was enough to nudge Javi’s head out of your lap, encouraging him to accept his prize at a game where winners came few and far between. 

Tonight, you'd never been more thankful the universe had let Javi come up a winner.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve been up early enough to watch the sunrise.” 

“Yeah. It is pretty, isn’t it? Sorry this is the reason you get to see it.” 

“As long as I get to be with you, that reason will always be good enough.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[bullet-prooflove]

Speak Your Truth: John Carter x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @anna-bailey @ofsoapsuds @queenslandlover-93 @gemofspace

Summary: John speaks his truth in the aftermath of a tragedy.

Companion piece to:

Little John - You try to keep John's mind off the task at hand.

The First One Is Always The Hardest - You comfort John after the death of a patient.

Forget-Me-Nots - John wakes up hung over in a strange bed and with an unexpected memento of the night before.

The suicide ruins John, it breaks his heart, his will, his mind. He finds himself sitting in a chair in the waiting room staring into the abyss as he goes over all the things he could have said, that he should have said. Even after Benton talks to him it doesn’t ease, it feels like there’s a pressure bearing down on his chest, stealing away his breath.

“Hey…” You say softly as you crouch down in front of him in your street clothes.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t answer. He just sits there, his eyes fixed on something that you simply can’t see. Your fingers grace his jawline, delicately tipping his chin to meet your gaze. He flinches and you pause, dipping your head instead.  

“John.” You murmur. “This is not your fault, sometimes people are just in too much pain…”

He doesn’t believe it, you can see it in the way his lips purse together as he looks at you with hollowed out eyes. It’s like someone has stole the light right out of them. It hurts to see him like this, in so much pain. You can patch up a physical wound, staunch the bleeding but something like this, it takes time to process, a safe environment to heal in and John, he’s all alone. His parents are in Switzerland, visiting his sister and the other people in his life…

They don’t understand his decision to become a doctor, not when his family have more money than God.

“John.” You say firmly. “I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”

“I’ll be fine.” He responds but you know that’s not true, you can hear it in his voice, how devoid of emotion it is. He’s shutting down completely, cutting himself off from the world. That’s how it starts, you bury the mental anguish and it festers under the surface, poisoning you until you’re the one standing on the edge of that roof.

“But I won’t be.” You say, appealing to the selfless part in him. “I think we both need our friend tonight-”

“You think you need me?” He laughs, it’s a horrible dull sound that vibrates through his chest as he takes your hands in his clasping them tightly. “You don’t, you’re already brilliant and strong and brave and-”

“And I would be none of those things without you.” You kick back, your forehead coming to rest against his. “You think I would have made it this far without you fighting in my corner? Not a chance in hell. You promised me we’d do this together, that we’d take care of one another so let me take care of you. We’ll go back home to my place, put on some shitty movie, eat take out-”

“Crys…” He says helplessly, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I love you, you know that don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” You tell him with a fond smile. “And I love you too…”

“Not like that.” He says, shaking his head. “I mean real love, like the type they write Hallmark movies about. I know that you don’t feel the same way but I watched a woman throw herself off a building today because she couldn’t live her truth and I gotta speak mine. I’m in love with you Crys, I have been for a long time.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[syatbs]

Suck the Drug

summary: When Y/N wants to set farewells to her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, Nam-gyu, she uncovers something terrifying.

➳genre/au: Nam-gyu x reader [she/her, female anatomy}, smut, plotwist, 18+, Dom Namgyu, Dom Reader, explicit content.

➳ Word Count: 2.624k

Find me on Ao3 for more frequent updates.

“Don’t let that asshole foul you, Y/N.”

The words of my closest friend reverberated within my head like obnoxious little bells. She always tries to protect me from the painful outcomes, but I just don’t fucking listen.

 I was fully aware of where this relationship was leading, but I still chose to tear my insides apart until nothing remained but the empty words that I loved him.

Him… The guy who ignited a spark within my heart and the same one who purloined it like a thief in the night.

Nam-gyu.

That’s his name and crossness spurted in my chest. It was resentment for myself who melted at the thought of his name for a tad second. How the vision of his handsome features entering my mind, made my pulse hammer against the veins.

I was a lost cause, yet I was desperate for him.

Not in love as I thought when we first crossed paths. Just yearning for affection from a man who only gifted me with mixed signals and nothing else.

“What’s wrong?” A deep voice bloomed in the dim red room, my rumination fizzling out like the smoke of a cigarette.

Following the sound, I was met with two pairs of eyes. They had the deepest color, so dark that oftentimes I had the impression that what I was seeing was the abyss of the ocean… So deep like forbidden secrets that are banned from being professed.

I didn’t realize when I was pulled into a privet room, the loud music now becoming dull, and fainted through the soundproof walls that were enclosing us. I wasn’t even permitted a proper period to grasp what a terrible mistake I had just made… Where instead of being in my bed and asleep, I had visited the club Pentagon in search of a man I should be running away rather than lusting over.

It only dawned when Nam-gyu was between my legs with the purpose of pleasuring me. His long thin fingers that were clad with silver rings, grazed the inner side of my thighs, a peculiar expression creasing his handsome face. It was crystal clear that this man wanted to devour me whole, though when he saw I was spacing out, he seemed rather reluctant.

And it shouldn’t pester me one bit for the reason why Nam-gyu looked quite different from our past encounters.

Conversely, it did. A lot.

Though when that sensation festered me like a hurricane brimful of unfortunates, I shook my head mentally.

No. This time what I’m about to do is for my own selfish benefit. For once I will spoil myself without giving something in return.

In instinct, the edge of my lips was tugged into a smirk. “Nothing. Just the thought that we had a long time to see each other.”

Kissing now the exposed skin, I had to swallow a whimper.

“Is it?” Nam-gyu mused as his kittenish demeanor returned. His teeth skimmed over the inner of my thigh before sucking down lightly, only to draw away and leave his teeth marks on the other leg.

My back arched as I moaned and my French Manicure nails sunk into the velvet cushion of the sofa beneath me.

There was no more hesitation in his motives.

With hazy eyes, I stared at his fingers grazing the upper of my legs, while his mouth was busy leaving mark after mark, and traveled them up to the hem of my leather skirt.

“Look at you so eager… I started to believe that you actually missed me.” I teased, though there was some truth alongside my telling.

On the other hand, he didn’t waver to my words only to crane his neck and gaze up at me in a look that made butterflies waltz in my stomach.

“I always do.”

At that everything around me ceased, trapping me in an environment that was only just the two of us. No music from the speakers or laughter from the guests who were gliding outside. Every length of my body was now trembling as I was not able to contain the sadness that took over. I wondered if he was genuine or if it was another of his believable lies… To push me further in the obsession I have for him.

Before I could open my mouth and demand an answer to my troubles, his fingers disappeared into my short skirt, and hooking his index fingers at the edges of my panties he pushed them down to my legs. Then shoving them into the back pocket of his dark trousers, with a drag of my hips, Nam-gyu forced my wet pussy close to his face.

My bloodstream was now racing with the exhilaration of my heartbeat as blush crept on my cheeks. Despite being no stranger to this man, such intimating moments were always making me shy away.

I felt vulnerable, yet simultaneously, the most delectable woman in the club. It was ridiculous such ideation; therefore, it gave me a sense of power that I never knew existed.

“So fucking beautiful.” He rasped, his voice dropping an octave.

Parting my legs even wider, he darted out his tongue and licked the wetness that coated my walls since the very moment I spotted him in the club. He slowly traveled it up to my sensitive bud and sucked it between his front teeth before two fingers were shoved inside me in replace of his tongue.

They weren’t that deep and I had to move my hips in desperation to find some friction. Perversely my craves soon came to a halt when his free hand forced me to stay immobile.

“Nam-gyu…” I mewled his name.

In an instant, a growl rumbled within his chest as I knew that he was getting off with how addressed him by his first name. However, his hold didn’t grow slack. In lieu, he nibbled harshly on my clit, earning a scream from me.

When I threw him daggers, a lethal expression took over his exterior and drawled. “Patience is the key, Y/N. So be a good girl and take what I’m giving you.”

At that goosebumps blazed down my spine, his dominance having a foreign effect on me. In the past, our intimating moments weren’t so intense and ardent. There was no eye contact or words, merely the animus to bring ourselves into the high.

This time, however, he was acting on a different hue and to be frank, I didn’t like it. At all.  

Because it made me feel. Because this sudden meet-up was for me to visit him for one last time before I take our memories and burn them in the flames of what I call “moving on”. To forget for once and for all that, this man made me more alive than any other mortal being and not dwell on the webs he set for me, so he could keep me as his lover prisoner.

Placing my legs on the edge of the sofa, my fingers ran through his long dark hair, and taking a fistful I pulled until a low hiss fell from his lips.

“There is no patience if there is no time.” I heaved.

I could see my words echoing within his skull, and once he understood the message his jaw clenched.

He finally realized that what I was doing wasn’t our usual routine, where I visited the club where he works, getting railed, and once the building closed he would take me to his apartment so we could continue from there.  

It was a hook-up. A farewell to the failure of our relationship.

Once he makes me come undone, I will depart and never return.

In a trice, Nam-gyu’s nostrils flared as fury licked his dark orbs. His breaths became ragged, causing his chest to deflate and inflate in rapid rhythms that still simmer with control, and his face was stone-cold with a lingering vibration that screamed authority upon this situation.

Of his silence for a moment, I had the deliberation that he would leave me hanging sans doing something to complete my plan — to give me the upper hand and the satisfaction. But when his fingers curled inside me and deeper than previously, it settled in me that Nam-gyu was letting me win.

He pushed them in and out of me while our eyes were locked, and my lips parted in silent moans. With each second, my warm walls were clamping down his fingers like a vise, the craving to reach my climax more potent than ever.

By my eagerness, he picked his pace up, and dipping his head once again he sucked my clit hard. The sensitive bud was either flicked by his tongue or his teeth were lightly biting at it and when he noticed my legs starting to sake by his assault, he changed motive.

Replacing his fingers with his mouth, Nam-gyu was tongue-fucking me as his hands hooked around my legs to bring me closer to his face.

Conversely, one of my hands had been placed beneath my head while the other one was at his head — pushing him harder against my opening. My nails were scraping his skull and a low groan of his vibrated through me.

It was such a euphoria that I never wanted it to end. A Nirvana I never experienced before… Somehow it felt quite bitter when I knew it wasn’t a situation that would last, no matter how much I begged to maintain.

A pinch of my clit and his tongue being shoved in my pussy was all it took for me to cry out and my fluids to coat his lips and chin. My breaths had now turned uneven, the high I was entrapped had me spinning and seeing stars.

Our gazes never strayed from each other and the dim LED lights of the private room gave me a slight glimpse of my glistening arousal on his lips. Peculiarly, such a spectacle that was displayed in front of me made me wonder if I ever would be able to find a man so spellbinding as him.

A man who still shines with handsomeness notwithstanding the flaws that corrupt him whole.

Slowly or rather cagily, I took his hand and sucked his coated fingers clean. His eyes followed the movement of my pink tongue swirling around them as if what I was sucking was his veiny cock, and my Louboutin heel was planted on his sternum.

Letting his fingers with a pop, I pushed him harshly on the floor straddling him with my hips. Bewilderment overpowered his features when I reached for his belt.

He always was my Dom, though this time I will be the one to ruin him and ravish him.

Like an expert, I unbuckled the leather material around his waist, the sound of it snapping from his jeans’ loops, having him gasp silently. Smirking in his way, I seductively bent over my torso, my hot breath grazing over the shell of his ear.

“Wrap it around your throat.”

I could feel his body stiffen beneath me, a body language that spoke louder than words that signified he hated being controlled. Yet the tightness of the center of his trousers and hips slightly raising to dry hump my wet pussy was a hint that there was some liking at my sudden dominance.

Reluctantly, he took the belt and placed it around his neck giving me now the initiative to loop it through the buckle and pull it tight. So tight that the metal bit into his skin as the belt constricted.

Nam-gyu choked and his back arched as panic flashed before his vision, thus a single caress of my hand down to his cheekbone and a soothing voice, his muscles relaxed.

“Relax. You can breathe.”

With one hand now holding the edge of the belt like a leash, my other one found the zipper of his trousers and undone it, my palm pressed hard against the swollen of his manhood.

He was bigger than the average size, having my core skated with dark desires. I wanted his dick inside me, the sensation of being filled compelling me to move quicker and hastily. Without any further ado, I pulled out his swollen length from the waistband of his boxers, and giving a few strokes of my palm — while my thumb traced his pre-cum — I then rubbed it up and down my coated folds.

Soon, I sink into him, taking bit by bit every inch and my eyes roll at the back of my head as my opening burns at the sudden stretch of his thick length.

Once he was fully inside me, both of us groaned in unison.

“Y/N…” He growled once my hips started rocking against him. He attempted to grab and guide them with a more brutal bounce but a single tug of the belt restrained his efforts.

“Patience is the key, Nam-gyu. So be a good boy and take what I’m giving you.” Throwing his words back in his face, something dark gleamed in his eyes.

Beaming in his way, my hand was placed against his strong chest for stability and continued bouncing on his cock, as my head was lolled back. My pussy was basically screaming for another orgasm — to be filled with his cum and leave the room like a dirty whore.

The sound of skin hitting skin bloomed into the dim room, our panting breaths the melody in our silence.

Every unused muscle in me was aching with such intense hip movement, my eyes stinging in tears as my folds creamed and squeezed him. The orgasm wasn’t far afield and leaning to his way, I sucked the quick pulse in his neck. Lapping up his sweat and aroma that smelled like cigarettes, my lips crashed into his. I could taste myself on his tongue and like a grinding woman, I sucked it, fought it with my own, and flicked his bottom lip before ravishing it between my front teeth.

The taste of coppery was inserted into my mouth and I swear I could feel his erection growing even larger at the roughness my nature provides.

What I was doing was a silent message that tonight he was all mine. Mine to devour and mine to ruin. For one last time until another female has him as her own.

Soon my whole body had been paralyzed as the orgasm hit me like a thunderclap. I arched my back, driving my climax until the very end.

It surprised me when his hand snaked around my nape and pulled me once again for a kiss — with the difference that it was now softer and more loving. There was no rush between us and as we were breathing in each other’s pants, I released the belt.

His thumb wiped the red lipstick that I’m damn sure was now smudged and we looked at each other debating if we should withdraw or remain in this position for eternal eon.

Regrettably, his phone rang and he rolled his eyes in irritation.

“Sorry,” Nam-gyu apologized as I rolled over, already feeling the emptiness between my legs.

But it didn’t vex me when I found out that the one who was calling him was no other but his friend, Thanos. It troubled me when a card fell from the pockets of his jacket while he pulled out his phone.

A card with three shapes in the center. One circle, one triangle, and one square.

Since he was busy with the call, he didn’t notice that it had fallen out nor how my face paled at the sight. Because that card was no stranger to my eyes since I already had one.